by Alyssa Drake
Miss Hastings blushed, her skin glowing a delectable pink, and looked away. “I do not remember.”
“Yes, you do,” whispered Benjamin, moving closer until her delicious aroma assaulted him again.
“Death to all bastards,” Miss Hastings answered, staring at his chin.
He lifted her face up again until she stared into his deep eyes, his thumb caressing her tantalizing plump lips. “Do you still feel that way?”
“Yes,” murmured Miss Hastings, visibly shivering from his touch.
Benjamin chuckled again, dropping his wayward hand. He stepped back to allow the evening air to cool his skin; it danced through the gap between them. The breeze did nothing to quell the inferno raging inside him.
“Bad form to attack a man when his back is turned.” Benjamin clucked his tongue softly.
“A woman needs every advantage she can obtain; Edward taught me that.”
“Luckily, I was able to disarm you, before you thrust that tip through my heart.”
“Villains do not have hearts,” Miss Hastings muttered through clenched teeth.
“I believe Edward also forced you to write me an apology.”
Miss Hastings glared at him. “Which I did,” she ground out.
“Yes, you certainly did.” Benjamin smiled. “The first sentence of the letter caused me to burst out laughing. Do you remember what you wrote?” He paused, watching her intently.
Miss Hastings looked skyward, fighting back the embarrassment. With a sigh, she leveled her gaze at Benjamin and recited, “I do not want to, but Edward is making me apologize to you.”
Benjamin chuckled again. “Such prose.”
“Then you did something unexpected,” Miss Hastings continued, ignoring his jab, the memory lighting her eyes.
“I wrote back.”
“You wrote back,” repeated Miss Hastings. “I always wondered why you took the time.”
“Frankly I wondered myself. Your apology was so amusing, I could not help responding. Then your second letter came, less amusing than the first.” Benjamin paused again.
“You will never know how much I appreciated having someone to confide in,” mumbled Miss Hastings, strolling a couple of steps along the balcony before taking a seat on a nearby bench.
Benjamin sat next to her, keeping a respectable distance. “You lost both your parents within less than twenty-four hours of each other; less than one year later you had your own near-death experience. Yet you never spoke of it to anyone. Edward’s voice still haunts me. Normal children should cry. He used to repeat that over and over.”
“I spoke to you,” replied Miss Hastings, twisting her fingers together in her lap.
“Yes, you did,” nodded Benjamin. He offered her a lopsided smile. “Pages and pages of words.”
A flicker danced through Miss Hastings’ eyes. Benjamin already knew the next question before she asked it aloud. It was the only question in the final letter he received from Miss Hastings, all those years ago, the one he never answered.
“You wrote to me for nearly two years. Why did you stop so suddenly?”
Benjamin glanced away. He studied the ivy wrapped over the balcony railing, wrapping a leaf around his finger, wondering briefly if the ivy would support his weight as well. Too many memories to dredge up in one evening; he sighed heavily.
“We thought it was best.” His grave voice barely carried across the distance between them.
“We?” Miss Hastings raised her eyebrows.
“Your great-uncle Ephraim, Edward, and I,” explained Benjamin. “We decided my exploits were not appropriate for you to read about.”
Confusion crossed her face. “You never wrote about anything unsuitable.”
“It was more of a preventative measure.”
“You were my friend,” whispered Miss Hastings, her accusing eyes boring into his soul. “You abandoned me.”
Benjamin looked away again, running his hand through his hair, unsure how to explain. “You were twelve, it was inappropriate.”
“Franklin is older than you and has been writing to me since I was twelve,” snarled Miss Hastings.
“Mr. Franklin Morris is your cousin and a very dear friend of both your parents,” Benjamin retorted. “The circumstances were different.”
Miss Hastings glared at him, biting her tongue. Benjamin swallowed a bitter laugh as he watched her struggle to contain the outburst which bubbled below the surface. Apparently, Mrs. Hastings had been working diligently to stamp out Miss Hastings’ fiery personality with society’s strict rules.
“Samantha,” Benjamin used her intimate nickname to disarm her. She glanced at him. “I was there for you at a time when you needed someone. When it became apparent you no longer needed me, I removed myself from your life. Now, I must be there for you again.”
“I do not need assistance from anyone,” She growled in a very unladylike manner. “Especially villainous rakes like you.”
“You would do best to look out for villains like me,” replied Benjamin without a trace of humor.
“I do not intend to marry a rake. I do not intend to marry at all as I have already explained in great detail, several times this evening. Once Wilhelmina is remarried, I plan to return to Hastings Manor,” she shot back, her blue eyes flashing.
“As your guardian, it is my duty to find you a husband.” Benjamin folded his arms across his chest, adding finality to the argument.
Miss Hastings paused and closed her mouth. She smiled sweetly in response. “But how will you find an appropriate husband, dear guardian, when every man you know is a scoundrel?”
Benjamin edged into her personal space again, inhaling her sweet scent one last time before driving the final wedge between them. “I promised your brother I would see you married, and you shall be. We will not discuss this further. However, for your peace of mind, I will never permit any scoundrel to court you.”
“Well, I will leave the scoundrel hunting to you, my Lord,” her irate words flew like poisoned darts. “After all, you are their leader.”
“Miss Hastings, you wound me.” Benjamin placed a hand over his chest in mock injury. Underneath his fingers, his heart gave a very real–strangely painful–throb.
“I would do more if I was a man.” She stamped on his foot, fleeing his company in favor of the stuffy ballroom.
Chapter Seven
Wilhelmina stepped directly into Sam’s path as she attempted to escape from the ballroom. Sam skidded to a halt, nearly knocking her sister-in-law over. Sam grasped Wilhelmina’s arms to catch her balance, wobbling slightly with the effort.
“Samantha,” Wilhelmina spoke quietly, yet sternly, in the same voice she used to discipline her children.
“Yes?” Sam forced a smile to her lips, sucking in a nervous breath. Her body tingled, aware of Lord Westwood’s intimidating presence approaching behind her.
“Mrs. Hastings,” he interrupted with a short bow. “I was just about to return Miss Hastings to you. She has graciously accepted my offer to approve a suitable husband.”
“I most definitely have not,” Sam spat out, cutting off Wilhelmina’s celebration. Sam’s eyes flashed at Lord Westwood. He grinned, the devilish smile causing her to blush involuntarily, her stomach flipping over twice.
“Alright,” he amended. “She has begrudgingly allowed me to give her guidance in the daunting task of selecting an appropriate suitor.”
Wilhelmina sighed. “Well, at least it is a start.”
Sam glowered at the two of them. “Am I finished being paraded about this party?”
“Unfortunately, you are not,” Wilhelmina chuckled. “Dancing with your guardian…”
Sam bristled at the word, earning a smirk from Lord Westwood.
Wilhelmina continued, ignoring the exchange between the two. “And his brother has not made you available to any suitor in attendance this evening.”
Sam growled, muttering several curses under her breath. Lord Westwood winked at Sam. It irk
ed her how much he enjoyed this exchange with Wilhelmina.
“Nor are we leaving until you have danced with every man on your card,” continued Wilhelmina, without paying the slightest bit of attention to Sam’s profanity.
Sam sighed, deflating. This was one argument she would not win. “Who is going to step on my toes first?”
Wilhelmina produced Sam’s dance card, her face shining. “Mr. Franklin Morris.”
Sam exhaled slowly. She would never turn down a dance with Franklin. He spent a large amount of his life traveling for business, and she rarely saw him. A family member and close confidant who always brought a smile to her lips, Sam wished she could spend more time with Franklin. But if she accepted his request, it would be impolite to refuse the other gentlemen who also requested a dance this evening. Her fingers traced lightly over the elegant dance card.
The green ribbon trailing from the corner matched the hue of her gown exactly. Sam shook her head in disbelief. Always prepared, Wilhelmina managed to plan her outfit down to the tiniest detail. Sam briefly wondered how long Wilhelmina knew Lord Westwood had been appointed her acting guardian. She shivered again at the word.
She had no intention of allowing Lord Westwood to direct her life even if he was Edward’s oldest friend. As far as she was concerned, Lord Westwood would never have the opportunity to foist her onto any man. A flash of anger crossed her face. She glared at him, incensed at the unfairness of the situation.
He cocked his head and bestowed her with a wide, genial smile. She wanted to punch him in his arrogant face. Anger was good, it distracted her from focusing on his hungry eyes and sensuous mouth—a mouth which only minutes earlier reduced her to a dithering debutant.
The memory warmed her skin. She glanced down quickly as the telltale blush colored her cheeks. She felt Lord Westwood’s curious eyes studying her face. She stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the dance card Wilhelmina thrust into her hand. The inside was covered with various types of illegible scribbles.
“Wilhelmina,” whined Sam, staring at the little card. “Almost every dance is taken.”
“Fantastic, is it not?” replied Wilhelmina, squeezing Sam’s arm.
“No,” muttered Sam, her eyes unconsciously rising to Lord Westwood.
“I expect that dance card by the end of the evening,” he stated in a formal tone, his face a blank mask. “Please excuse me, ladies.” He bowed to each lady and moved away to converse with two approaching gentlemen, Mr. Allendale and Mr. Mason.
“Mrs. Hastings. Miss Hastings,” Franklin greeted them with a jovial smile.
“Mr. Morris,” Sam returned his smile warmly. “It is a pleasure to see you again. It has been far too long.”
“Indeed,” agreed Franklin. “If it is possible, you are lovelier than the last time we met. You look more and more like your mother with each passing day.”
Sam flushed. “Thank you, Franklin. You are exceedingly kind.”
Franklin smiled and offered his arm. “I believe this next dance is mine.”
“I would be delighted,” answered Sam, accepting his arm.
“How are you finding city living?” asked Franklin as they joined the other couples on the dance floor.
“I sincerely despise it,” Sam confessed, aware Franklin would never judge her for her complete candor.
“I thought as much,” admitted Franklin with a nod. “When you wrote me you were planning to stay with Mrs. Hastings, I worried high society would not agree with you.” He leaned in with a small wink. “It was hard to imagine you wearing any type of footwear.”
Sam chuckled, lifting her skirt to show her shoes. “I am under strict instruction to leave them on all night.”
“And have you?” teased Franklin.
“Up to this point,” replied Sam in the same joking tone, dropping her skirt again and curtseying in rhythm with the music.
Franklin bowed, once to her and once to the couple on their left. He whispered as the other couple circled them. “The night is young, perhaps you can break some rules later this evening.”
“Did you enjoy India? Your last letter stated you would be remaining there for several months,” Sam asked, changing the topic abruptly. Suddenly overcome by a feeling of homesickness, she tried to distract herself from reminiscing about springtime at Hastings Manor and running barefoot across the vibrant meadow.
“India is very beautiful, filled with exotic creatures,” Franklin launched into a detailed description of the outdoor markets, failing to notice Sam’s lapse in the conversation.
She pondered the melancholy thoughts which lapped over her like ripples in a pond. She supposed the reflection stemmed from her previous conversation with Lord Westwood. A shadow of a smile crossed her face as she recalled the afternoon when she permanently marred Lord Westwood for life. Edward had been aghast. Thankfully, Lord Westwood, then simply Mr. Reid, kept his sense of humor.
“However, the food is much too spicy for my pallet,” Franklin laughed, interrupting her musing. He patted his belly. “I supposed I came back early because I missed Mrs. Clark’s cooking.”
Sam laughed too. Franklin’s cook was renowned for her sumptuous cooking. “I can still taste the cake she sent me for my birthday.”
“I wrote and asked her to bake you something special,” smiled Franklin. “I know how much you like chocolate.”
“Thank you very much. It was heavenly.”
“I shall pass your sentiments on to her.”
Franklin was quiet for a moment, spinning Sam expertly in a small circle. His face scrunched in concentration as though he was contemplating his next statement.
“I imagine you would like to travel, having spent most of your childhood at Hastings Manor.”
“Most certainly. Your stories were always so intriguing and much more interesting than the novels I read,” answered Sam.
“I offered to take you with me once when you were much younger, but Edward was adamantly against the notion. I never inquired again.”
Sam sighed. “My brother discouraged any travel abroad. He disliked the idea of me leaving the country estate.”
“I thought the idea was originally Uncle Ephraim’s.” Franklin tilted his head.
“It was,” confirmed Sam. “He was uncomfortable with the idea of raising a little girl by himself, so he left me safely in the countryside.”
“He did provide you with the best tutors,” countered Franklin.
Sam nodded, ducking under Franklin’s arm. “Education was his foremost concern. That is why the library at Hastings Manor is fully stocked. Every time he came to visit, he always brought a couple of books with him. He claimed he only gave us money from the Hastings estate; however, I believe he paid for a lot of things out his own pocket.”
“I think you underestimate him,” Franklin corrected her gently. “Ephraim was quite meticulous; an astute businessman could not have run your father’s business any better.”
Sam chewed on the thought for a moment, remembering endless lessons of numbers for both Edward and her. Governess McConnell’s pitched face swam into Sam’s mind. She shuddered visibly. The knuckles of her left hand tingled suddenly, a tribute to Governess McConnell’s favorite method of teaching. Perhaps Uncle Ephraim had been wiser than she originally surmised.
“Uncle Ephraim passed control of all the finances to Edward several months prior to his death. With the added pressure of sole control, Edward thought it best for me to remain in the country where I could continue my education undisturbed by the distraction of society.”
Franklin nodded in agreement. “The country is definitely a fine place to raise children.”
“It does have its charms,” agreed Sam, a wistful tone colored her voice.
“If I had ever had children, I would have wanted them to enjoy the country life as well,” Franklin spoke pensively, lost in his own thoughts. “The time has passed for dreams like that though.”
“You are not yet forty, you could sti
ll find a suitable wife,” replied Sam, patting his arm.
“Are you offering?” teased Franklin.
Sam opened her mouth, caught by her own words. “I did not mean, that is to say, I was not…”
Franklin held up his hand. “My dear cousin, I am only teasing. Hopefully, you are familiar enough with my sense of humor to allow me a little joke.”
“Certainly,” Sam smiled in relief.
“I know too well how you abhor the idea of marriage.” Franklin winked as he brought her hand to his lips.
“Pardon me. I believe I have the next dance,” a pleasant voice interrupted their conversation.
Sam looked up at the young man standing next to them. The lights glinted off his hair like grains of sand. His easy, infectious smile was instantly returned by Sam and Franklin.
“I do not believe I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance,” Sam replied, offering an almost acceptable curtsy.
“Captain Daniel Mason,” he replied with a stiff bow.
“Mr. Mason’s younger brother.” Franklin murmured in Sam’s ear. He clasped Captain Mason’s hand. “Captain Mason, we all appreciate the exceptional duty which you perform.”
“Thank you, sir, however, I regret I must steal away your dance partner.”
“The regret is mine,” answered Franklin. He bowed low to Sam, nodded to Captain Mason, and retreated to the edges of the dance floor, pausing to speak with Mr. Mason and his wife.
“Miss Hastings, you and Mr. Morris seemed so intent in your discussion; may I ask what the two of you were talking about so earnestly?” asked Captain Mason.
“Marriage,” replied Sam blithely, chuckling when Captain Mason choked on his response.
“That was not the answer I expected.”
“No, I doubt it was,” grinned Sam.
“Tell me, do you intend on discussing marriage with every dance partner you have this evening?” His face paled a bit.
“Definitely not,” replied Sam emphatically. “I do not wish to have that discussion with any man this evening.” Or any other evening…
