Only Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  Benjamin was dynamic and dashing, but he barely knew she existed. Michael—she realized she hadn’t learned his last name—looked at her and saw the woman she truly was. Or perhaps he saw the woman she could be if a man actually treated her as she deserved to be treated.

  She strolled through the parlors searching for him, and she found him in the gaming room. The moment she entered he noticed her. He winked. Winked! And he smiled so alluringly that she was weak in the knees.

  A little voice in her head was warning her not to socialize with him, but she didn’t have to heed it. She didn’t intend wicked conduct. She intended to laugh and flirt and cheer herself up by letting him shower her with his sunny disposition.

  She didn’t know much about cards or gambling. Her father would have beaten her if she’d tried it, but it appeared he’d won quite a bit of money. If he had then she didn’t suppose he’d quit merely because she’d arrived, but he immediately stuck his winnings in his coat and left the table.

  “Hello,” he said as he walked up to her. “I was hoping I’d see you. I came to town expecting you’d be here.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did.” He leaned nearer. “I want to be alone with you.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Yes, you can. Meet me in the garden in ten minutes. There’s a bench in a secluded arbor by the back wall.”

  He was staring at her so devotedly that she felt the heat of his gaze clear down to the tips of her toes.

  “Ten minutes,” he murmured, and he continued on.

  She went to the buffet and poured herself a glass of punch, her mind whirring over her choices. Should she go outside? Dare she go out? His clandestine invitation was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her, like a scene out of a romantic novel. She couldn’t imagine ignoring it.

  She finished her punch then exited onto the verandah, bracing as the cool autumn air hit her. No one was paying any attention to her, and she climbed down the stairs into the garden.

  Would he really be there? She almost hoped he wouldn’t be so he could save her from herself, but as she approached the rear wall, he whispered her name and stepped from the arbor. He clasped her wrist and pulled her into the shadows.

  Without hesitation and not a word spoken between them, he bent down and kissed her. Just like that!

  She’d been kissed a few times, never by Benjamin but by various bumbling swains during her debut season. Instantly, she could tell Michael had a finesse those idiots had lacked. Before she could pause to reflect on her decision, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

  The whole experience seemed unreal and dreamlike, as if she’d fallen asleep and a handsome fairy prince had slipped in and seduced her. Did men and women actually act so brazenly? Was it common? She was so naïve about amour that she couldn’t guess what was normal and what wasn’t.

  He kept on for an eternity, and the episode was delicious and splendid, but reckless too. Surely, she’d be missed, but she couldn’t force herself to end the embrace.

  He was touching her in ways that made her feel esteemed and cherished, tantalizing her with the precise sort of consideration she should have received from her fiancé, and it was slowly dawning on her that—in agreeing to a cold, impersonal aristocratic marriage—she might have chosen her spouse for all the wrong reasons.

  Out on the path, a couple walked by. She and Michael froze, anxious and terrified as the pair passed on by. It was the most stressful, excruciating minute she’d ever endured, but it was also the most exhilarating.

  Once it was quiet, she whispered, “I have to go.”

  “When can I see you again?” His urgent question delighted and alarmed her.

  “You can’t. This was insane.”

  “No, it was grand. Don’t say it’s over. We haven’t started yet.”

  In the moonlight, his blue eyes were sparkling like diamonds. He was staring at her as if she was the most remarkable female he’d ever met, and she couldn’t abide the notion of never being with him again.

  “I’ll be at Gladstone’s ball tomorrow night,” she said.

  “If you’ll be there then I’ll be there too.”

  “My fiancé will escort me so I won’t be able to sneak away.”

  “Bugger your fiancé.” He drew her to him and brushed his lips to hers. “I’ll miss you every second until then.”

  She moaned with dismay then checked the path to be certain it was empty. She rushed away without looking back.

  MICHAEL DAWDLED IN THE garden so Veronica had plenty of time to get inside. With her lengthy absence from the gala, she’d have a mother or a chaperone who’d be in a snit. He couldn’t imagine how she’d handle the situation.

  She was as flighty as every debutante he’d ever encountered. She was quite good at kissing though, and he wondered if her dashing captain knew she was a bit of a flirt.

  He sauntered to the verandah then grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter. He meandered through the ballroom until he located her sitting next to an elderly matron and observing as the dancers twirled by. Apparently, they’d had words. They were tense, as if they’d been bickering.

  He positioned himself so that, when there was a break in the crowd, she would peek up and he’d be fervidly watching her. His attention was potent and fierce, and whenever she saw him, she’d wince and glance away.

  Wesley bustled up, interrupting the game he was playing.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  “Out in the garden. I was hot.”

  “I thought you were gambling.”

  “I won a pile of money so I quit while I was ahead.” He pulled his gaze from Veronica. “What have you been doing?”

  “Searching for Veronica. Her mother couldn’t find her.”

  “She’s right there.” Michael pointed to her.

  “Oh, so she is.” Wesley chuckled.

  “Is she very rich?” Michael asked.

  “Obscenely so. Her dowry is ridiculous.”

  “I bet your brother can’t wait to get his hands on it.”

  “Yes, and he doesn’t even need it,” Wesley bitterly replied. “He has his own fortune.”

  Poor Wesley. Along with being less than his brother in every way, he didn’t have much money of his own. They were such a peculiar family. Michael could never be horrid to Annabel. Lydia yes; she deserved what she received. But not Annabel. With the two of them, it had always been share and share alike. If she was down to her last penny, and Michael needed it, she’d give it to him.

  Why wouldn’t Captain Grey give some of his funds to his brother? Why make him suffer? Wasn’t it enough that he’d taken Veronica for himself? Shouldn’t he make amends for seizing what Wesley had craved?

  “Do you think Veronica loves your brother?” Michael inquired.

  “Gad, no,” Wesley scoffed. “She barely knows him, and he’s so much older than she is. They’re practically strangers.”

  “She’s marrying him for his title? That’s it?”

  “Yes. What other reason could there be?”

  “Just curious,” Michael said.

  He didn’t like Captain Grey, didn’t like how he treated Annabel. He acted as if he had every right to use her badly. His sister could look after herself so he wasn’t worried about the Captain crossing the wrong line, but she was so remarkable, and he loathed any man who didn’t realize that she was.

  Mischief was part of his nature. He couldn’t ignore it or tamp it down, and he never tried to behave better. It would amuse him to cause trouble for the Captain. He was such a pompous ass, and foolish, gullible Veronica was the perfect means to rattle the Captain’s world.

  Perhaps Michael could cause a breach in the engagement. Annabel denied it, but she was smitten by the Captain and she deserved to be happy. Perhaps Michael could lure Veronica out of her betrothal then the Captain would be free and available to choose another girl. Why couldn’t he choose Annabel? He seemed ab
solutely besotted.

  Michael couldn’t help wondering—if he involved himself with Veronica in a manner he oughtn’t—how much her parents would pay so he’d leave her alone. It would definitely be worth it to find out, and he figured it would be a significant sum.

  SOLOMAN GREY REINED IN his horse and dismounted. He stared up at Lyndon Hall, struggling to remember what it had been like to be the pampered son of a wealthy, aristocratic father.

  Technically, he was still the landlord and caretaker.

  His father had named him Caleb’s guardian, had put him in charge of the estate, the money, the property, the tenants and farms. He was supposed to have managed it all for Caleb until he became an adult and could manage it on his own.

  It had all happened so long ago. His father and his wife had been deceased for years. Caleb had been missing for most of a decade. Soloman and Benjamin had both fled England—Benjamin to the army and Soloman to a new life in Egypt.

  They’d been so young during those tumultuous days, and they’d declined to stay and face the vicious barrage of rumors that they’d murdered Caleb.

  Soloman’s last act before he’d sailed away had been to order the grand residence shuttered, the servants pensioned off, the animals sold, the land rented to others. The assets had been in limbo since then, the bank accounts frozen, the fields fallow and untended.

  Occasionally, he received requests from bankers or trustees to authorize an expenditure or a contract, but mostly he’d shucked off his responsibilities, doing just the minimal amount that was required and no more.

  The mansion was like an aging spinster that had once been beautiful, but had gradually sagged and fallen into a decrepit condition. Vines had grown over the windows, tree limbs cluttered the drive, the grass was two-feet high. Out in the park, the gardens that had been so meticulously manicured had gone to seed and resembled a wild meadow in Africa.

  If a lion had crept out of the bushes, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

  It would all be Benjamin’s very soon. The legal proceedings had dragged through the courts, with the trustees being reluctant to settle them in case Soloman had engineered Caleb’s demise. It was the portion of the tragedy that generated the most fury for him. He’d loved his father and would have killed himself before he’d hurt the man.

  The ultimate insult was that others believed he could have committed such a heinous deed, one that would have wounded his father so grievously.

  Well, the court hearings were over, Caleb was officially dead, and Benjamin would finally get it all. Soloman suffered a brief wave of guilt that he would hand over the place when it was so terribly rundown. He should have done his duty, should have been a better custodian! But he shoved the notion away.

  He didn’t care about Lyndon Hall, didn’t care about the estate or the title or any of the rest. The entire catastrophe had been a black cloud that had rained down on him for ten long years, and he was ready for it to be over.

  Benjamin could have it all and good riddance.

  For a fleeting moment, he let an old vision surface of him and Benjamin sliding down the banister of the staircase in the foyer, the butler scolding them, his benevolent father chuckling at the sight. It actually had Soloman smiling, and he pondered whether he should go inside to snoop around. He had the key to the front door in his pocket.

  But deep down, he couldn’t bear the prospect. Any happy reminiscence had been wiped away by the decade of strife he’d endured.

  He’d traveled to England because Benjamin had begged him to come, but Benjamin wasn’t even in England. He’d called on Benjamin at his town house, and he wasn’t there. He was in Scotland on business.

  His absence had left Soloman at loose ends. Benjamin wasn’t the only reason he’d journeyed to England. He was also chasing after Theodosia who’d captured his heart in Egypt, but he was too embarrassed to visit her. He’d behaved despicably toward her in Cairo, and she’d never forgive him for his many cruelties and slights.

  So...Benjamin was gone, and Soloman was too much of a coward to approach Theodosia. Why tarry?

  He’d thought he could stop by Lyndon Hall without consequence. He’d thought he could tour the property, perhaps say hello to the neighbors. But it was all much more depressing than he’d assumed it would be. The poignant memories—of loss and calamity and disaster—seemed to be rising up and about to swallow him whole.

  Why stay in England? Why dawdle?

  He had no interest in strutting about town with Benjamin. They’d just stir old gossip and open the old wounds. And if he continued to loaf and socialize, he’d eventually bump into Theodosia which would be the worst conclusion ever.

  He would return to London and confer with the lawyers. He would sign all the necessary paperwork, surrendering his authority to Benjamin. Then he would sail on the first ship that would carry him away.

  He took a final look at Lyndon Hall. There was nothing about it that reminded him of the glorious days of his youth. There was simply a feeling of sadness and sorrow hanging over the property, as well as the lingering and painful question of what might have been if that tiny baby had never vanished.

  He yanked on the reins and trotted away, and he didn’t glance back. Not once.

  IGHT I HAVE A word with you, Lord Lyndon?”

  On hearing himself addressed as Lyndon, Benjamin glared at his butler, Mr. Addington.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Lord Lyndon...ah...milord.”

  “I’m not Lyndon yet,” Benjamin complained. “Let’s dispense with the formalities.”

  “If you insist, sir.”

  “I do. How have you referred to me in the past?”

  “When you were a boy, it was Master Benjamin, but the last few years, it was Captain Grey.”

  “Pick the one you like best and use it. I’m fine with either of them.”

  He’d known Addington all his life, had even had his bottom paddled by the old gentleman when his mother wasn’t around to see. Benjamin had always been a handful, but particularly after his father had died and his mother hadn’t been able to control him. Several of the male servants had tried to encourage discipline, but they hadn’t been very successful.

  He was still obstinate and impossible.

  He was in London at the family’s town house. He’d arrived too late for breakfast, but the servants had rushed to feed him anyway. At first, he’d felt guilty over their gushing and fawning, but then he realized he had to get accustomed to it. After the investiture, it would be much worse.

  He had a ball to attend that evening, and he was actually escorting Veronica, a task he was dreading. They’d socialized on such a limited number of occasions, and he could never think of what to say to her. Their long silences reminded him that he should have spent more time pondering his matrimonial choice.

  He’d never let his mother make any other important decisions for him. Why had he let her make this one?

  He simply wished he was back in the country with Annabel. He’d quarreled with her, and he wasn’t even sure why. He’d just been irked to imagine she might have been ruined as a girl, that she might have birthed a secret love child and had hidden the indignity from him.

  His pique was ludicrous, but apparently Annabel Fenwick had wedged herself into his world in ways he’d never intended. She was like a gnat he couldn’t swat away.

  “We can dispense with the formalities if you like,” Addington said, “but you might talk to your mother about it.”

  “Why? What’s she done now?”

  Benjamin had no illusions about Millicent Grey. She was a vain, ridiculous woman who put on airs in a manner Benjamin loathed. In light of the scandal they’d endured over Caleb, he thought they should keep their heads down, count their blessings, and try to be invisible so people didn’t recollect their sordid history.

  But with all that was happening, she couldn’t rein in her pompous tendencies. For ten years, she’d been biting her tongue and fuming over the injustice
s that had been leveled against them. With the court cases ended, she was insufferably proud and eager to flaunt their good fortune.

  “Your mother has instructed the staff to refer to you as Lyndon,” Mr. Addington explained.

  “The whole staff?”

  “Yes, as well as deliverymen, shopkeepers, hackney drivers, and anyone else who might have reason to address or discuss you.”

  “The investiture is still a month away,” Benjamin said.

  “Yes, it is, Captain.”

  “I’ll speak to her.”

  “Thank you, and if you could see fit not to mention it was I who tattled?”

  “I have your back, Addington.”

  “At all times, sir. At all times.”

  “So what was it that you needed to tell me? Or was that it?”

  “We’ve had another situation arise.”

  “All this paltry household drama makes me long for my days in the army.”

  “You’re glad to be back, Captain. Don’t deny it.”

  “I’m sort of glad,” he allowed. “What else must I deal with for you?”

  Addington leaned nearer and murmured, “Your cousin is in London, Captain.”

  Benjamin scowled. He had a thousand cousins. “Which one?”

  “Soloman is here.”

  “Soloman! How do you know?”

  “He stopped by shortly after he arrived.”

  “But...why wasn’t I told?”

  “You were away at your party. We didn’t feel we should bother you.”

  “Not bother me. Honestly, Addington, I’ve been writing to him for a year. Why isn’t he staying here with us? Where is he?”

  “There’s the rub, Captain. Your mother ordered me to send him away.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “I had to inform him the family wasn’t at home, that she was gone to a spa and you were in Scotland, and we had no idea when you’d return.”

  “I see...”

  And Benjamin really, really did.