Benedict's Commands

by Golden Angel

  She’d been insensible when he’d finally wiped down her trembling stomach and breasts with a warm, damp cloth. Although she did remember whimpering when he’d run the cloth over her nipples and pussy, which were still sore and a much darker color pink than they usually were.

  She’d never be able to look at a laundry line again without blushing.

  The things Benedict had done with those clothespins… pure wickedness. It exercised her imagination… what she must have looked like! But then her inner muscles would tremble, rather than clench, and she’d find herself whimpering again.

  Although the hot bathwater felt lovely on her sore muscles, she found it rather stung her more sensitive bits. Which aroused her all over again, even more than her memories. Sighing, she slid further into the water, leaning back against the sloped curve of the tub, and allowed herself to just relax.

  Lady Carmichael’s musicale was this afternoon and Lady Winslow’s ball was this evening but neither were major events. Christina could reasonably cry off, claiming a headache.

  Even if that was the one part of her body which didn’t ache.

  ******

  Departing the house before they could be dragooned into going to an afternoon of debutantes demonstrating their musical talents in a bid to catch a husband - although, this early in the Season it was more practice for later, more well-attended events - Benedict and Isaac hied off to White’s, congratulating each other on their escape. Last year they’d been obliged to take turns escorting Arabella to such events, to ensure she made the right kind of connections - their great-aunt had tried, but she had not made a forceful enough chaperone for such a wily and spirited young woman. This year they were able to leave such outings to Lydia, but she had the unfortunate view that they should still be her and Arabella’s escort to at least some of the events.

  It was well enough for Isaac, who was no longer a matrimonial prospect and could hide behind his wife’s skirts when the bored ladies of the ton approached to see if he might be interested in non-matrimonial prospects, but for Benedict such gatherings were near torture. Not only was he besieged by both the marriage-minded and those interested in clandestine liaisons, but either could easily queer his pitch when it came to Christina. And on top of all that was the deadly dull nature of musicales and afternoon teas themselves.

  Arabella thought they were deadly dull too, but she went because Lydia said they must. Gentlemen on the hunt for a bride often indicated their earnest intent by their attendance to such events, which other gentlemen assiduously avoided.

  Benedict was grateful his own intended bride was no debutante and thus he was spared that particular torment. Having an actual appreciation for music only made musicales more tedious, as very few debutantes had any real acumen, and even less possessed true talent.

  On the way to White’s, he and Isaac caught up chatting about business, Isaac’s current interest in railways and Benedict’s investments in the Funds. When Isaac slyly asked how Benedict’s courtship was proceeding, he made a face.

  Despite Christina’s response to him last night and her utter trust in him, he had no idea whether or not he was making any headway into changing her mind on the subject of marriage. Trusting him with her body was one thing, trusting him with her future was another.

  “There’s always Gretna Green,” Isaac said, chuckling at his brother’s misery. Much as Benedict had chuckled at Isaac when he’d been trapped into marriage by Lydia. Obviously, if Lydia had been a social-climbing, gold-digging harridan, it wouldn’t have been funny, but since she’d been quite clearly not, both Benedict and Arabella had enjoyed the entire situation immensely.

  “As she reminded me, she would still have to utter the requisite vows,” Benedict said with an exasperated sigh. “Something she’s currently still unwilling to do.”

  “You didn’t actually bring up Gretna Green to her?” Isaac asked, now outright laughing at him. Benedict shot him a darkling look as they entered White’s, the soothing dark paneled wood and masculine furnishings soothing at least some of his nerves. There was certainly something to be said for a purely masculine retreat, especially when a gentleman was feeling in need of bolstering. The majordomo bowed them in, his keen gaze flicking over their attire with approval.

  In the corner of the main room, Thomas Hood, eldest son of Viscount Hood, waved his hand in greeting, causing the men he was sitting with to turn and look. His youngest brother Felix was with him as well as the Earl of Spencer. Felix made a beckoning motion, which Isaac and Benedict were more than happy to respond to. The whole group of them had become rather close last year; Felix had married Arabella’s best friend Gabrielle, but not before the two ladies had led all of them on a merry dance. Gabrielle’s guardian had requested help from several of his friends, including Spencer, when it came to curbing Gabrielle’s wilder starts, and the men had combined forces with Benedict and Isaac after the two young ladies had befriended each other.

  The gentlemen had still felt outnumbered at times.

  Now the men were all fast friends, and Benedict and Isaac knew they could still rely on the Hoods’ assistance when it came to Arabella. After all, the connection was even more solid, as Gabrielle had married Felix.

  Gathered en masse in the corner of White’s, they were a gathering which would cause any group of women to fan themselves and possibly even swoon – and not just because of their social positions. Like Benedict and Isaac, Felix and Thomas greatly resembled each other with their black hair and eyes, although Felix had a less serious mien and a more ready smile - a smile which had supported his rakish ways before his marriage. Thomas tended to be more severe, both in personality and looks, especially his fashion, which was practically minimalist, from the gleaming Hessian boots he preferred to his highly-starched, simply-tied cravat.

  In contrast to their well-turned out dark looks, Spencer appeared even more roguish than he normally did. His sun-streaked brown hair, which was held back in a queue as it was too long to be fashionable, and rumpled clothes made him appear almost piratical. That dangerous air had made him one of the ton’s foremost rakes before his marriage to the ravishing Lady Cynthia - now he spent his time keeping his wild wife under his control. Altogether, they made for a rather disparate group, with Isaac falling out as the largest and most forceful among a group of rather dominant men, and Benedict landing somewhere in the middle of all the extremes, yet they all got along very well.

  Once the requisite greetings were completed, and Benedict and Isaac had each ordered a drink from a passing waiter, Felix immediately took charge of the conversation.

  “Not that we aren’t always glad for your company, but I must admit, Thomas and I have an ulterior motive today,” he said with a sidelong glance at his brother, whose expression didn’t change one iota. “Wesley has already agreed to assist us.” The Earl of Spencer made a face but nodded.

  Benedict’s curiosity was roused. There weren’t too many duties Spencer would consider onerous. He’d rather enjoyed helping thwart Arabella and Gabrielle last Season - his wife had immediately found a kindred spirit in the two of them and enjoyed their friendship as well.

  “What is Mrs. Hood up to now?” he asked Felix, teasing him, and surprising a laugh out of Thomas.

  “It’s not Gabrielle, it’s my mother, Lady Hood who has requested our assistance,” Thomas said, his face falling back into its serious lines. He’d be a more handsome man if he smiled more. “She’s sponsoring our cousin, Miss Mary Wilson, for her first Season and is determined to launch her in a spectacular manner. We’ve been called upon to lend our assistance, including rounding up our friends to fill out her dance card.”

  “And if those specially chosen friends included such lofty personages as a Duke, a Marquess, and an Earl, all the better,” Felix said, his voice taking on a slightly plummy tone in imitation of his mother’s directives. He chuckled and his voice returned to normal.

  The reason for Spencer’s lack of enthusiasm was quite clear - doing th
e pretty for a debutante was not an exciting favor.

  “Is she an antidote?” Benedict asked, grunting as Isaac kicked him. It might not be a polite question, but he was curious.

  True to the older brother / younger brother dynamic, Thomas frowned at him while Felix laughed. Although, Spencer laughed too and he was the eldest of three brothers… but then, he was an original. It didn’t make Isaac and Thomas any less stuffy though.

  “She’s pleasant enough. Takes after our uncle rather than our aunt, reddish hair and greenish eyes, although she does have our mother’s nose. Quite pretty really, as long as she stays away from pink,” Felix said. Thomas’ stern look didn’t faze him at all.

  “Being unused to town she’s a bit shy,” Thomas said. “That’s not necessarily a bad attribute however; she’s quite sweet.”

  “You just like her because she’s quiet and does whatever she’s told,” Felix said baldly. He rolled his eyes. “She’s a bit boring, to be honest, but the comparison might not be entirely fair since next to Gabrielle just about any debutante would have been boring.”

  “Other than my wife, which is why she was never allowed to become one,” Spencer murmured, causing Benedict to choke on his drink. The Earl grinned and winked at him.

  Gads. Lady Cynthia as a debutante… the mind boggled. She was barely passable as the Countess of Spencer, in large part due to the Dowager-Countess’ power within the ton, the Earl’s reputation as an Original anyway, and the cache which came from being able to ensnare the ton’s foremost rake and keep him ensnared. If she’d ever had a Season she would have set the ton on its head and very likely been ruined within a week. Although, with her beauty and dowry, some poor sod would have offered for her anyway, and probably spent the rest of his life wondering just where he’d gone wrong. While she was perfect for Spencer, any other gentleman would have probably been at a loss with how to deal with her.

  “Of course we’ll help,” Isaac said, addressing Thomas and ignoring the other three. He also ignored Benedict’s slight kick to his ankle for volunteering him. Benedict wouldn’t have said no, but he might have held out just to torture Thomas for a bit. Felix would have appreciated the effort. “When’s her come-out ball?”

  “You should receive the invitation sometime later this week,” Thomas said, as deadly serious about his cousin’s debut ball as he was about everything. “But we’ll be at the Richmond’s ball on Friday of course.”

  “Then we shall make our bows there,” Isaac said instantly, and this time Benedict really did feel like kicking his brother, and not just on the ankle. The Richmonds’ ball was the opening event to the height of the Season; everyone would be there and the large house with a crush in attendance was the perfect venue to disappear in for some intimacies. He had plans for the Richmonds’ ball and they’d all involved Christina but… inwardly he sighed. They did owe Thomas and Felix for their help with watching over Arabella last Season. Perhaps he could claim one of the earliest dances and then hunt down Christina. “I’m sure Lydia and Arabella will be thrilled to meet her.”

  The corner of Thomas’ mouth tugged down at the mention of Arabella, as it always did. Although he very obviously cared for his sister-in-law, he was of the opinion her friendship with Arabella did neither of them any good. After all, Gabrielle couldn’t have gotten away with half her mischief if it hadn’t been for Arabella - and the other way round.

  “She could use a little livening up, honestly,” Felix said. “I think Gabrielle and Arabella’s company could be good for her.”

  “Or perhaps she might rub off on them,” Thomas murmured repressively. He shrugged off his brother’s dark look. “Gabrielle has been much better behaved since you married her, I’ll admit. But I still don’t trust they won’t get into trouble.” He glanced at Spencer. “Especially with Lady Cynthia added into the mix.”

  Spencer smiled. “I can dance with your chit or I can hover over my wife and ensure her good behavior, but I can’t do both at once.”

  “You dance with the boring cousin, I’ll hover over your wife,” Benedict said with a leer. Snorting with laughter and completely unthreatened, Spencer balled up a napkin and threw it at him.

  “Boys,” Isaac said in pretend warning, but with a real stern glance. Some ribaldry was expected at White’s, but it was possible to be removed from the premises if they became too rowdy.

  “She’s not boring,” Thomas muttered, glaring at his brother, obviously blaming Felix for the moniker. “She’s not a troublemaker and that’s a good thing.”

  “How many points on your list does she fulfill?” Benedict asked, curious.

  Thomas, as first son of a viscount, had been eyeing the herd of marriage-minded misses for over a year now, without managing to settle on a single young lady upon which to bestow his favor. He did, however, have a list of requirements that he wished the paragon who would become his wife must meet.

  “Quite a few of them,” Thomas said, with more seriousness than the teasing question truly deserved. “She doesn’t like to ride though, and seems to prefer Gothic romances over any literary works of substance.” A faint look of confused disgust passed over his countenance, amusing Benedict even further. He wondered if it occurred to Thomas that most ladies either said they preferred Gothic romances or else they tended to be labeled blue-stockings. Arabella rather enjoyed adventure novels, although she knew better than to admit so in polite Society; such works were usually considered unseemly for young ladies.

  “I don’t know how you can say she fits your requirements when we barely know the chit,” Felix said, shaking his head. “She barely speaks enough for one to know her.”

  “Yes, she’s very restful.”

  Boring. Felix mouthed the word at Benedict with a roll of his eyes.

  Benedict could only agree. While he was glad Christina didn’t have the same wild starts as his sister, she certainly didn’t sit quietly without speaking her opinion or offering up her views either. As much as he loved and worshiped her body, without enjoying her company he’d never have considered marrying her.

  As it was, half his thoughts about their future involved scenes of discussions over the breakfast table, enjoying each other’s company at plays and the opera, and aspects of the daily life he wanted to lead with her. The other half of his thoughts were much more lascivious and involved expounding upon memories he already had. Like the previous night.

  He had enjoyed debauching her so thoroughly, although returning her home had been a wrench. One day soon, he was determined he would not need to do so. Instead he’d be able to keep her in his bed and tend to all her aches and tenderness the next day. At least he knew she’d be thinking about him all day today, just as he was her.

  A question from Spencer recalled him to the conversation, which had moved on to a particularly fine piece of horseflesh the Earl had seen at Tattersall’s, and Benedict pushed thoughts of Christina aside for now. He’d stop by to check on her later.

  ******

  Looking in the mirror at herself, Christina bit her lower lip.

  She was incredibly nervous. After her evening with Benedict, she’d avoided him completely. The man unnerved her. He’d stopped by the afternoon following, but she’d already told her butler that she was not at home to anyone. The next day she’d made herself go out, so as to truly not be at home. He’d left his calling card each day, so she knew he’d still come by.

  Christina had been out busy making the most thorough rounds of her life; visiting all sorts of households where she usually did no more than leave her card. She was constantly on the move, suffering through some visits, surprisingly delighted by others, all to avoid being in one place for too long or adhering to her customary routine. Daphne knew her usual rounds far too well and had already proven she couldn’t be trusted.

  In the evenings she did much of the same, successfully avoiding both Daphne and Benedict by accepting invitations last minute and appearing at multiple venues. More than once an acquaintance remarked th
at the Marquess of Dearborn was said to be asking after her. It felt like a game of cat and mouse, except she derived no excitement from it, only a worried feeling of anxiety…

  She wasn’t trying to hide from Benedict, not truly. If anything, she was trying to hide from herself. From her desires. After what they’d shared the other night… she didn’t know if she could see him without throwing herself at him. She wasn’t sure she could maintain the proper distance, the proper control over herself.

  If he’d held out an offer of marriage again…

  There was every possibility she wouldn’t be able to resist. Time had been needed to think. Time away from him.

  And knowing he’d been searching for her, among the many events, bolstered her trust in him. Perhaps it was unkind to make him chase her, but she truly hadn’t been ready to see him yet, and it did feel nice to know he’d pursued her despite the obstacles and her retreat.

  Tonight she could no longer hide. It was the Duchess of Richmond’s ball and there were no other major social events within high society - not making an appearance was unacceptable. Tonight signaled the beginning of the Season in earnest, with all of the ton who were in London, kicking off the frenzied series of larger events.

  She’d dressed to impress.

  The amethyst gown with its silver lace netting overlay made the most out of her figure, the corset pushing her breasts up like pillowy offerings. Her shoulders were completely bare, her sleeves nothing more than little puffs of chiffon with an inch of skin between them and her long white gloves. She wore matching jewelry of amethysts set in silver, wrapping around her throat and wrists, dangling from her ears, and winking from the elaborate creation of curls and feathers atop her head.

  It was an outfit meant to draw attention, to flaunt. Certainly the neckline was the most daring she’d ever warn, drawing a deep breath felt positively perilous.