Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2)

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘Does it surprise you to know that a man may enjoy giving you pleasure so much that he feels no need for that release himself?’ Benedict looked at her searchingly.

  Everything about Benedict was a surprise to Genevieve. Before she had met him, spoken with him, she had heard such tales whispered of Lucifer’s cold aloofness amongst the ton, and especially so in regard to women and his relationships with them; anyone less aloof than Benedict a few minutes ago, as he caressed and gave her such pleasure, Genevieve could not imagine!

  ‘Yes,’ she answered him with that honesty she knew he now expected from her.

  He smiled quizzically. ‘You have not found the other gentlemen you have … known … to be so easily satisfied, I think?’

  ‘Other gentlemen?’

  Benedict gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘Your previous lovers.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, yes.’ Genevieve turned her gaze away from meeting that coal-black one. ‘No, I do not believe that they were.’

  Other gentlemen? Genevieve might have spoken so casually a week ago, to her friends Sophia and Pandora, as to the benefits of them all taking a lover, but there had been no man intimately in Genevieve’s life, other than the hateful Josiah Forster, and now the man now lying beside her. But she did not need to have known any other lovers to realise that Benedict was both an experienced and generous one.

  She faced him bravely. ‘If you really do not require me to see to your own needs—’

  ‘I do not,’ Benedict drawled ruefully.

  Her cheeks warmed. ‘Then perhaps it is time for us to leave?’

  ‘If that is what you wish.’

  She avoided his gaze, her throat moving as she swallowed. ‘I think it would be for the best.’

  He looked down at her intently. ‘Genevieve, you are not regretting what just happened?’

  ‘Not for a moment!’ Her eyes were wide with sincerity as she turned back to him. ‘You must believe me when I tell you it was—your lovemaking was the most pleasurable thing I have ever known in my life.’

  Benedict laughed softly at the earnestness of her expression. ‘My ego is not so fragile, love, that you need ever feel you must flatter and pet me—’

  ‘But I assure you it is not flattery, Benedict.’ She gave a firm shake of her head. ‘Indeed, this evening has been a revelation—I have enjoyed your lovemaking so much that I fear you may have ruined me completely in regard to—to lovemaking with anyone else,’ she added huskily.

  A frown darkened Benedict’s brow at the thoughts of Genevieve making love with other men. A perfectly natural reaction, he immediately assured himself, when Genevieve lay still half-undressed and satiated beside him. Tonight, making love to a woman as responsive as Genevieve had been extremely satisfying, but he must not allow that satisfaction to cloud other issues in his life; he still had his work to do for the Crown, and he was no closer in his search for his parents’ murderer now than he had been when he left the army two years ago.

  He nodded abruptly. ‘As you say, it is time we left.’ He stood up and turned away to collect their discarded masks so as to give Genevieve the time, and privacy, in which to straighten and refasten her gown.

  They spoke little as they packed up their things and retied their masks, or as they walked back to take a boat to the other side of the river, where Benedict’s carriage was waiting to take them home, both equally as lost in their own thoughts as they travelled back through the darkened streets to Genevieve’s home.

  ‘Was your visit to Vauxhall Gardens with a gentlemen as enjoyable as you had hoped it might be?’ Benedict prompted softly after walking with Genevieve to her door.

  ‘Very much so.’ She nodded, her lashes lowered on to the warmth of her cheeks. ‘Especially so when that gentleman chose to behave so indecently.’

  Benedict chuckled huskily. ‘How could any man, gentleman or otherwise, possibly behave in any other way when in your beautiful and charming company?’

  Genevieve looked up to give him a reproving glance. ‘Now who is become the flatterer?’

  He raised mocking black brows. ‘Have you never heard it said that Lucifer is given to flattery?’

  ‘Not that I am aware, no.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘But then I believe I spent the evening with Lord Benedict Lucas and not with Lucifer.’

  His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Very sure.’

  He frowned at her certainty. ‘How so?’

  ‘That is easy to answer, my lord.’ Her smile widened. ‘The rakish and decadent Lucifer would never have refused my offer to give him satisfaction.’

  Benedict drew his breath in sharply at the acuity of Genevieve’s words; Lucifer would most definitely not have refused the pleasure that had been offered to him with Genevieve’s lips and hands. ‘I believe it is time you went inside, Genevieve; the wine we drank with our supper seems to have filled your pretty head with yet more nonsense.’

  ‘Now that is Lucifer.’ Her eyes danced with mischief as she added, ‘Unlike Benedict, I believe he enjoys nothing more than being arrogantly condescending to lesser mortals.’

  Benedict’s brows lowered. ‘You talk as if they are two different people?’

  ‘Possibly that is because I believe that they are.’ Genevieve nodded.

  ‘And which of those two gentlemen do you prefer?’

  ‘I have no preference.’ An endearing dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled. ‘Lord Benedict Lucas is handsome and charming, and Lucifer rakish and wicked. Both are deliciously attractive and I do believe the excitement is in not knowing which of the two will appear at any given moment.’

  Benedict gave an exasperated shake of his head. ‘Nonsensical chit.’

  ‘Perhaps that is what you find so … interesting about me?’ She gave him one last mischievous smile before turning and entering the house, the butler softly closing the door behind her, leaving Benedict with the knowledge that there was more, so much more, to Genevieve than that ‘beautiful and charming’ woman he had alluded to earlier …

  Chapter Six

  ‘Why are you sitting here alone in the dark?’

  Genevieve rose sharply to her feet to stare across at the man silhouetted in the doorway to her private parlour. As stated, she was alone in the room, in the darkness, with the curtains drawn across the windows, the candles alight in the hallway behind him the only illumination. Even so, Genevieve would know that voice and silhouette anywhere. ‘What are you doing here, Benedict?’

  ‘I believe I asked my question first.’ He made no effort to enter the parlour, but continued to loom dark and dangerously in the doorway.

  Genevieve gave an abrupt shake of her head. ‘I must have forgotten to light the candles …’

  ‘Forgotten?’ Benedict repeated slowly.

  ‘Yes. I—I had a headache earlier and the sunlight hurt my eyes, nor had I noticed, with the curtains drawn across the windows, that it had become dark.’

  ‘I do believe you are babbling again, Genevieve.’

  ‘And you are intruding upon my privacy!’ Her eyes flashed in the semi-darkness at his obvious mockery.

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly. ‘Which is most interesting, when your butler informed me that you were not at home.’

  She shot him an impatient glance. ‘We both know that it is commonplace for such an excuse to be given when one does not wish to receive visitors—’

  ‘Again,’ Benedict continued as if she had not spoken. ‘I called to see you yesterday morning, and was told the same thing,’ he added hardly. ‘Again this morning. And again just now. And on every one of those occasions I have had no doubts you were very much at home.’

  Genevieve drew in a sharp breath. ‘But, as I have just said, in no mood to receive visitors.’

  ‘Just certain visitors, or all?’

  She was not fooled for a moment by the mildness of Benedict’s tone, knew him well enough to sense the seething displeasure beneath tha
t calm politeness. ‘I told you, I have had a headache—’

  ‘For two days?’

  ‘For as long as I have known you, as it happens!’

  ‘Better,’ he murmured appreciatively.

  She shot him an irritated glance. ‘How is it you managed to find your way in here, Benedict, when I distinctly left instructions I was not to be disturbed?’

  He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘I waited until the butler, having dutifully delivered my dismissal, returned below stairs, before I then quietly let myself back in the house to seek you out.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘In other words, you broke into my home.’

  ‘The door was unlocked.’

  ‘That is no excuse for your arrogance—’

  ‘I will be back in just a moment …’ He stepped back into the hallway, coming back into the room just seconds later with a three-pronged candelabra which allowed that coal-black gaze to look at her critically. ‘Have you been crying?’ he probed shrewdly.

  Yes, Genevieve had been crying. She seemed to have done little else for the past two days.

  ‘Genevieve …?’ Benedict prompted softly at her continued and uncharacteristic silence, deeply concerned by how fragile she appeared in a pale peach-coloured gown, her eyes very big and deeply blue in the pallor of her face. ‘I hope you have not been upset because of what happened between the two of us the other evening?’

  ‘No! No, Benedict,’ she repeated more calmly as he raised dark brows at her vehemence. ‘That evening was, and will remain, one of the most perfect and memorable of my life.’

  ‘Then why have you been crying?’ Benedict stepped further into the tiny parlour before placing the candelabra down on a small side table next to one of the armchairs on either side of the unlit fireplace. ‘And why have you shut yourself away in your own home, turning visitors away at the door and not venturing out yourself?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘How could you possibly know I have not been out and about this past two days?’

  ‘I made it my business to know,’ he answered unapologetically. ‘Just as I know that you have allowed one visitor to call, at least.’ He looked down at her through narrowed lids. ‘Sophia Rowlands. No doubt she came to inform you of her impending marriage to my friend Dante Carfax?’

  ‘Yes.’ And Genevieve was happy for both Sophia and Pandora, felt nothing but admiration for her two friends, because they were both obviously brave to try marriage for a second time. But with her two closest friends now totally absorbed in their new husband or husband-to-be, Genevieve did not feel it right to confide her own present unhappiness to either of them, with regard to William and his rough treatment of her when he had called two days ago. Not that she ever had told Pandora and Sophia the details of her marriage to the elderly Josiah Forster anyway, but they had at least known, and sympathised with the fact, that she admitted to it having been a less-than-happy one. With those two ladies’ own happiness now assured, Genevieve did not feel she could confide in either of them with regard to the continued cruelty of the hated William Forster.

  She schooled her features into ones of calm composure. ‘I am very pleased that both Sophia and Pandora have found happiness at last.’

  Benedict allowed himself a wry smile. ‘But you have, nevertheless, still been crying.’

  ‘But not because of Pandora and Sophia’s obvious happiness!’ she defended herself indignantly. ‘And how dare you first force your way in here, only to then insult me because my red nose and sore eyes are evidence of the tears I have shed?’

  Much, much better, Benedict acknowledged inwardly; he could deal much more ably with a spitting and angry Genevieve than the pale and sad-looking woman he had found when he first entered the parlour. Nor was he convinced that the intimacies they had shared at Vauxhall Gardens two evenings ago were not partly responsible for those tears …

  He frowned darkly. ‘I should like to extend my apologies if my behaviour at Vauxhall Gardens in the least offended you.’

  ‘Why, when I have told you—when I have expressed my—’ She gave an impatient shake of her head, red curls bouncing. ‘An apology is not necessary. How could it be, when you must know how much I enjoyed our … intimacies?’

  Benedict had thought often of the intimacies he had shared with Genevieve these past two days: during the restless night’s sleep which had followed, when the throbbing ache of his own arousal had made a complete nonsense of his assurances to Genevieve that it was not necessary for him to attain his own physical release, and yet again the following morning after being turned away at her door.

  He had even thought about their night at Vauxhall Gardens over lunch at his club and during a meeting with Eric Cargill later that afternoon to discuss how best to use the information received from their French count. This had been followed by another restless night of very little sleep. And the frustration this morning when he was once again refused entrance to Genevieve’s home, despite knowing that Sophia Rowlands had not received that same refusal.

  To have returned this evening, following another unsatisfactory day when he had thought far too much of Genevieve, only to be told once again that she was ‘not at home’ had just been too much.

  Hence his having decided to just walk in once he was able to do so without any of Genevieve’s household staff being any the wiser; he was, after all, an agent for the Crown, able to move with both stealth and speed when the situation warranted it. He had decided that this situation warranted it.

  His expression softened now as he looked down at Genevieve. ‘Your nose is not red nor your eyes looking sore—What is it?’ he demanded as Genevieve drew her breath in sharply when Benedict reached out to take a light hold of the slenderness of her wrist, her face having now turned a sickly grey. ‘Genevieve—’

  ‘Please, Benedict …!’ she groaned as she tried to release even that light grip of his fingers from about her wrist. ‘You are hurting me!’ Tears glistened in her eyes.

  Benedict released her immediately. ‘What is it, Genevieve? Can it be that your bruised wrist is still paining you?’

  ‘I am sure it is getting better.’ She attempted to smile dismissively.

  ‘Show me.’ He held his hand out towards her, palm turned encouragingly upwards.

  ‘No!’ There was pure panic in those expressive blue eyes now as she put her hand behind her back.

  ‘Genevieve …’

  ‘I have told you, it is nothing.’

  ‘Then allow me see that for myself,’ he insisted firmly.

  Her lashes lowered and for several long seconds she looked down at the hand Benedict still held out to her, before slowly, very slowly, lifting her own hand with the other and placing it lightly in his.

  Benedict shot her a searching glance before slowly unwrapping the bandage he discovered still covered her wrist. ‘Who did this?’ he growled harshly once the swelling, and lividness of the purple-and-black bruising about her wrist, was revealed to his angry gaze.

  Genevieve winced at the harshness of Benedict’s tone. ‘I told you, I caught the sleeve of my robe—’

  ‘This was not done by wrenching your arm on a door handle.’ He appeared every inch Lucifer at this moment, his expression coldly angry as he looked down at her.

  Not angry towards her, Genevieve accepted, but towards whoever might be responsible for causing her injury. But to answer him truthfully would, Genevieve had no doubts, cause Lucifer, and not Lord Benedict Lucas, to appear on the doorstep of William Forster’s London home before this day was over, for the sole purpose of inflicting suitable punishment for the other man’s offence against her. An outcome Genevieve might wish for, but could not allow to happen. Not because she did not believe Benedict perfectly capable of besting the other man. Or because William did not fully deserve the retribution Benedict would inflict on her behalf! But she knew William far too well. Knew of his viciousness of nature, both verbally and physically, a viciousness that Genevieve had no doubt would include telling lies about her
if it suited his purpose. As, in this case, it surely would.

  The worsening condition of her arm, rather than its easing, was the very reason that Genevieve had chosen to hide herself away these past two days. Waiting, hoping for its recovery, before she dared to face the eagle-eyed Benedict Lucas again.

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘As I explained to you the other evening—’

  ‘I believe we have already discussed my feelings in regard to being told untruths?’ His voice was dangerously soft.

  Genevieve moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘It looks much worse than it is.’

  ‘Somehow I very much doubt that,’ Benedict bit out harshly. ‘Now tell me how this happened—I will not be answerable for the consequences if you attempt to lie to me again, Genevieve!’ His eyes glittered darkly in warning, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw.

  Genevieve winced at the anger she could see in his glittering black gaze. ‘It is not so very painful.’

  There was a knot of anger lodged in Benedict’s chest and a cold fury inside his head, both making it impossible for him to see any further than the bruising and livid bruises about Genevieve’s tiny wrist. Such a slender and delicate wrist, to have been treated so cruelly. ‘These are fingerprints, Genevieve.’ He placed his own fingers gently about her wrist in demonstration. ‘A man’s fingerprints,’ he added grimly as his own fingers touched the exact same places where those bruises appeared more vivid.

  Genevieve’s mouth now felt so dry she had trouble swallowing, let alone forming an answer, knowing that Benedict’s own strength lay not in subjugating a woman, but in seducing and pleasuring her, and so rendering another man’s physical bullying totally unacceptable to him.

  And she could not bear it, if Benedict were to confront William, for him to learn the ugly truth of her marriage from that hateful man. Nor did she have the courage as yet to tell him of that marriage herself. Perhaps one day, if he were to ask, but not yet. Not yet!

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘The fact that the … discomfort is worse now than the day I caught—when the injury first occurred,’ she quickly amended as she saw Benedict’s frown darken, ‘does seem to imply that I have done more than just bruise the skin,’ she conceded huskily, having found little rest or sleep these past two nights as the discomfort of her wrist and down her arm seemed to increase by the minute.