“And mothers are hesitant to allow their sons to embark on their grand tour, afraid that time spent out of the country is to blame for the unfavorable change,” another one of the voices he didn’t recognize added.
“I detest the unfairness of it all,” Lady Gillian fumed. “A man can be involved in several unscrupulous pursuits, consort with his mistresses and drink himself under the table and the ton will simply turn a blind eye, but the minute one steps out in public with his appearance not up to snuff, the man is suddenly beneath everyone’s touch. It’s not logical.”
“Of course it’s not, but it’s the way of our world. You better be careful whom you voice your opinions to, lest they find you very forward thinking and label you a radical.”
“You are right, Lady Lydia, but it doesn’t have to stop me from being polite to the man.”
“Just be careful that you don’t give him the wrong impression.”
“I will. I just feel deeply sorry for him.”
Benedict fumed at her words—he didn’t want her pity. He slowly backed away from the door and retreated down the hall, pulling himself into an alcove and exhaling in frustration. He heard footsteps and the rustling of skirts in the hall and tilted his head ever so slightly so he could see into the hall without being seen. He watched as Miss Graham and two of her friends walked by, heading in the direction of the ballroom, but Lady Gillian was not with them.
As soon as they disappeared from sight, Benedict withdrew from the alcove. He had a few choice words for Lady Gillian, and he knew exactly where to find her.
***
Gillian turned to watch the glowing embers of the fire as her friends exited the library. She needed some time alone to think before returning to the ball. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt so defensive of Lord Danford, except that she’d had glimpses of the man behind the clothing and found him to be captivating.
The clicking of the door caused her to startle and she turned expecting to see one of her friends had returned, only her eyes beheld Lord Danford instead, his gray eyes dark and a devilish look on his face.
Gillian put one hand to her breast, hoping to still her racing heart. “Lord Danford, it would not be well for us to be found alone like this.”
He held up a brass key as he stalked slowly towards her. “No one will find us. I have locked the door.”
Gillian watched nervously as he moved closer, feeling as if he was a predator and she was his prey. As he neared her, she felt her heart beat frantically, and she began to feel faint. The shadows from the fire danced across his menacing face and for a moment she thought he looked like the devil himself.
Her breath hitched as he came close, and she stumbled backwards, her back hitting painfully against the papered wall. An angry gleam flashed in his eyes as he reached his hands up and placed them on the walls beside her face, blocking her in. His face lowered towards hers, so closely that she could see the short, dark stubble across his jaw.
“I do not need your pity,” he hissed, his warm breath fanning across her face as he spoke.
“Whatever are you talking about?” she asked, his nearness causing her brains to jumble.
“I overheard your conversation just now, and I do not wish for you to be polite to me only because you feel sorry for me.”
Gillian felt the blood rush to her cheeks at his words. “You were eavesdropping on us,” she accused, her voice shaking with anger. “How dare you!”
She took several angry breaths as she waited for him to respond, to apologize for his actions and move away from her person, but he did neither. Instead, he lowered his mouth dangerously close to hers and whispered fiercely, “Next time you are tempted to feel sorry for me, I want you to remember this.”
His lips pressed forcefully against hers and Gillian gasped. An odd tingling coursed through her body, and her knees went weak as he grasped her head with his large hands and began twining his fingers in her hair. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as several pins fell from her coiffure and clattered to the ground.
“Lord Danford,” she mumbled in a weak protest while he pressed scorching kisses to her jaw.
“Benedict. Call me Benedict,” he urged.
She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t remember what she was going to say while he was touching her in ways no man ever had. “Benedict,” she managed to breathe airily before his mouth returned once more to hers.
His lips moved expertly and hungrily over hers, and Gillian surprised herself by responding just as eagerly. Every thought fled her mind as he kissed her with a passion she didn’t know existed, until he suddenly pulled back, withdrawing his contact from her body fully. Gillian reached up to touch her bruised lips while Benedict stared at her, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with passion.
Anger warred with desire as she watched him watching her, neither of them speaking. When he finally spoke, the anger won out. “Don’t ever waste your pity on me again. If you’re tempted to feel sorry, feel sorry for yourself because no man will ever illicit the same passionate response from you that I just did.”
Gillian reached up her hand and slapped him as hard as she could. His eyes widened in shock as his head rolled to the side. His hand went up to touch his reddened cheek, and she heard the sound of ripping fabric and watched as the seam on his shoulder split wide open, exposing his yellowed shirtsleeve beneath. Gillian would have laughed, had she not been so insanely angry.
“Don’t ever touch me again,” she warned as her voice shook.
“You could only be so lucky,” he retorted haughtily. Gillian would have slapped him again for his odious comment had he not quickly turned and exited the room, leaving her in a complete state of awe.
Warm tears welled up in her eyes as confusion settled into her being. She had thought he was a gentleman, a friend of sorts, but he was truly a cad. But if he was such a horrible devil, why did his touch excite her and leave her yearning for more of his seductive kisses?
Gillian dropped to the floor and began searching furiously for her lost hair pins. It was only because she had nothing else to compare it to, she reasoned. Perhaps if she experienced another gentleman’s kiss, Benedict’s would be forever erased from her mind and she could forget about the dreadful man forever.
Yes, she thought to herself, that was the solution. She rose from the floor with a new determination. She would forget about Benedict St. Claire if it was the last thing she ever did.
Chapter 9
Benedict wasn’t surprised when Marcus arrived at his townhouse during the early morning hours. What did surprise him was the fact that it had taken him two days to make an appearance. It had been two days since Benedict had sent an invitation to Miss Graham asking her to accompany him to the theatre. She had promptly replied her acceptance, leaving Benedict to anxiously await Marcus’s arrival.
He was sitting in his study going through a pile of invitations, albeit a rather small one, when the door flung open, revealing a deadly looking Marcus. “What in the blazes do you think you are doing?”
Benedict casually twined his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair, giving Marcus an innocent look. “Responding to these various invitations, of course. What does it look like I am doing?”
Marcus lunged forward, his fists clamped tightly together as if he was prepared to strike him. “You know precisely what I am referring to, you nincompoop. You are supposed to be courting Lady Gillian, not my sister,” he hissed angrily.
Benedict cocked one brow, affecting an air of nonchalance. “Can I not do both?”
Marcus lunged at him then. His fist sliced through the air and landed a blow to Benedict’s jaw. Benedict’s head snapped back, but it only took a moment for him to react. Pouncing to his feet, he moved swiftly from behind his desk and threw his fist at Marcus’s face, making contact with his left eye.
Marcus cursed, bringing one hand up to his eye where a bruise was already beginning to form. “Recant your invitation to my sister. I w
ill not allow her to be seen in your company.”
“You will not allow it?” Benedict scoffed. “You are not her guardian. I assumed your father had no qualms about her escorting me to the theatre when I received her positive reply. Stay out of it.”
“She is my sister, fiend seize it, and you are a—“
“Unfashionable half-wit? Yes, exactly what you idiots desired me to be, correct?”
“That’s not it,” Marcus stammered. “I know what you really are, and I forbid you to get near my sister. Your guise as a fool is just that, a ruse. You have a reputation with the ladies that precedes your return to England. You are a rake, a cad, a—“
“I am not but a man trying to win an asinine bet issued by his idiotic friends,” Benedict ground out between clenched teeth. “I am not seeking to ruin your sister, nor am I attempting to court her. My only wish is to make Lady Gillian jealous.”
For a moment Marcus was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was skeptical. “You wish only to use my sister as a pawn in your game?”
Benedict felt uncomfortable when he put it like that. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, trying to ignore his throbbing jaw. “Marcus, I do not wish to hurt Serena. You know I would never do that. I think of her as a little sister, and I think you can rest assured that her feelings towards me are completely brotherly as well. I thought I was making progress with Lady Gillian but after…after we experienced a sort of catch in the road if you will, I had to think of something to push her along. I concluded that jealousy would be my tool, and your sister would be the perfect instrument. She could very well be one of the few ladies in London willing to be seen with me in public, for she remembers I wasn’t always such a pariah.”
Marcus exhaled long and loud. “I still do not like it,” he stated without yielding, the angry glower never leaving his face.
“Blast it all! I wasn’t asking for your permission, Marcus. Do you think I like the position you buffoons have put me in? If it wasn’t for Griffin threatening to break my mother’s heart, I would have never agreed to this vacuous plan. But, since you forced my hand, I will go to whatever lengths it takes to protect my mother and win Lady Gillian’s heart.”
“I will talk to Griffin,” he stated matter-of-factly as if that would lay matters to rest.
“It won’t do any good,” Benedict pointed out. “He’s possibly the most stubborn man in all of England. Besides, I do not wish to call the bet off now; for once I win, victory will be sweet. I cannot wait to torment you fools like you have tormented me. It will be sweet justice to dictate whom you will wed and then sit back and watch as your misery unfolds.”
Marcus glared at him, his jaw twitching angrily. “Do whatever you have to do,” he finally conceded, “but if you hurt Serena in any way, I will call you out. Mark my words.”
“Duly noted,” Benedict said respectfully. He could not fault a man for protecting his sister, whom he loved dearly. He imagined he’d feel the same way had he had one of his own.
With one final glare, the usual chipper Marcus turned on his heel and disappeared from the study, leaving Benedict standing in the empty room with nothing but a firm resolve to end the bet quickly and a bruised and throbbing jaw.
***
Gillian sat in Lord Evander’s private box at the Theatre Royal, highly anticipating the production of a new tragedy called Fredolfo. But even more than she anticipated the night’s performance, she was anticipating Lord Evander’s kiss.
Dressed in one of her favorite gowns, Gillian had gone to extra lengths to insure that she looked flawless. The lavender silk gown was draped in a sheer overlay, with a wide purple ribbon tied tightly beneath her bosom. The wide v neckline exposed a fair, yet still modest, amount of décolletage. She was wearing a strand of pearls that had been a gift from her father at her coming out. Her lady’s maid had curled her dark locks meticulously before piling them atop her head and weaving a thin ribbon throughout.
“I hope you do not mind me saying that you look exceptional tonight,” Lord Evander said as he leaned in closely.
Gillian smiled her most radiant smile. “But of course not, my lord,” she said before glancing quickly towards her mother sitting next to her to see if she was listening to their conversation. When it appeared she was not, she turned to him once more. “I think you look quite splendid yourself.”
Lord Evander appeared pleased. Gillian gave him a coy smile before returning her attention to the stage. Soon, the curtains were lifted and the production began. Gillian sat still the entire time, her eyes trained on the stage, but not really absorbing what was occurring. Instead, her mind was furiously trying to figure out how she could entice Lord Evander to kiss her and how she would do that with her mother as her chaperone.
Several times throughout the performance, Gillian peeked at her mother out of the corner of her eye, hoping and praying that she would drift asleep as she often did when they attended the theatre, but much to her great frustration, her mother seemed utterly and fully absorbed in the play. Gillian wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to entice Lord Evander to kiss her, but she did know it would not be possible with her mother present.
Letting out an imperceptible sigh of frustration, Gillian once more allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts. Ever since the night in the library when Lord Danford had branded her with his scorching kiss, she had thought of little else but the need to eradicate his touch from her memory. Actually, that was a lie—she had also spent an inordinate amount of time remembering the way his hands danced across her scalp, sending tingles from her head down to the tips of her toes. She also couldn’t seem to erase from her memory the way he tasted as his lips molded over hers with fervency.
Gillian shivered at the memory as Lord Danford intruded upon her thoughts for the millionth time since that fateful night. This was precisely why she needed to get Lord Evander to kiss her, so she could erase the vivid memories from her mind and replace them with new ones. Lord Danford had conceitedly proclaimed that no man would ever elicit such passion from her, and she was determined to prove him wrong.
In what felt like no time at all, it was intermission and to her great frustration, Gillian had still not concocted a feasible plan. As the curtains lowered, her mother rose regally from her seat. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I wish to go speak with Lady Tisdale before the play resumes.”
“But of course, madam.” Lord Evander rose and bowed politely as her mother exited the box.
Gillian watched her mother’s retreating figure with a sense of triumph—now was her time to act, she thought excitedly. She’d have to be quick if she wished to avoid her mother returning and catching her.
Gillian straightened her back as Lord Evander turned to her. “Are you enjoying the play, my lady?”
“Very much,” she lied as she batted her lashes slowly yet coquettishly at him.
Her heart beat wildly as Lord Evander smiled and surprised her by slipping his hand lightly over her gloved one. “As am I. Though I must confess, I have been so distracted by your presence I haven’t enjoyed it as thoroughly as I should have.”
Gillian’s pulse stilled in anticipation. Perhaps it would be easier to entice him to kiss her than she thought. She knew she only had a brief time before her mother returned, so she’d have to act quickly. She leaned close and lowered her eyes to his lips, “I hope you do not think less of me for admitting it, but I too have been distracted by your presence.”
Lord Evander audibly gasped as his head came closer. Gillian decided to help move things along and moved her face so that it was within inches from his and parted her lips slightly, anticipating his kiss. Before she knew what was happening, Lord Evander was pressing his lips gently against hers. Her first thought was elation at the fact that she had been successful in her goal, but the elation was short lived as it was soon replaced with a deep chasm of disappointment.
Lord Evander’s lips were cool and soft, but they elicited not even a spark of emotion fr
om her. His kiss was passionless. In fact, she felt much like she did when she kissed her mother on the cheek. Gillian pulled back quickly at that thought, for surely it wasn’t proper to feel as if she was kissing her mother when receiving a gentleman’s kiss.
Lord Evander’s face broke out into a pleased grin as he searched her face for a reaction. Gillian tried to force a smile, but her lips felt paralyzed, and not by passion. She was about to apologize for her forwardness when a familiar voice intruded upon them.
“Pardon the interruption; it seems we have the wrong box.”
Gillian looked up at Lord Danford and cringed. He was standing in the entrance of their box with Miss Graham on his arm, a purplish bruise marring his jaw. She curiously wondered what had caused the injury as her face heated, but she would never give him the satisfaction of inquiring after his well-being. She desperately hoped he had not seen what had occurred between her and Lord Evander.
“Lady Gillian, how do you do?” Miss Graham asked politely, with a smile on her face.
Gillian normally liked the girl immensely, but seeing her on Benedict’s arm caused an angry jealously to surge suddenly and unexpectedly within her. Had he kissed Miss Graham the way he had her? The thought made her cheeks bloom with color.
“I am well, thank you,” she responded in clipped tones.
“I hope you are enjoying the play as much as Lord Danford and I,” she said, completely unaware of Gillian’s unbecoming feelings towards her.
Gillian forced her voice to sound light and flirtatious as she looked into Lord Evander’s eyes. “I have hardly paid any mind to the play, with such a distracting escort and all.”
Miss Graham giggled. Gillian looked lazily up at Lord Danford, hoping she had convinced him with her act. The earl’s eyes were dark as he bowed stiffly before them. “Again, I apologize for the intrusion; we will be on our way back to our own box and leave you to enjoy one another’s company.”
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