by Cheryl Holt
It was interesting how swiftly a rich man could fix a problem. With the snap of his fingers, the nod of his head, she’d been plucked from peril and delivered to a safe haven.
Life was extremely easy in the fancy residence, and she was being lured into a false sense of security. She was barely acquainted with Peyton Prescott, yet she’d cast her lot with him. Misery and poverty were intriguing companions. They could push a woman to make choices she probably oughtn’t to make.
She was unmarried and on her own, with no family or friends to advise her, and Lord Benton was a bachelor, so she had no business being in his home. But he’d offered, and she’d accepted. She was so grateful that she might do anything to keep him happy which was a very dangerous attitude.
“I like Commander Prescott,” Daisy said.
“We should address him as Lord Benton.”
“He told me he liked Commander Prescott. He asked me to call him that.”
“Then you should.”
“Or should I use Uncle Prescott? Or maybe Uncle Peyton?”
Jo had no idea what was most appropriate. Would Lord Benton like to be ceaselessly reminded that he was Daisy’s uncle? In most people’s opinion, she was the bastard child of the dead earl. Who would want it dredged up with every reference?
“You should stick with Commander Prescott for now,” Jo said. “Once we know him better, we can figure out if it should be different.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Certainly.”
“He’s nicer than my father.”
“In what way?”
“When he talks to me, he looks right at me, and he really listens.”
“Your father didn’t listen?”
“No, but then, I hardly ever saw him.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He didn’t like us very much.”
Jo’s response was diplomatic. “It’s difficult to predict what a man like that is thinking. Were you sad when he died?”
Daisy carefully considered the question. “I wouldn’t describe it as sad. I was more…worried I guess. We were afraid about what would happen to us. Mr. Slater was so mean. It was scary.”
“It hasn’t gotten any easier.”
“You’re wrong, Aunt Jo.” Daisy grinned. “Everything has improved. I’m with you, aren’t I? We’re together?”
“Yes, that’s been the best ending we could have had.”
“I’ve decided you’re my favorite aunt.”
“Very funny. I’m your only aunt, you scamp. Now go to sleep.”
Jo tugged the blankets under her chin, and she yawned, already drifting off as she drowsily mumbled, “Will you be here in the morning?”
“Yes, I’ll always be with you—wherever we are. You shouldn’t fret about it.”
“I won’t, especially not when we’re with Commander Prescott. He wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt us.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t.”
Jo blew out the candle, and she dawdled, watching Daisy as her eyes fluttered shut, as her respirations slowed.
The previous night, she’d coerced a very grumpy Mr. Newman into furnishing a carriage. She’d hurried across the city to fetch Daisy and their meager pile of possessions. When she’d arrived at Benton House, she’d been hustled in a rear door and whisked up to the bedchambers that had been opened for them.
The party had still been in full swing downstairs, but Jo hadn’t been irked to be hidden from the posh guests. She hadn’t been concerned about any issue but the fact that she and Daisy were safe.
She couldn’t imagine how long sanctuary would be provided, but Lord Benton wouldn’t toss two desperate females out on the road, particularly when one of them was a little girl and his niece besides. He’d promised to assist them, and she had resolved to let him.
She simply needed to be helpful and accommodating so he never regretted his invitation. Mostly, she had to dodge any encounters with Mr. Slater or his sister. If Jo kept out of their way, she was positive she’d be fine.
She was as fatigued as Daisy. She’d had a very lonely day where she’d been apprehensive every second. She’d had a quick hello with Lord Benton in the morning when she’d been walking down a hall, and he’d come toward her from the other direction.
He’d seemed pleased to see her, and he’d inquired about the servants and if they were being attentive, and of course, people had been wonderfully obliging. Then he’d disappeared.
Mr. Boyle had stopped by in the afternoon, and apparently, he and the Earl had had a terrible fight. Jo hadn’t heard any gossip from the servants as to what it had been about, but they constantly peeked at her when they thought she wouldn’t notice.
Had the quarrel been about her? Was Mr. Boyle angry about Jo’s presence? She definitely hoped she hadn’t been the cause. She refused to stir any trouble.
After Mr. Boyle had stormed out, Lord Benton had departed too, having fled before she realized he had. She had no idea where he’d gone or when he might be back, and she was determined that the following day not be as distressing as the first had been. They had to confer about her situation. And what if Mr. Slater showed up when he was away? What then?
She tiptoed out, and as she closed the door, Lord Benton was down the hall and frowning at her, as if she’d kept him waiting too long. Butterflies swarmed in her tummy. When he stared at her like that, it was impossible to pretend she wasn’t thrilled.
He didn’t speak but extended his hand to her. She hesitated, aware that she should gesture to the stairs so they could descend to the front parlor, but he had such a firm, steely manner of looking at a person. She couldn’t disobey.
She went over and clasped hold. He stepped into her bedchamber, bringing her with him. Before she could comment, he’d shut and locked the door, then he swooped in and stole a kiss.
“Oh!” was all she could manage.
It was obvious he was happy to have dared an advance, and she certainly hadn’t prevented it, so why not try it again? He wrapped an arm around her and drew her to him so their bodies were pressed together all the way down.
He kissed her thoroughly, until she was quite bowled over. All of it left her dizzy and disoriented. She knew the rules: He shouldn’t be in her room. She shouldn’t be sequestered with him. They shouldn’t be kissing.
What was he thinking? What was she thinking?
Gradually, he pulled away, and she couldn’t determine if she was relieved or disappointed.
“I missed you,” he said, “and I’m glad you’re back in my life.”
“You could have fooled me. You’ve barely glanced at me since I arrived.”
“I was busy, and I was deliberately avoiding you.”
“Why invite me to stay, then avoid me? You’re being ridiculous.”
“You leave me all jumbled on the inside. You make me question my choices.”
“I do that?” Jo asked. “I must be a sorceress.”
“Yes, that’s what you are: a sorceress. I’m feeling completely bewitched.”
“Your condition isn’t my fault. I can’t cast a single magic spell.”
There was a cozy fire burning in the grate, two chairs positioned in front of it and a table with a decanter of wine in between. He led her toward the chairs and the wine, but just when she assumed they’d sit down, he turned them toward her bed instead.
He flopped onto the mattress and tugged her down with him. If she hadn’t already been prone, she might have collapsed from shock.
“What are you doing?” she fumed.
“I’m exhausted.”
“We’re not lying down. There are two perfectly fine chairs by the fire. Let’s move over to them. Better yet, we should go down to the parlor and have our wine there.”
“No.”
She struggled to scoot away, but he draped an arm across her waist and a thigh across her legs. Their proximity produced many exhilarating sensations, but she was alarmed too. He was eager to
push her into acts he had no business contemplating.
“Release me,” she protested. “At once.”
“No,” he said again. “I want to relax with you like this.”
“Well, I don’t want to relax with you. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not scaring you. Don’t be absurd.”
“What if the servants catch us? No one would blink an eye about you, but I’d never recover.”
“I sent everyone to bed. No servants are wandering the halls.”
He rolled onto his back, so she was sprawled on his chest, her ear resting over his heart so she could hear it beating. It was the most delicious moment of her life, and her mind was awhirl, chastising her for being a reckless ninny, but her torso was happy right where it was. She exhaled a heavy breath and tried to relax as he’d commanded.
“I’ll remain here for a few minutes,” she said, “but if you attempt any mischief, I will slap your face and stomp out.”
He chuckled. “You will not.”
“I might. Am I safe in your home or not? I presumed I was, but if you suppose I will misbehave to repay you for your kindness, you’re deranged.”
“You’re being silly. I don’t expect any compensation from you. In my view, I owe you quite a lot—due to Richard’s shabby treatment of Daisy.”
“I’m delighted you concur.”
“And yes, you’re safe with me. Don’t insult me by suggesting you might not be.”
“Since we’re on my bed together, it doesn’t feel very safe. Apparently, I have no moral fortitude.”
“Perhaps, deep down, you’re a strumpet. Perhaps you’ve been dying for an adventure like this.”
“Only a man of dubious character would think so.”
They were quiet for a bit. He studied the ceiling as she catalogued details: the heat of his skin, the hardness of his masculine frame, the smell of the soap emanating from his clothes. She would never forget what it was like to be so close to him.
“I missed you,” he mentioned again. “I missed you all day.”
“You keep saying that, but in light of your lengthy absence, I can’t imagine why I’d believe you. Where have you been? It was so awkward to be here without you. The servants were peeking and whispering. The speculation swirling in the kitchen has to be humiliating.”
“I don’t care about the servants’ opinions. I don’t pay them to like me. I pay them to serve me.”
“That’s a hideous attitude to have, and I do care about other’s opinions—even the servants, especially the servants. I court everyone’s esteem. You should try it some time.”
“They were peeking and whispering, but were they attentive?”
“Very attentive, and you still haven’t told me where you were. I was hoping we would chat about my predicament.”
“My friend, Mr. Boyle, stopped by this afternoon.”
“I know. I met him.”
“We had a vicious quarrel.”
“I thought I heard shouting. Why were you quarreling? Can you tell me?”
He shifted them so they were facing each other. He scrutinized her, as he debated how much to reveal, and ultimately, he waved away any candor.
“It was nothing. Evan gets on his ethical high-horse and lectures me when he shouldn’t. It’s annoying, and it upset me. I went riding.”
“All day and into the evening? Until it was dark outside?”
“Yes. I reined in at pubs and coaching inns and drank myself into a stupor.”
“That news frightens me. I’ve been worried sick, and I wasn’t even aware that you were being negligent. Now I’m aflutter with anxiety.”
“You were worried sick? Really? I don’t ever recall anyone worrying about me.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, I shall make up for all that lack of worrying. I promise to fret constantly.”
Her comment had him smiling, and he dipped in and kissed her again. As he pulled away, they both sighed with pleasure.
“I didn’t want to inflict myself on you when I was so grouchy,” he said, “so I stayed away until I’d calmed.”
“You’re not grouchy now?”
“No.”
“Good. I can’t bear to deal with people when they’re in a temper. Is your quarrel with Mr. Boyle over?”
“No.”
She should have dropped the subject. After all, she was determined to never be a bother, but she was afraid her presence had precipitated the fight.
“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Were you arguing about me?”
He dithered, then finally claimed, “Not about you precisely.”
“What was it then?”
“If I admit to horrid conduct, will you hate me?”
“I’ve never hated anyone, and I don’t intend to start with you. Nor will I accept that you were horrid to him. Confess your offense, and I shall decide if punishment is warranted.”
“You’re as honorable as Mr. Boyle. You’ll side with him.”
“I’ll try to judge you impartially.” Her tone oozed sarcasm.
“Heaven’s no. Don’t be my judge. I’d rather have you as my partner in crime.”
“I would never conspire with you. Just confide in me. What did you do to your friend? Let’s see if we can fix it.”
“We can’t fix it. Or at least I can’t. It’s what I figured out while I was riding and drinking. All those rural roads cleared my mind.”
He didn’t offer more than that, but she wasn’t about to permit him to remain silent.
“What’s wrong?” she pressed. “You can’t hold it in. Not when I’m so concerned over what part I might have unwittingly played in it.”
He blew out a heavy breath. “Remember the woman who interrupted us last night?”
“Yes, she was very shocked. Is she your betrothed? I’ve been panicked that she might have been.”
“No, she’s not my betrothed.”
“Look me straight in the eye and swear it—and don’t lie. Tomorrow, I’ll ask the servants if you’re engaged, so I’ll find out for sure.”
“I’m not engaged. I probably should have been, but I’m not.”
“Your remark calls for a thorough clarification, and don’t you dare decline to provide it.”
“Jo, my life is such a mess.”
“I believe I’ve previously mentioned that I have no sympathy for you and how hard your life is. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s infuriating.”
He laughed. “You’re so good for me. You keep my feet on the ground.”
“Someone should. From my vantage point, you’re always quite absurd.”
“I don’t mean to be, and I realize my situation seems grand, and it is now. Mostly. But when I was a boy, it was very rough.” He paused, then quietly added, “Very rough indeed.”
“How was it rough?”
“My father didn’t like me. He was very stern and cruel, and there were rumors about my mother and how she might have had a…well…we’ll just leave it at that. He was anxious to be shed of me, and he sent me away to school when I was seven.”
“You were a child!” she huffed with indignation.
“Yes, and I lived like an orphan there. I was never allowed home on holidays. I was never welcome at Benton.”
She scowled. “That’s the most repugnant story ever. Your father must have been an ogre.”
“He was, and he thought my brother, Neville, was perfect. He didn’t need to have another son.”
“Neville was perfect?” She scoffed. “Neville—with the nine illegitimate children? That Neville was perfect?”
“My father doted on him.”
“Not only was your father an ogre, he was an idiot too. It must have been awful for you, Peyton,” she murmured, not hesitating to use his Christian name.
“It was, but Mr. Boyle—Evan—befriended me at school, and I grew up as if I were
his brother or maybe a fond cousin. The Boyles kept it from being awful. As the years went by, I rarely pondered Benton. I viewed the Boyles as my family.”
“I would have too, but how does the young lady from last night fit into all of this?”
“She’s Evan’s sister, Amelia.”
“Oh.”
“We’ve always liked each other, and most people assumed we would marry.”
She frowned. “Who are most people?”
“Amelia, of course. Evan and his mother. I suppose our acquaintances too.”
“What about you? Were you expecting to wed her?”
“I frequently considered it, but I could never proceed. And with the title having been bestowed on me, I’m in more of a quandary than ever. I can’t decide the best path.”
It took her a moment to comprehend his implication. “You think she’s beneath you now? Is that it? For if so, I must tell you it’s a disgusting opinion to hold of a female you like very much.”
“It’s not that. She’s wonderful, but I’m questioning every aspect of my life. I’ve constantly walked up to the edge of asking her, then I’d back away. I’ve finally put her out of her misery.”
“You won’t ask her after all?”
“No.”
“What was the determining factor?”
“You.”
“Me!”
“Yes, when you showed up in my kitchen, it became clear.”
“You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. You hardly know me, and I can’t be the reason you would toss her over.”
“I was so excited to bump into you, and it forced me to recognize I’d never felt that way about her. She’s been like a pesky little sister to me. It’s why I could never forge ahead. I couldn’t picture her as my wife.”
“How long has she been waiting for you to propose?”
“Four years or so?”
“Four years!”
Jo was aggrieved on Miss Boyle’s behalf. Jo, herself, had nearly married Mr. Cartwright, but it had been after a whirlwind courtship. Even though her romance had blossomed very fast, she’d been devastated when it had ended. What if it had continued for four years? She couldn’t imagine the pain that conclusion would render.