by Meara Platt
“I see,” he said in a dangerous voice. “And you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Mr. Mortimer has presented an offer that I have every intention of accepting. It’s not as much as Mr. Stanley offered, but it is a very respectable amount. As soon as the legalities are observed and the tide is right, we will depart for England. In the meantime, I will keep you sheltered.”
“Thank you.” Suzanne hugged him tightly, then took a step back. “Oh, Benedict. I shouldn’t have come out of your private quarters, but I had to find you to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” he asked. The sudden light in his eyes hinted that he had guessed her news.
“Our endeavors have been a success,” she said, smiling. “I am almost completely certain that I am with child.”
“This is wonderful,” he said, joy beaming from him.
He clasped his hands on either side of her face and leaned in to kiss her deeply. Kiss her like a lover who was delighted to discover his beloved was with child. Not at all like a man whose business dealings had unfolded the way he imagined they might.
He seemed to notice the unexpected intensity of his reaction as well and broke their kiss suddenly. He took a step back, clearing his throat. “This is good news,” he said, working to school his expression into neutrality. “The plan can go ahead.”
“Yes,” Suzanne said hesitantly. “By next spring, you will have your heir, and then you can approach your sweetheart with a proper offer of marriage.”
“Yes,” he said, his face falling. “Just as I had planned.”
“And I’m certain she will accept,” Suzanne went on, wondering if the sick feeling in her stomach was because of the baby or…something else.
“I’m certain as well,” Benedict agreed.
They stood there, staring awkwardly at each other, making only fleeting eye contact before glancing away. It felt like an itch down Suzanne’s back that she couldn’t reach to scratch.
“I suppose—”
“Yes?” she answered before he could finish.
He glanced fully at her, studying her with undeniable fondness in his eyes. “I suppose we should be together one last time.”
“Oh?”
“To ensure that we truly have conceived,” he said.
“That would be the wisest course of action,” she agreed, her cheeks burning and her heart fluttering.
“We need to be careful that you do not un-conceive such an important child,” he reasoned.
“That would be a disaster,” she said.
“So….” He offered his hand to her.
She took it. He burst into a smile and drew her quickly away from the room and down the hall to his bedchamber.
It was the middle of the day and she was certain Benedict had other things to do, but as soon as he closed the door to his room, he drew Suzanne into his arms and kissed her. She’d grown so used to his kisses in the past few weeks, but that didn’t mean they didn’t still take her breath away. Part of her was certain she should at least pretend to be demure and to remind herself that theirs was a business deal, but as he tugged loose the ties holding the back of her gown together while nibbling at her neck, she didn’t care a bit about propriety.
She fumbled with the buttons of his jacket and then his waistcoat. Both of them were breathing heavily and sighing as each piece of their clothing was stripped away. She twined her fingers through his hair, arching into his touch as he pulled her bodice down and closed a hand around her breast. She would never get enough of his touch, never grow tired of the way he could ignite her body with his hands and mouth.
They wriggled out of their clothes and collapsed onto his bed. She knew his body so well, but ran her hands up and down his back as if learning his shape for the first time. The flex of his muscles as he moved over her was heavenly.
He kissed her with passion, sliding his tongue against hers and drawing a moan from her. That was lovely, but even more lovely was the way he trailed kisses from her lips to her neck, then down over her shoulder and lower. She gasped in pleasure as he suckled her breast, driving her mad with the way he stroked her nipple into tightness with his tongue. She made a sound of amorous approval and let her arms fall above her head. She let her knees fall to the side as well, which opened her hips and left her completely at his mercy, offering him everything.
He surprised her. Instead of shifting to thrust inside of her, bringing them both the release they craved, he continued kissing her—her belly, her hip, and lower still. Her eyes went wide and she nearly arched off the bed as his mouth caressed her sex. It was as if fire shot through her, coiling pleasure tighter and tighter within her. He brushed his tongue along her cleft, then parted her folds with his fingers so that he could close his mouth over her clitoris.
Pleasure built fast and hard within her as he sucked and licked her in turn. He gripped her thighs firmly, holding them apart. The combination of mastery and generosity drove her wild, and within seconds, she was throbbing with an orgasm so intense that she cried out. He groaned in victory as her body continued to pulse hungrily.
Only when the pleasure began to subside did he move, sliding up her body and ramming into her with a power that took her breath away. He was firm and demanding, but she adored it. He seemed to sense that she wanted him unfettered and thrust into her fast and deep. Better even than the way he made her feel was the utter abandon in his expression as he took her. He was enjoying every moment of their mating as thoroughly as she was, holding absolutely nothing back.
He came with a delicious cry just as her pleasure crested again. It was pure heaven to throb around his hot, thick cock as he spilled his seed. The timing was so perfect that she wasn’t certain whether they were two beings or one. It seemed to go on and on, suspending them in a moment of raw intimacy. Nothing else in the world mattered as much as the two of them.
Only gradually did the overwhelming sensation subside. As it did, they collapsed into a heap together, limbs entwined, bodies slick with sweat. The tenderness that rushed in where passion had been was just as beautiful and twice as sweet. Suzanne was too sated to do more than lie in Benedict’s arms as he caught his breath. She wanted to say something, but she was beyond words. All she felt capable of was wrapping her body around his and closing her eyes so that they could drift off to sleep together.
In the back of her mind, just before sleep swallowed her, her thoughts hummed with contentment. She didn’t care what it took. For the rest of her life, she would go where Benedict went and be a part of his life. Even if she had to change his heart and his mind to do so.
Chapter Six
Suzanne was correct in her assessment that she was with child. And Benedict was correct in assuming that the business of selling the plantation to Mr. Mortimer and then waiting for the seasons to shift in favor of ships traveling to England would take some time. On top of that, the journey itself was long. So it was a full seven months before Suzanne set foot on British soil for the first time.
“It doesn’t look all that different from the harbor in Charleston,” she said as Benedict helped her to walk down the wobbly gangplank from the ship to the dock in Liverpool. Her stomach protruded obviously in front of her, and yet no one seemed to question that she was Benedict’s wife. Which she certainly wasn’t.
“Liverpool is an industrial port,” Benedict explained. “I’m certain London, or even Portsmouth, would have provided a much more picturesque welcome—”
“But we cannot risk being spotted and recognized by any of your former acquaintances,” she finished for him. “Understood.”
She sent him an impish sideways glance as they reached the dock. He met her look with a conspiratorial grin of his own as he escorted her on to a cozy, dockside café, where they could wait for their baggage to be unloaded and for transportation to Shropshire, where they would be staying until she delivered. Even now that they were in England, Suzanne couldn’t shake the delicious, conspiratorial feelings that her relationship with Benedict raised in h
er. What they were doing was audacious and borderline wicked. But they were doing it together.
She’d spent the last eight months deliberately not thinking about Miss Lucy Haverbrooke and Benedict’s plans to propose to her with an infant heir in his arms. She’d forced herself to live in the moment, to enjoy what time she had with Benedict, and to endear herself to him in the hopes that he might employ her as their baby’s nursemaid. And while they hadn’t shared a bed since the day she informed him his plan was a success, they had shared so many other things.
“Tea?” he asked, helping her sit at a table by a dingy window that looked out on the activity surrounding the newly-docked ship.
“Yes, please,” she sighed, rubbing her stomach.
“One sugar, extra cream,” he said with a smile.
He knew how she liked her tea. He knew that she enjoyed watching people as well, high or low, and had purposely given her a seat where she could see as much as possible. He knew that she preferred Jonathan Swift to William Shakespeare, that she would rather risk her skin browning up in the tropical sun than sit indoors all day, and that she couldn’t abide shellfish. And she’d learned just as many things about him in the past several months—that he generally made a mess while tying his cravat, that he detested vapid conversation, and that, no matter what position he started the evening in, by morning he would be sleeping on his stomach.
Lucy Haverbrooke couldn’t possibly know any of those things.
Her cheery smile faded somewhat as she rested a hand over her belly, where the baby was kicking. In a few months, all of that could be gone.
“Killian, is that you?”
She sucked in a breath and turned to watch as a tall, well-dressed man approached Benedict as he carried two cups of tea across the main room of the small café.
Benedict shot a quick glance in her direction, then smiled at the man who had addressed him. “Richards. How good to see you.”
“I thought that was you. I didn’t realize you were back in England,” the man, Richards, said. He extended a hand as if to shake Benedict’s, then withdrew it. “I see you have your hands full. Are you dining with someone? Do you have a companion?” Richards glanced around.
Suzanne’s eyes went wide. Secrecy was of the essence if Benedict hoped to complete his plan. None of his friends or acquaintances—save for Lord and Lady Herrington, who were giving them the use of a small cottage on their Shropshire estate, Hadnall Heath—knew anything beyond the fact that Benedict was in Antigua, attempting to sell his plantation. To ruin that illusion now was to risk the whole plan going awry.
Benedict glanced her way once more, but Suzanne shook her head.
“I was just fetching tea for this woman,” he said haltingly, his cheeks reddening, as he crossed the rest of the café to hand Suzanne her tea. “There you are, miss.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Suzanne replied in a whisper, bowing her head.
“That was jolly nice of you,” Richards said. “Felicitations on your coming happiness, miss,” he said to Suzanne.
Benedict sent Suzanne another look before stepping to the side with Richards. “I didn’t expect to see anyone of my acquaintance in Liverpool,” he said.
“I was just stopping by to check on Father’s latest business venture,” Richards explained.
“Don’t let me keep you, then.” Benedict smiled.
“Will you be in London for the season?” Richards asked on.
“It depends on whether certain business of my own is settled by then,” Benedict answered.
Richards’s expression turned sympathetic. “I was so sorry to hear about your father.”
“Yes, thank you.” Benedict lowered his head.
Richards placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do look me up when you’re back in London. I long to hear all about your adventures.”
“I will.”
Benedict and Suzanne both watched as Richards nodded to Benedict and headed out of the café, popping a fashionable hat on his head as he did. Benedict craned his neck and watched him walk off through the window before letting out a breath and joining Suzanne at the table.
“I’m so sorry about that,” he said as he sat.
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Not a soul can know about how this baby, your heir, came about. Not if you plan to woo and win the delightful Miss Haverbrooke,” Suzanne said.
Tension filled Benedict’s expression. “Yes. Miss Haverbrooke.” He sipped his tea, hiding his face somewhat with the cup.
Their conversation quickly turned to other things, and Benedict’s mood seemed to improve. They didn’t have to wait terribly long for their things to be unloaded from the ship, and it was not as difficult as Suzanne supposed it would be for him to make arrangements for them to travel the distance to his friend’s estate in Shropshire. That journey was incredibly uncomfortable for Suzanne, what with being unable to find a comfortable position for her increased size in the rocking carriage, not quite having her land legs after such a long sea voyage, and the drizzle that set in once they were away from Liverpool. They were forced to pass two nights in two separate inns along the way, but in a way, that was the highlight of the journey. In both instances, the innkeepers went out of their way to make things comfortable for a young nobleman and his pregnant wife.
All the same, by the time they rounded a hill in the picturesque, Shropshire countryside and made their final approach to a quaint cottage tucked away in a garden, Suzanne could have wept with relief.
“It’s perfect,” she said, happy beyond measure, as Benedict helped her down from the carriage and escorted her on to the cottage. “However did you know to find this place?”
“I’ve been friends with the Herringtons for years,” Benedict explained. “To say that Rufus Herrington and his wife, Lady Caroline, are open-minded is an understatement. In fact,” he glanced back at the main house, just visible on the horizon, “about a year and a half ago, there was a house party on the estate that has gone down in infamy.”
Suzanne laughed as she entered the cottage with him. “My understanding of English house parties is that they are little more than matchmaking events, filled with parlor games, dances, and overbearing chaperones.”
“This one was no exception,” Benedict laughed. “Except that those parlor games were wildly inappropriate and the balls were only preludes to other activities during the night.”
Suzanne clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her giggling.
“As I understand it,” Benedict went on, “quite a few marriages came out of the event. Quite a few sudden, quickly-arranged marriages.”
“How scandalous.”
Anything else she had to say was forgotten as she glanced around the cottage. It was simple but clean, and it felt as though it had been plucked from a fairy tale. The furnishings had a cozy sense of age to them while the carpets and drapes were new and crisp. Someone had built a cheery fire in the front room’s fireplace, and bowls of spring flowers were placed throughout the room.
“This will do perfectly,” she said, stepping farther into the room. “This is exactly the sort of place where one can dream about the future.”
“The future?” Benedict asked.
She turned to him, finding a warm and unreadable expression in his eyes. Eyes that watched her as if she were the hope for his future and not Miss Lucy Haverbrooke. Eyes that made her dream of things she’d fooled herself into believing she could have.
“For your heir,” she said, caressing her stomach. “For his future.” Although, for the first time, she allowed herself to wonder what they might do if the baby turned out to be a girl. If that were the case, he wouldn’t have his heir at all. He would need to try for another.
A happy chill raced down her spine.
“Yes, for him,” Benedict said, stepping forward and standing in front of her.
He gazed into her eyes as if there were a thousand things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find words for any of them. He remained just out of r
each, not touching her, but she could feel his heat and smell the delicious scent of his shaving soap.
No, they hadn’t shared intimacy since that day in Antigua, but the impulse was still there. It was as palpable as the warmth of the sunlight and seeped into her bones as decidedly as the spring rain. She wanted him, there was no denying it. But they were in England now. They were weeks away from his plan coming to fruition. A plan that didn’t include her. At least, not in his heart.
“I should write to my sister,” she said, moving away from him.
“Your sister?” he asked, his voice rough, as he followed her on her restless exploration of the cottage. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”
“I cannot leave her in the dark indefinitely,” she insisted, poking her head into a small, well-furnished kitchen. Benedict had given her the option to cook for the two of them, if she wanted to, but Lord Herrington had offered them the services of a maid and cook who would serve them with the utmost discretion, if they wanted her. “The letter I sent her before departing St. John’s was cryptic at best.”
Benedict moved gravely to her side, clasping his hands behind his back, as he, too, looked into the kitchen. “Don’t you think that might be waving a red flag at Mr. Stanley?”
She shrugged and peeled away from him. It was bittersweet to be so close to him, and the more she thought about how close they were to Miss Haverbrooke, the more bitter it was than sweet. She strode toward a half-opened door that led to a bedchamber instead.
“Hugh left St. John’s months before we did, did he not?” she asked over her shoulder. “I’m certain he gave up and returned to his father’s plantation.”
“Are you certain?”
She let out a breath. No, in fact, she wasn’t. Hugh wasn’t the sort to give up that easily. But they’d traveled so far—both by sea and by land—England was not as vast as America, but it would still be unlikely that Hugh would find her in the middle of Shropshire.
“He won’t find me,” she said. “But my sister deserves to know what has become of me.”
