by Alyssa Drake
“I cannot keep it,” said Miss Hastings, holding out the watch.
“Please,” begged Benjamin softly, closing her hand around the watch. “Take it. Edward would have wanted you to have it.”
“Thank you,” murmured Miss Hastings, regarding him briefly before wrapping it carefully in the handkerchief again and tucking it under her pillow for safekeeping.
Benjamin shook his head, rousing himself from the past. He stood quickly and stumbled toward the door. “I must inform Mrs. Hastings and my mother you are awake,” he stated without turning around and disappeared out the door.
Benjamin left Miss Hastings alone for several minutes, pausing just outside the door as he collected his wayward thoughts. He was sure Edward would not mind that he passed the watch on to his sister. Surely, Edward would never deny her a memento of their father. Benjamin never understood why Edward would allow such a beautiful gift to fall to someone outside the family. It seemed fate wanted him to guard more than just Miss Hastings.
Moonlight pooled on his boots, shining brightly from a nearby window. The rain had eased, allowing the full moon to peek through some errant clouds. Realizing the time of night, Benjamin decided against waking the house. Only three more hours until morning, three more hours he could spend alone with Miss Hastings before he relinquished her back to Mrs. Hastings’ watchful eye. Just talking, he instructed himself sternly, ignoring his mounting desire. Sighing, he quietly reopened the door to his bedchamber.
Miss Hastings did not notice his entry. He decided to watch her furtively from the shadows of the doorway. Carefully, she pulled the blanket off and slid out from under the sheets. She gasped as her feet touched the cold ground. She fell back onto the bed where she laid for some moments, cursing the floor.
Benjamin struggled not to laugh. He clamped his hand over his mouth, inching into the room further. Softly, he closed the door behind him. The door made a tiny click, but she did not hear the sound.
Struggling up again, Miss Hastings leaned forward, supporting her weight on the nearby chair. Inching toward the window, she grabbed a heavy drape and attempted to pull it to the side. She wrestled with it a few moments before pausing to catch her breath. She hung onto the drape tightly, blowing wayward tendrils of hair out of her face, before yanking on the material again.
“What are you doing?” Benjamin’s voice startled her.
She lost her grip on the drape and wobbled, collapsing on the floor. Her nightdress rode high around her thighs as she sprawled gracelessly, showing more skin than she ever intended. Clearly embarrassed, she tore at the cloth while trying to sit up, the telltale flush coloring her features.
A very ungentlemanly thought took hold of him as he stared at her thighs, desire pouring through his body. This may not have been the best decision.
“A gentleman would turn his back at this point,” she accused, still wrestling with her nightdress, “or at least attempt to help me out of this position.”
“I thought we already established I am not a gentleman.” His eyes hungrily roved over her bare legs. His hand gripped the door handle to prevent himself from moving closer to temptation. Mentally, he drew an invisible line between them, vowing to remain safely on his side.
“You are my guardian,” Miss Hastings sputtered.
“Even guardians have their limits,” Benjamin grimaced, keeping his distance from her. His knuckles turned white from the force with which he gripped the door handle.
Miss Hastings stretched the fabric over her legs and glared at him. “You could at least help me up.”
“True, but I fear my rakish manner might cause me to take advantage of your current position, and since I am a cad, your virtue is best served if I remain over here.” That was good, keep teasing her. Now if only he could get her back into the bed without doing something they both would regret. “However, you still have not answered my original question. What are you doing?”
“I wanted to open the drapes,” she replied from her seated position, her legs tucked awkwardly under her.
“In the middle of the night?” he questioned, his burning eyes finally rising to her face. His fingers lost their hold. He grabbed blindly behind him but could not regain his grip—now only his resolve was standing between them, and that was melting fast.
“I did not know what time it was,” she huffed, moving to her knees. One thick chestnut curl fell across her face.
That one tiny movement destroyed his resolution. He could no longer fight his attraction to her; nor could he remember any reason why he should. In one movement, Benjamin crossed the room and gathered her into his arms. Her soft hair caressed his arms, sending shivers down his spine. He nestled her against his chest and flung open the curtains with one hand. The moonlight lit up the room, framing the bed in an ethereal light.
Benjamin turned and carried her back to the bed—his bed, he thought with delight. A sinful pleasure rippled in his gut. She seemed unaware of the torment she inflicted on him. Benjamin gently placed her among the down pillows, brushing the aggravating curl out of her eyes. She stared at him, naivety seeping from her blue pools, and he longed to answer her question of wonder. Her hands fluttered to his chest as he leaned over to adjust the pillows behind her head. Shuddering, Benjamin pulled back quickly as if burned, his skin searing from where her fingers had touched him.
He wanted to leave. He needed to leave, but he could not. Her skin called to him, an intoxication begging for fulfillment. Benjamin leaned forward slowly, allowing her ample time to protest. He inched forward, his lips aching to taste her sweetness. Closer and closer he moved until his breath brushed her fevered skin. Finding no resistance, he descended, attacking her lips with all the pent-up frustration he had felt over the last few days. His unplanned assault began softly, suckling on her lip softly before his need demanded all her attention. He nibbled on the corners of her mouth, and she allowed his tongue to push roughly past her lips. With a groan, he tasted strawberries, so sweet and juicy.
It was not enough, his mind raged—not enough just to kiss her. He wanted to taste her, every part. He wanted to possess her and claim her. His pants bulged uncomfortably. Without thinking, he moved on top of her, his hands wandering in sensuous circles under her nightdress. He heard her moans and felt her raise her hips against his, innocently and unknowingly. She kissed him with the same intense urgency he felt coursing through his blood. He pulled at the sash of her nightdress, revealing her soft breasts. A cry tore from his lips, and he lowered his head to her nipples, capturing one between his teeth. Gently tugging, his caressing hand dragged an insensible groan from her lips.
Her nightdress now rested around her waist, a pool of silk. While one hand cupped and rubbed the breast he suckled, the other slid down to her knee, caressing the uncovered skin. That hand moved painstakingly slow up her thigh, resting just before the entrance to her mound. He kissed her again, feeling her passion growing with each stroke. With one quick movement, he flicked his finger over the exposed bud. She writhed with pleasure, thrusting her hips against his hand with abandon.
“More,” she whimpered in a strained voice. “I want more.”
“Samantha,” Benjamin answered gruffly, her voice sent fire burning through his veins. “I want to give you more, so much more.”
His mouth captured hers again, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. His hand performed the most incredible violations, bringing her to a shattering climax. His name tumbled incoherently from her lips like a prayer. He felt himself straining against her for release. His hips crushed against hers, pressing his arousal on her virginity. She laid, panting, her body still shivering from his touch. Her arms wrapped around his heaving chest, asking for something but not knowing what. As her fingers brushed the bulge in his britches, he felt himself implode with pleasure. His mouth clamped unforgivingly against hers, bruising her lips.
“No,” suddenly Benjamin pushed away. “No, I cannot.”
He stood up quickly, his eyes raking over
her half-naked body. He dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head, upset by his lack of control, every moral of resolve in his head screamed with loathing. He stared wild-eyed at Miss Hastings who was just returning to her senses. He watched the passion drain from her eyes, and he fled the room, unwilling to see the resentment cross her face.
Racing to the study, he bolted himself behind the heavy door and poured a glass of whiskey. Berating himself, Benjamin called himself every foul name that came to his mind. She was his charge, still inexperienced about love, and he had presumed to destroy her innocence. This innocence, so freely given, was no excuse for his lack of judgment. He could have ruined her reputation and any chance to find a suitable husband. Edward would never forgive him. Benjamin could never forgive himself. Any moment, Mrs. Hastings and his mother would come barging in, demanding he remedy this terrible situation. He readied himself for the barrage of threats, but none came.
Miss Hastings remained ensconced in her sick room the entire day with Mrs. Hastings and his mother sitting patiently at her side. Her nieces’ laughter traveled down the stairs as they galloped back and forth across the landing. Periodically, Miss Hastings’ musical, slightly throaty voice reached his ears. He strained to hear the conversation but could not make out any words.
She must think the worst of him—he thought the worst of himself. Was she really so much better a person as to forgive his horrid behavior? Or in her innocence, did she blame herself for his indiscretion? He needed to fix this, immediately.
Benjamin was halfway up the stairs before he paused, realizing this was not a matter to discuss in front of witnesses. He turned and slowly descended the stairs, his dejected thoughts circling like buzzards. Desire raged through his loins, demanding satisfaction. Never again, he vowed. She needed a husband as soon as he could find one. He needed to be rid of her before his attraction destroyed them both.
Benjamin paced for several hours, contemplating his situation. His obsession spiked with each newly thought of suitor. Not one would do. They were too poor, too old, or too inconsiderate. One, he surmised, might even be too tall. Benjamin shook his head. None of them were right for Miss Hastings. She needed someone special, a man who would appreciate every virtue and every vice. What about you? He paused, listening to the small voice, considering his options.
Perhaps there was a way to get her through the season without ever approving of a suitor. Perhaps there was a way he could make sure she never ended up with another man. He burned with anticipation.
What about him? He needed to get married, and she needed a husband. It would be the perfect arrangement. She could provide him with an heir, and he would allow her to spend the rest of her life happily managing the country estate. He would never have to share her with another man. Maybe one day, she would learn to love him. Plus, he would be fulfilling both his promises to his father and to Edward.
A perfect plan; Benjamin breathed a deep sigh. All his frustration evaporated into the air like wisps of smoke from a fine cigar. He glanced out the window. Somehow, he had lost an entire day debating this prickly situation. His stomach grumbled, protesting a lack of food and he decided to search the kitchens for some late-night provisions.
Humming absently, he wandered down the hallway, the toe of his boot just crossed the kitchen’s threshold when a knock came at the front door. Only tragedy would cause someone to call this late. Benjamin sprinted down the main hall, his hunger forgotten. Ripping open the door, Benjamin gaped in shock.
A ghost hovered on the porch, his pale features shining from a nearby street lamp. It bustled past Benjamin into the hallway, shrugged off a worn coat and crossed into the formal sitting room where a fire still crackled. The corpse of a man, dead two years, stood swaying, dripping raindrops on the hearth, the firelight flickering ominously over his hardened features. The man wrapped a sinewy arm around Benjamin’s broad shoulders and addressed him informally.
“Benjamin, it is good to be back.”
Benjamin stared unbelievingly, watching his perfect plan burn with the logs glowing brightly in the fireplace. After a moment, he regained his speech.
“Edward,” he whispered. “Welcome home.”
Chapter Fourteen
18 hours earlier…
Immobile with shock, Sam stared at the door Lord Westwood had disappeared through moments earlier. He had just walked out, well, ran out was a better description. She fought the tears which pricked her eyes, feeling as though she had been slapped across the face. Memories came flooding back from the past hour, pictures which caused her to flush in embarrassment.
One other memory surfaced in her mind. The image of Lord Westwood, conflicted as he stood in the shadows, gripping the door handle, his face strained from the war he was waging inside. Had she somehow seduced him? Was it possible he lost the battle between guardian and rake? She should be grateful he came to his senses before some irreversible disaster occurred. On the other hand, she was furious he took such liberties, considering her lack of experience—a subject he had gleefully pointed out on several occasions.
Sam tossed fitfully in the bed—his bed. She could still feel his hands stroking her skin, burning caresses which caused her to writhe in the bed restlessly. Kicking the bedcovers off her legs, she reached for a nearby candle. She paced the room slowly, approaching the door as if to leave, then changing her mind at the last moment. Twice she placed her hand on the brass door handle, wanting to demand an explanation for his bewildering behavior. In the end, she gave up and went back to bed.
Sam spent the day conflicted. The addition of her nieces and Wilhelmina barely distracted her from ruminating on the events of the early morning. This was not a subject she could discuss with Wilhelmina who, upon the first mention of indiscretion, would demand restitution. Nor could Sam discuss this confusing matter with Lady Westwood. Instead, Sam drowned quietly in her mind, pretending to enjoy the company of Wilhelmina and the girls.
The day passed painfully slow, seconds crawling like hours. To her great disappointment, Lord Westwood never reappeared. Not after breakfast, not after lunch, not even after tea—she felt rejected. His abandonment–a sharp smack to her self-confidence–grew more and more noticeable as the day progressed. Even Lady Westwood commented on his absence when she stopped in to have tea.
Despite her intention to rage at Lord Westwood, a miniscule part hoped for one more moment alone; one more kiss. She shivered. He truly was the most seductive, dangerous man she had ever met. Picturing his lips drawing intricate patterns across her skin, Sam blushed. She could think of nothing but his wicked mouth.
Wilhelmina slapped a wet cloth over Sam’s face, startling her from her daydream. Sam sputtered, clawing at the cloth. Wilhelmina pressed Sam back against the pillows with a cluck. “You look flushed, Samantha.”
Sam sighed, rolling her eyes.
“I saw that.”
“My face is under a cloth how can you see anything?”
“I felt it.”
Politely refusing dinner, Sam encouraged her family and Lady Westwood to dine downstairs. Sam cited fatigue, a pathetic excuse, but Wilhelmina accepted it and ushered the girls out of the bedroom. Once the room emptied, Sam leapt off the bed as if burned. Agitated by her thoughts, she paced the length of the room.
She could smell Lord Westwood in the air, in the chair, even in the bed. She flushed again, ashamed how the smell drove the erotic direction of her thoughts. Trying to suppress her fantasy, she inhaled deeply to clear her mind, but the musky scent overwhelmed her senses. She could still taste him on her tongue.
No! She was only here this season to help Wilhelmina remarry, then she could return to her quiet country life. No pesky man was going to order her about and try to run her life.
Sam slapped her hand on the bed. No more thoughts about Lord Westwood. He was her guardian, intent on marrying her off to the first available bachelor and nothing more. Her eyes flitted back to the disheveled bed, remembering his intense gaze, the way his
hands traveled over her skin. Was that all a lie? She paced the room once more, mulling over the rest of the evening until the moon once again shone high in the sky.
“This is silly,” Sam spoke aloud, her words echoing in the room.
Grabbing her shawl, she wrapped it around her shoulders as she quietly opened the door and padded down the hallway, searching for Lord Westwood’s temporary room. She paused at the top of the stairs. Deep voices traveled from the sitting room. Sam cocked her head trying to make out the voices. Lord Westwood’s voice she recognized immediately, but the other man, whose voice sounded vaguely familiar, she could not place.
Who could Lord Westwood be talking to at this late hour? Curious, she crept down the stairs and peeked into the study through the partially open door. Lord Westwood sat in the chair opposite her, his body relaxed, a glass of brandy resting precariously on the arm of the chair.
Sam could not see the other man. She assumed he sat in the other chair, nearest to the fireplace. His shadow danced on the wall, wavering with the flames in the hearth. Her heart plunged into an ice-cold bath. This man must be one of the suitors to which Lord Westwood kept threatening to marry her. He must have spent the day interviewing gentlemen, and now, he had made his decision.
Suddenly, her heart ached. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. How childish of her to think Lord Westwood cared about her. This morning was just another lesson regarding her inexperience with men, and she had believed him. Sam could barely control her anger. She berated herself for imagining he was anything more than a callous brute.
The other man spoke again. Sam pressed herself against the door, trying to overhear their conversation. The door she leaned against squeaked slightly. Sam held her breath, backing slowly away from the door, but the gentleman continued talking without a pause. Hopefully, neither man noticed the sound. Taking a step forward again, Sam peered into the room again.
