“Good evening.” Two words, and Catherine could actually feel her knees weakening. She leaned against the wall for support.
“I did not expect to see you here,” Ben added. “Nor—” his appraising gaze raked her again “—to meet you like this, Catherine.”
He took her hand. The impact on Catherine’s senses correspondingly increased. A cool shiver ran along her skin. She tried to ignore it; tried to concentrate. Panic filled her. This man thought she was a demirep. She should tell him the truth at once, before this masquerade went too far. But how could she explain her presence in his house? If she stepped out of character, Maggie’s secret would be revealed. Everyone would know she had been Clarencieux’s lover. She would be divorced, disgraced, ruined.
Ben was standing very close to her now and Catherine found she was powerless not to look at him.
Consorting with a gentleman is ruinous to ayoung lady’s reputation. If you seek out a gentleman in his chambers you will no doubt reap the outcome you deserve….
It was not particularly helpful, Catherine thought, to remember the words of one of her conduct manuals at this late and rather hopeless stage in the proceedings. She needed no book to tell her that she was in very big trouble indeed. In that moment, she realized that Benjamin Hawksmoor was a threat not simply because he was sophisticated and in control and she was not. He was dangerous to her because despite all she knew of him and despite all she had seen, she still could not convince herself that he was no more than an amoral scoundrel. She wanted to believe that he was better than that.
Nevertheless she knew that this was not the time to discuss it. She had to come up with a halfway decent excuse for her presence in his house. And then she had to run away.
Could she continue to carry this off? She was the world’s worst actress. In school plays at Miss Minsham’s Academy in Bath, they had usually given her the part of prompter because her acting had been more famously wooden even than the scenery. To continue to act the part of a fashionable impure seemed impossible and yet she had some advantages. She saw the expression in Ben Hawksmoor’s eyes and felt slightly dizzy. He already believed she was a courtesan. He wanted to believe it because he wanted her. That much she understood.
Downstairs the music had stopped and she could hear the sounds of voices raised in protest at the abrupt end of the ball.
“Has Lord Hawksmoor been taken ill, Price?” one lady was demanding.
“No, ma’am,” Catherine heard the butler say. “He is merely being boring.”
There was general laughter at this. Catherine could imagine the headlines in the paper the following day: Lord Hawksmoor Cancels His Own Ball on a Whim Because He Is Bored
Somehow, as always, he would get away with it.
The voices faded, the shadows shifted. Ben had not taken his eyes from her the whole time and Catherine’s heart started to slam in long, hard beats.
“Well, Catherine,” Ben repeated her name like a caress and Catherine’s throat dried at his tone. “What are you doing here?”
“I…I came to thank you for the service you rendered me that night at Crockford’s, my lord,” Catherine said quickly. It was a poor excuse but it was all that she could think of in a hurry. “If you had not come to my aid that evening…” She stopped as she saw the flash of amusement in his eyes.
“I would have done a great deal more for you, Catherine, had you permitted it.” Ben’s voice was smooth, the smile still in his eyes. The implication of his words was crystal clear, even to someone of Catherine’s limited experience. He was not talking about helping her into her carriage or some other blameless activity suitable for debutantes. He wanted to make love to her.
Catherine closed her eyes as the implications of the thought hit her and made her feel slightly faint. She opened them again quickly. Her wits were going a-begging just when she needed them. It was most unhelpful.
“So I understood, my lord,” she said. “I told you when we last met that you could not tempt me.”
“And yet you came here tonight,” Ben murmured.
“As I said, I came to thank you.”
Ben nodded, but Catherine knew he did not believe her. He thought they were engaged upon some kind of game, of which both he and she would know the rules. Except that she did not.
“Most people would send a note,” Ben said, “rather than appear outside my bedroom door.” He stepped in close. “Shall we set your gratitude aside now, Catherine—and speak of what we both want?”
Catherine’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. Her fingers gripped her reticule tightly. So now the game was at an end and he had decided it was time to be direct. Perhaps that was how a gentleman conducted business with his inamorata. There was no need for pretty words or declarations of love because it was business after all.
Nevertheless, the look in his eyes practically robbed her of breath. It did not speak of business. It was very hot and very intense and it spoke of desire. It called up an answering tug of feeling within her that made her feel dizzy.
“I…” She cleared her throat. “It is not so simple….”
Ben rubbed his thumb thoughtfully over the palm of her hand and the caress sent tremors coursing through her whole body.
“There is always a way to get what one wants,” he said. “Is it a matter of money? It generally is.”
“No!” Catherine’s exclamation was out before she could help herself. She blushed and cast her eyes down.
“No need to sound so indignant, sweetheart,” Ben drawled. “It cannot be a matter of love—not with Withers—and everyone has their price. So what is yours?”
Catherine started to edge along the corridor toward the top of the stairs. He followed her, still amused, still predatory.
“Would you like a carriage and pair?” he suggested. “A pearl-and-diamond bracelet? Or are you more ambitious than that?” He considered her thoroughly and his scrutiny made color burn along Catherine’s cheekbones.
“Yes,” he said. “I think you might well be expensive. A town house and a diamond necklace at the least.”
Catherine thought of the piles of jewelry her mother had left her, locked in the bank, and could not quite repress a smile.
“A lady would tell you that a diamond necklace requires ear drops to match,” she said. She shook her head. “But no, my lord, I do not require such things.”
Ben saw the smile and raised a brow. “Then you are unusual.”
“That is certainly true,” Catherine agreed.
He stretched out a hand and took the material of her domino between his fingers. It was a deep ruby velvet, very simple but very expensive.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said slowly. “I may tell you plainly that I cannot afford such luxury anyway. But maybe that does not matter. Perhaps you came to me for something else? Revenge?” He smiled. “Or pleasure…”
Catherine’s breath locked in her throat. This was getting very dangerous. Revenge on Withers…She could see that he might make that assumption. She had shown her disdain of Withers’s possessiveness before. It had been that very defiance and her decision recklessly to flirt with Ben himself that had got her into this pickle in the first place.
As for pleasure…She swallowed convulsively. She only knew in the vaguest possible terms what he might be offering but still it was sufficient to make her catch her breath. The memory of his kisses clouded her mind, filling her with a strange longing. To be held by him, to be loved by him. It was well nigh irresistible.
“You do not understand,” she said, drawing away.
He let her go. “Then explain to me,” he said softly.
Explain. She could not. Not if she were to keep Maggie’s secret safe. John, baby Mirabelle…Their future depended on her keeping the family together and covering Maggie’s deceit.
Ben cast a look over his shoulder. “Although my guests have gone now, I would rather speak with you in private, Catherine. Come with me.” He pushed the door of a room open and drew
her inside.
Catherine’s first wash of relief that it was not the drawing room where she had planted the painting was quickly superseded by shock as she realized it was a bedroom. She was in Ben Hawksmoor’s bedroom now. In one mistaken move, she was in a place that half the women in London aspired to visit.
Her fascinated gaze was drawn to an immense tester bed with a peacock-blue and silver cover. All of a sudden she remembered the words of the priest who had conducted the Sunday services for the students of Miss Minsham’s Academy:
The downward path is easy but there is no turning back.
It seemed so long ago that she had sat in that hard pew, wriggling with both physical discomfort and moral unease. She had not really understood then what the priest was talking about but she knew it was something bad, something to do with hellfire and eternal damnation. But she understood now. Oh yes, she understood perfectly. It was just a pity that eternal damnation could sometimes appear so tempting….
She closed her eyes, opened them again, and determinedly blocked temptation from her mind.
“We cannot talk here!”
Her voice came out like a bat’s squeak and she saw the amusement dance in his eyes.
“Are you nervous, sweetheart?” He shrugged his broad shoulders beneath the fine linen of his shirt. “I swear you have no cause to be.”
He was slipping the velvet domino from her shoulders as he spoke.
“Yes, but I…” Catherine licked her lips. She was very bad at this and he was very good, and it was proving to be a fatal combination.
“There is no need to be afraid.” He gestured toward the table where a couple of fine crystal glasses reflected the light and a bottle full with red wine stood beside them.
“A drink, perhaps?” he said. “It might help you decide what you really want.” A wicked smile curled the corner of his mouth. He gave her another long look. “You must be new to this. That would account for much.”
Catherine drew in a deep breath. She had never really seen herself cut out for a harlot’s progress before, but now she could see just how easy it might be with a man like Ben Hawksmoor. Maggie’s desperate longing for a little excitement in a loveless marriage was no longer incomprehensible. There was something so seductive about being wanted. Her own affectionless life suddenly seemed like a wasteland. She had been brought up to repudiate every last thing that this man stood for yet the attraction she felt was ruthless.
Ben was close enough to her now that she could smell his skin and the faint scent of lime cologne. Her head spun. An icy chill swept through her veins, followed by a warmth that stung her blood.
“No…No drink, thank you,” she said. Nothing but the truth would do now. “I must go. I am sorry but I fear I have made a mistake. I am quite out of my depth.”
There was a smile lurking at the back of Ben’s eyes. It was a smile that was intimate and sensual. Catherine trembled. Damn the man and his charming, dangerous ways.
“I see,” he said. He laughed and straightened. His hand came up to capture her chin and tilt it up so that her eyes met his. His touch was gentle. “I do believe you are,” he agreed, and there was something close to surprise in his tone.
Catherine cleared her throat. “The truth is that I am not accustomed to dealing with men like you,” she said.
Ben’s eyes danced. “What sort of man do you think I am?”
“You are what my schoolteacher would have called a detrimental,” Catherine said. “You are too dangerous.”
He accepted the assessment with an inclination of the head. “But you like that, do you not, Catherine? It is what attracts you to me. You cannot be here to bargain your favors for my money since I have none. So…” He paused. “You must want the danger I offer.”
The shocking truth of his words hit Catherine and silenced her for a moment. He did not know the real reason for her visit, of course—he could never be permitted to know—but there was still much more than a grain of truth in what he said. She had always thought herself to be a sensible young lady but the contradiction lay in her response to his touch. She ached for him with a need that was neither sensible nor respectable. And, here in his bedroom, she was beginning to fear that convention could not overcome her desires.
While she hesitated, Ben put out a hand and caught her wrist. The sudden contact took her by surprise. It brought the palm of her free hand up against his chest so that she could feel the heat of him through the linen shirt. His fingers came up to touch her cheek, smoothing back the strands of rich brown hair, lingering in the feather-soft curls.
“I understand that you are having second thoughts about what we are doing,” he said. His voice was slightly husky. “I would not hurry you.”
“Yes,” Catherine said. She swallowed hard. “I mean no.” She was getting well beyond second, third or even fourth thoughts now.
“If you have changed your mind,” Ben murmured, “I am going to have to let you go. A pity, but as I said before, I would never force myself on you.”
Catherine’s first flash of relief was lost as he bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers. She stiffened with surprise but she did not resist. The memory of the kiss in his carriage was with her now, mingled with the new sensations evoked by the touch of his lips. She thought that she should pull away but she did not, and he groaned and slanted his mouth against hers hungrily, searchingly. The pleasure curled down to her toes and swept back through her whole body and she felt weak with excitement. And then it was over and Ben was standing back.
“If we meet again I won’t let you go,” Ben said, a rough edge to his voice. “I do not want to.” He gestured toward the door. “Take your chance, Catherine. Before we both let this go too far.”
“We will not meet again,” Catherine said. Her voice came out as a thread of a whisper. The miniature was returned, the secret kept. She was going to leave. It was all over.
She felt his hands slide caressingly down her arms from shoulder to elbow, and she tried not to tremble. She was not successful. She could feel herself shaking and she knew he could feel it, too.
“Then,” he said, his lips a mere inch from hers, “if I am never to meet you again I shall have to kiss you one last time. I shall always wonder what might have been.”
Catherine raised her lips the last inch to meet his. She was lost as soon as they touched, lost and adrift, the cold fire burning in her veins. This time her lips parted instinctively and his tongue touched hers slowly, stroking deep. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head up so that he could take all he wanted from her mouth, plundering its sweetness. Catherine gasped against his lips and he took advantage to deepen the kiss further still.
“Are you sure,” Ben said softly, as he released her, “that you would not prefer to stay after all?”
Catherine pulled away from him. There was a hard, bright light of desire in his eyes. She felt hot inside, and faint and hollow with longing. She felt appalled that Ben Hawksmoor could do this to her when she did not really know him and yet she wanted to feel the touch of his hands on her body. She wanted it more than anything else in the entire world. And though Ben made no move toward her, he kept his eyes on her face and she felt the powerful tug of need between them with an almost irresistible force.
For a second, Catherine saw a different world, the world that Maggie knew, full of sensual excitement. It was vivid with color and it shimmered with temptation. She was twenty-one years old and her life was empty of warmth, barren of love since she had been a child. She was betrothed to a man whom she detested, duty-bound to a marriage she could not bear even to think of. But she made herself think about it now; made herself concentrate on all the empty tomorrows that stretched ahead of her into an icy-cold infinity. It made her heart ache with loneliness.
She could walk away from Ben Hawksmoor now. She knew he would let her go. And if she did, she could spend tomorrow and all those empty days reminding herself of her good sense and trying to blot out her loneliness. S
he would always wonder what might have happened. She would always regret that she had been too afraid to find out.
She had reached a point where she longed for something different. This was the moment and this was the man.
She looked at Ben and saw the naked desire in his eyes and felt the fear and longing explode within her. He was waiting. He did not move. It seemed that the moment spun out between them forever, so weighted with significance that he would not do anything to influence her one way or the other. Except that he already had.
She wanted him desperately.
She closed her eyes for a second and stretched out a hand to him and when she felt him take her hand in his she almost fainted with relief.
He did not pounce on her as she had thought he might, but drew her to him gently, into his arms, and for a moment his cheek rested against hers as it had done when he had held her at the hanging. Something broke within her then, something dangerously like love, and she turned her mouth up to his in blind need. He kissed her softly, her lips, her cheekbones, her eyelashes, and with each touch she could feel her resistance weakening further until it was all but gone. Her heart was slamming in long hard strokes but all she could think of was that she did not know what to do to accomplish her own seduction and he would have to help her or she would die with longing. Then he spoke.
“I need to get you out of these clothes.”
His voice was hoarse and Catherine felt another stab of pure desire to hear it. Her breasts felt tight against the material of her bodice and there was a hot quivering need low in her stomach that she realized with a shock must be the physical signs of the desire that was turning her heart and her mind inside out. To be rid of her clothes seemed imperative. She turned obediently and felt his fingers among her buttons and laces. His hands slipped, and she heard him swear softly with a note of impatience in his voice.
Lord of Scandal Page 10