Although Kate generally refrained from this sort of gossip, she couldn’t help but ask, “So…if she’s not his mistress, then does that mean…?”
Myrna snorted indelicately. “Is he sleeping with her? Don’t be naive, girl. I’d put money on it. Care to wager?” She leaned forward as she asked this, a competitive glow in her eyes and a feral set to her jaw.
Kate tactfully declined, adding a mental postscript to place Myrna right next to Ben when the big wave struck. She glanced down the table to Philip, wondering if the conversation at his end had gotten half as lively. He was speaking passionately to Lord Sackville, emphasizing his words by pounding on the table. She had seen him thus animated on only a few select occasions, and knew for certain he was talking about his dogs.
She sighed, pushing her food around on her plate without eating. Supper was a boring affair. Although Myrna and Melissa talked almost unceasingly, they never managed to say anything new or interesting. Rather, they rehashed the same gossip that Kate had heard all season long, and she reckoned that they would discuss her as well once she left the table. She took perverse pleasure in making them bite their tongues by waiting the unpleasant meal out until the bitter end.
As luck would have it, however, the evening was washed out anyway, although not in the dramatic fashion that Kate had prayed for. The footmen were pushing aside the tables for dancing and the musicians were tuning their instruments when it began to rain. It started as a slow drizzle, but soon escalated to a heavy downpour. Bright flashes of lightning illuminated the way as the guests dashed back to the house for refuge.
Although Charlotte announced that there would be activities in the drawing room, Kate decided that she’d had enough socializing for one day and made her way back to her room. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was greatly troubled by the evening’s gossip. She may have denied mooning over Ben, but there was some small part of her that sorely wished that he were mooning over her. Clearly that wasn’t the case, and she was determined to conceal her feelings from him and from anyone else.
Exhausted, she readied herself for bed, not bothering to ring for Mary. She imagined her maid was in the kitchen, gambling and drinking a stiff one with the other servants. At least she was having a good time, Kate thought, as she climbed into bed and snuffed the light. She fell asleep almost the instant her head hit her pillow.
Kate woke up instantly at the loud crash, her heart racing, not knowing what time it was or how long she’d been asleep. Lightning flashed outside, creating eerie shadows in her room. She crept out of bed to peek out her window, and as she pulled back the heavy curtain, the thunder rumbled again, making her jump.
She’d loved storms ever since she was a child, especially watching the way they rolled in off the ocean. On a few occasions, she’d been caught in a storm while sailing alone in one of her father’s small boats, and she’d delighted in the sensation of racing against nature, to see which made it home first. Kate usually won this race, albeit with a pounding heart and sodden clothes. Her father would rant, telling her how foolish it was to be on the water in a storm, swearing he wouldn’t let her out alone in a boat again. But he’d always relented in the end.
The windowpane was streaked with rain, and she could see nothing but slick blackness. With an effort, she pulled the window open to get a better look at the storm outside, but even with it open, she could make out no definite objects in the rain, seeing only shadowy suggestions of shapes. As her eyes adjusted, however, she thought she saw something move.
Kate blinked, not believing that anyone would be out in such weather. She kept looking, waiting for another sign of motion. She stared for a few minutes, and was about to turn away and go back to bed, when she saw it again. Something—or someone—was steadily, deliberately making its way across the lawn, heading toward the conservatory.
She was suddenly and illogically gripped by fear. She’d all but put Andrew Hilton and the incident in the carriage from her mind recently, convinced that the two were unconnected. Now, however, her concerns came rushing back.
Suddenly, the figure began to run, bolting, in fact, across the lawn and emitting the most horrible grunt, so loud that Kate could hear it from her room. She squinted hard to see what the figure was running toward and saw that there was a small, gray object several feet in front of it. That object turned now and screeched. The two figures collided, barking, hissing, and sounding like the very devil.
A dog. She had nearly fainted in fright, and all because old Topper, the Bannisters’ ancient mastiff, was chasing a cat.
Oh, God—a cat! Kate quickly recollected that the Bannisters didn’t keep any cats, and that it could only be Myrna Peters’s Persian, a miserable ball of fur and an almost permanent fixture at the woman’s side.
Another screech came echoing up from the lawn, and she was moved to action. She couldn’t very well leave the thing down there to get eaten—Myrna would suffer an apoplexy, and once recovered would call on unplumbed reserves of wrath to avenge poor Kitty. It was the last thing the Bannisters needed to worry about with the wedding in just a few days.
Kate threw on a robe, not worrying that she’d chance upon any other guests in the storm. She opened her door, wincing at the awful creak it made, and raced down the hall. She hadn’t bothered with her slippers, and her bare feet made little sound as they hit the floor.
Once downstairs, she crept through the kitchen to the back door, not stopping once to stare at the scullery maid, asleep in a drunken stupor beneath the table. The second she reached the door, she was out it, grabbing a broom to shoo with on the way and lifting her robe to her knees to run unhindered. The darkness didn’t slow her down one bit—Kitty was making more than enough racket to guide her.
When she reached Topper and Kitty, broom raised above her head and curses on her lips, the combatants stopped, gawking wide-eyed at her as if she were a banshee. Banded together in fear, they yelped in unison and headed for the conservatory posthaste.
“Topper!” she called, forcing a good-humored ring to her voice as she followed the animals across the lawn. “Topper! I have a treat for you!”
The conservatory door was open—Kate didn’t pause long enough to wonder why—and she entered, dropping the broom and feeling her way blindly through the darkness. The air was hot and damp, forming beads of moisture on her skin. The steady patter of rain hitting the roof mixed with the quiet bubbling of the fountain, and she crept along, scared but determined, until the soft sound of breathing told her she wasn’t alone.
“Who’s there?” Kate spun around in the darkness, ready to scream, ready to run, but not knowing which direction to go. An arm reached out, wrapping around her and covering her mouth before she could yell.
“Quiet,” Ben whispered, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel his breath. “We’re not alone. I want you to stay right next to me, okay? Hold my hand and follow me out.”
He uncovered her mouth and grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her behind him. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but followed him so closely she almost stepped on his heels.
They crept along blindly for a few moments, Ben feeling his way just as Kate had done. She felt him stop, bumped into his back, actually, and heard him turn a doorknob. Suddenly, light spilled into the conservatory, and Ben yanked her through the door and back into the house, closing the door quickly behind them. Blinking, she looked around. They had entered into the study, and in the dim glow of a single lamp, she noted a half-finished glass of brandy and the faint scent of tobacco.
“I take it you didn’t enter the conservatory through this room?” Ben asked, running his hand through his hair and scanning the room with his eyes as if searching for something or someone.
“No. I entered from outside.”
He nodded, then just stood there staring at her for a moment as if debating what to do next. But he quickly recovered, grabbing her hand again and pulling her briskly across the room. Kate had to run to keep up.
“What’s happening?”
“Quickly, we need to go somewhere secure. Then I’ll tell you what’s going on.” He pulled her through the door, into the hall and up a short flight of stairs, stopping only to open yet another door and thrust her inside it.
His bedroom. Without being told, Kate knew that was where they were.
He noticed her shocked look and snorted. “Oh, don’t go and act maidenly on me now, please. I didn’t bring you here to seduce you.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me why you were wandering around outside at this time of night?”
His bitter tone made her flinch.
“I was trying to save Myrna Peters’s cat from Topper.”
“In nothing but a robe?” Ben asked, reaching out and lifting the flimsy fabric of her sleeve.
His sarcasm hurt, and she could only add weakly, “And my nightgown.”
“I want you to tell me the truth, Kate. Were you meeting someone? Philip Bannister, maybe?”
“No!” She couldn’t believe he would ask her that question, didn’t know how to react to the harshness of his tone. Ben was looking at her in disgust, and suddenly she burst into tears.
He just stared at her, groping for words but not finding any. He felt like a cad for deliberately making her cry, and he wanted more than anything to comfort her, to take back his words. But he fought the urge. He was too angry and too confused. Only a fool would have gone out into that storm to save a bloody cat, and she was no fool. He didn’t believe her, but he also didn’t know why he should care. So what if she was meeting a lover? What concern was that of his?
He took a deep breath and tried again. “I was in the study having a drink when I heard a noise in the conservatory. I went out to investigate, thinking that a plant had fallen or a window was open. There was somebody in there, Kate. I couldn’t make out any details, but I know someone was there.” Ben paused to search her expression, trying to gauge her reaction. “They saw me too—jumped back into the shadows once they knew they weren’t alone. But then I heard you enter. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Kate wiped her eyes slowly. Her face ashen, she asked, “You have no idea who this person was?”
“Not if you don’t.”
That was more than she could take. “Not if I don’t! How dare you imply that…that…” Her lip trembled and she trailed off, unable to verbalize his insinuation. “Look, I told you why I was there—it’s you who is choosing not to believe me. You’re hardly one to speak, anyway. Can I ask what you were doing, wandering around at this time of night?”
“Storms make me restless.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you? Maybe it was Sarah Thomas lurking in the conservatory, just waiting for you to come and find her!”
The second these words left her lips, Kate wished she could take them back. He was truly angry now. His eyes darkened, and his lips thinned into a hard, cruel line. He’d been annoyed before, but now he was furious.
“Jealous? Maybe you’d like me to come find you.” Ben took a step forward as he asked this question, smiling humorlessly.
The wise course of action would have been to shut up and run, but instead she retorted, “I hear you like variety.”
“I reckon you’ve heard a lot,” he said, moving even closer, “but there’s only one way to find out what I like.”
Kate had backed up to the bookshelf, was edging sideways toward the door as he approached. She tried to make a run for it, but as she dashed to the door he reached out, catching her robe, spinning her around, and pulling her hard against his chest.
It was like hitting a wall: solid, muscular and unmoving. Kate looked up, knowing that to meet his eyes would mean there was no going back.
Chapter Ten
The instant she looked into Ben’s eyes, seeing his anger replaced by passion, Kate gave in. It was one of the easiest things she had ever done. He ran his hands up her arms, stopping at her shoulders so he could push her back a step and take a fuller look. She blushed as he did so, thinking of her messy hair and wet robe, but what Ben saw was white silk, made translucent by the rain, covering pale skin that was silkier by far. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching her nipples pucker under his gaze.
Without speaking—this was no time for words—he tugged on the ties of her robe, then pushed it off her shoulders and let it fall. Kate looked down, watching it pool at her feet, but Ben reached out, running his finger along her jaw, lifting her head so he could see her face. He ran his finger along her cheekbone and over her lips, blazing a trail down her neck to her collarbone. Here he paused to toy with a heavy lock of hair, lifting it in his hand to feel its softness and see it shine in the warm light of the fire. He laid it down, then pushed her masses of copper-colored hair over her shoulders, letting it fall down along her back. Ben returned his attention to Kate’s face, his eyes lingering on her stubborn chin, her luscious lips, her pert nose…when his amber eyes returned to hers, she felt her knees go liquid and her stomach drop. His gaze never faltered, and without so much as a blink, Ben brought his fingers back to her face, tracing a line along her cheek and reaching his hand behind her head. With his hand in her hair, Ben drew her toward him, moving in for the kiss that would seal the bargain.
Ben had barely even touched her at this point, had used only his fingertips and his eyes to arouse her desire. But the time for moving slowly had come to an end. Where his touch had awakened, teasing her with its subtlety, his kiss was a revelation. Kate felt her resolve crumble beneath his expertise, her body moving closer despite her will, molding itself against his unyielding form. She reached her hand into his hair, matching him in urgency, opening her mouth without thinking, and inviting him to delve further.
He obliged with a groan, wrapping his thick arms around her. His hands trailed down her neck, her back, and he cupped her buttocks, pulling her against his hardness, lifting her up, in fact, as if she weighed no more than a feather. Ben carried her across the room, lowering her at the foot of his bed and savoring the feel of her as she slid down his body. He shrugged off his jacket, watching her pupils dilate as he did so.
“Ben?”
“Hmm?” Ben was unbuttoning his shirt, wanting to rip the bloody thing off but forcing himself to go slowly. He didn’t want to talk. Talking would interject reality. She was his best friend’s sister and he knew he should stop. But he wanted her more than he’d wanted a woman before, and he couldn’t have stopped if his life depended on it.
“Are you going to make love to me?”
He didn’t answer right away, just shrugged off his shirt, looking at her the whole time, watching her face.
“I am,” he finally answered with deliberate slowness. As he spoke, he reached out to grasp one of her hands, placing it on his chest, sensing her nervousness and guiding her through it.
Kate stared at her slender hand, momentarily frozen. He was all muscle, and she was fascinated by his hardness, his golden skin, and his penetrating heat, all so far beyond her experience. She was nervous, but curiosity and desire made her bold. Fingers splayed, she began to move her hand, trailing it with excruciating slowness over his nipples, then down the hard ridge of his belly, lower…her mouth suddenly felt very dry, and she licked her lower lip unconsciously.
Ben had been watching her lips intently, and when he saw her pink tongue peek out, he groaned. It was such a provocative gesture, and yet done so innocently…his groan was out of desire, yes, but also out of frustration. God, he felt green. His whole body was throbbing intensely, and he wanted more than anything to rip her clothes off, throw her down on the bed, open his trousers and thrust inside her full-force, unmindful of her pleasure. Perhaps she wasn’t a total innocent—he didn’t think so after recent events—but she definitely wasn’t that experienced either. He had to slow down.
Ben grabbed her hand, needing to reclaim control. He took a steadying breath and a step back.
“Take your g
own off,” he said, watching Kate blink and knowing that her nervousness had returned. He didn’t offer to help her, positive that if he touched her just then he would ravage her on the spot. But he also knew that she would do as he said without his help, wanting it as much as he did.
Kate hesitated just a moment before lifting her nightgown over her head. She blushed as she did so, feeling more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life. But before her nerves could get the better of her, Ben stepped close, gently laying her down on the bed and kissing her once more.
This time the kiss didn’t end at her lips, but traveled across her cheek, down her neck, her chest…she gasped and shot up from bed as his hot tongue brushed her nipple.
“Stop!” she cried, alarmed at the new sensation that flared through her body. “You can’t do that…it’s…it’s not proper.”
Ben looked up, his mouth a sensuous curve. “Not proper? I should hope not.” Then he resumed, just the barest touch at first, but then slower, circling the peak of her breast, licking, softly nipping. While his mouth worked at one breast, his hand worked at the other, plumping, teasing and driving her wild with the most exquisite torture.
Kate forgot her protest, was too mindless with the pleasure that he was giving her. His tongue traveled farther down her body, across her belly, stopping at her navel to tease some more while his hand moved lower, opening, unfolding, gently teasing her soft flesh. She spread her legs to accommodate him, first one finger, and then two, and suddenly, unconsciously, she was thrusting against his hand, meeting him stroke for stroke, moving faster, slower, faster again, without reserve, without anything but passion. Her vision became blurred, and her lips softened and parted to cry out. Oh, God! Kate felt pleasure like she’d never felt before, washing over her with a suddenness and a force that made her cry out.
Sarah Elliott Page 9