“He’ll be furious,” the words fell from her lips.
At her admission, Mr. Peabody winked. “Why don’t you simply place all of the blame upon me? Tell him I refused to leave you alone?”
Oh.
Oh, this man was too much. So unlike any of the gentlemen Ethan had introduced her to.
“Would it be forward of me to inquire as to what sort of a gentleman your brother does approve of?” he asked, almost as though he’d been able to read her thoughts.
The opposite of you, she nearly blurted out. “Er… He aspires to make me into a lady.”
“So, nobs,” Mr. Peabody commented as one of the ubiquitous footmen began serving the first course.
Claire opened her napkin and set it carefully upon her lap. “Specifically, those in dun territory.” She spoke far too easily with him. It was just that he was so easy to talk to. He ought not to be. She ought to suspect him of trying to pry her brother’s secrets from her.
But she didn’t.
Even though he had lied to her already once before.
“Odd that,” he spoke down to his soup. “I’d have thought he’d want you marrying somebody similar to himself. Hard working. Intelligent. Ruthless.” He chuckled ironically. “Somebody who would appreciate your background. Not somebody who would look down upon it.”
Claire swallowed hard. These were her own thoughts. She’d attempted to explain all of this to her brother, to no avail. He was determined they be raised up into society.
She shook her head. “He wants me to return to London after this party, but I cannot countenance being presented to yet another round of nobs. If I can convince him, I’ll visit my aunt.”
“Do you enjoy the city?”
“I normally do. But…”
“The string of unsuitable suitors has stolen its appeal?”
He understood. “And Aunt Lucy lives by the sea. Both she and her home always bring me comfort.” She didn’t know why she was telling him all this. “What of you? Do you enjoy the pace of the city?”
He seemed to contemplate his answer. “For a spell. I’ve recently invested in my own property and hope to spend more time there in the near future. I don’t mind working with my brother at Peabody Enterprises but I prefer some independence. I look forward to improving on the efficiencies of land management.”
Claire wished she had similar options. She would have been more than content to work alongside her brother at building his empire, but he’d insisted she take on a different role. He’d always wanted her to act like a lady when she’d love nothing more than to find some way to be productive. She was a Dorrill, after all!
Claire wondered what he’d say if she asked to live on her own estate. Likely he’d laugh.
”Older brothers.” She grimaced. “Does yours care who you associate with? It seems our brothers’ sole purpose in life is to squash one another in business.” Her own words once again reminded her that she oughtn’t be associating with Benjamin Peabody. She ought to be reticent in her conversation. Was that even possible with this man?
She tentatively tested her soup. The Fairchilds’ cook tended to get rather creative, and she never quite knew what it was she might be consuming. As she frowned at a rather unusual looking morsel, a shiver skidded down her spine. His gaze felt as tangible as any physical touch.
“You and I need not play the same game,” his voice became gravelly and deep.
“What would you suggest we do then, Mr. Peabody?” She dipped her spoon into the soup again, afraid to read his expression.
With a slight shift, his hand settled next to her wrist. If she moved less than an inch, they would touch.
And then he reached out with his pinky and skimmed it across her skin.
Barely a caress, but it sent waves of dizziness washing through her. He stroked his calloused fingertip back and forth across her softer skin in slow, sensual motions. The differences in texture mesmerized her. None of the other guests noticed his subtle motions, but all kinds of turmoil swirled around Claire’s thoughts.
“Why don’t we set aside our differences for this evening?”
“What about tomorrow?” she countered, finally meeting his gaze.
“Take no thought for the morrow.” His eyes softened. “For the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.” And then he charmed her by appearing embarrassed. “If I remember correctly.”
“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” She’d endured many hours in church herself. “Very well then.” How could she deny him?
It was only one evening, after all. What harm could there be in that?
What harm indeed?
****
Benjamin knew he was digging a hole of outrageous proportions flirting with Ethan Dorrill’s only sister, staring at her lips, imagining what they tasted like. What her skin tasted like. How she would respond if his hand could trail its way down her back.
And other places.
By the time the last course had been served, Ben surmised that the hole he’d dug was about six feet deep and formed in the shape of a coffin.
Miss Claire Dorrill enticed him at nearly every turn in their conversation. She exhibited a clever sense of humor, wit and intelligence, but also compassion and a sense of honor. Her stories entertained him, and yet she listened attentively when he spoke.
As much as they’d each made attempts at conversation with others around them, they always came back to one another. With a secret smile. An understanding glance.
Ben wanted more.
As much as he’d been drawn to her physically, aroused even, he found himself feeling a particularly unfamiliar sense of belonging in her presence. As though he’d known her much longer. As though meeting her had been destiny.
As the meal concluded and Ben watched Miss Claire Dorrill exit the room with the other ladies, he could not help thinking he needed to rein in his emotions. He’d never been so captivated, bound, imprisoned by his own thoughts.
Clemson would not be angry at his associating with Miss Dorrill. No, he’d encourage it. He’d want Ben to use her to extract information on their competitor. He’d be pleased at the conflict such an affair would cause Ethan Dorrill.
Would Ben expect the same of Clem if he were in a similar situation?
He didn’t think he would. Ben lacked his brother’s cutthroat ambition. He believed in winning through honorable means.
Ben accepted a brandy and swirled the liquid in the glass.
“You have a death wish, Peabody?” This from Lional Baskerville, a man who’d acquired his wealth through gambling. “Fine bit of muslin, though not sure I’d be willing to risk my hide over her.”
The older fellow twirled his mustache around one finger as he regarded Ben curiously.
“I’d no idea my daughter invited her.” This from Mr. Fairchild.
Ben savored the warm liquid and allowed it to slide down his throat, into his chest and gut before answering. “She’s a delightful young lady. Ethan Dorrill has nothing to worry over, however. We’re all civilized humans, capable of setting aside our differences, aren’t we?” This with a look in Baskerville’s direction.
He’d stand beside Ethan Dorrill in defending Claire, if need be.
The thought brought him up short.
What if Ethan Dorrill stood against him to defend her? Was any girl worth the trouble?
The memory of how her lips had looked when she’d swirled the grape around the outside of her mouth hit him like a blow to the stomach.
She just might be worth it.
He glanced at his watch and wondered what she would be up to now. The sooner these gentlemen finished their brandy, the better. Ethan Dorrill be damned, he’d have a taste of those lips before the evening was over.
Chapter Six
Just One Kiss
Claire tried to follow the conversation floating around the drawing room as the ladies awaited the men to return from their brandy, but she couldn’t keep her mind from wanderi
ng to her disturbing response to a person she ought to despise heartily.
How would she avoid him for the entirety of this house party? Already, she’d failed at ignoring him throughout the course of a single meal.
Just then, Amy clapped her hands together to draw everyone’s attention. “We ought to play parlor games tonight! Entertain ourselves with something lively.” Claire knew her friend did not mean charades or cards. Amy would have something scandalous in mind. Usually, Claire found humor in her friend’s less decorous endeavors, but tonight, she felt on pins and needles.
She should leave. Have John load up the carriage and drive them home first thing in the morning. She could confess all to Ethan and courageously go about meeting another round of destitute noblemen.
“No games or dancing tonight.” Mrs. Fairchild, although petite and quiet, managed to keep her daughter grounded. Claire breathed a sigh of relief as the less exuberant of the party’s hosts stated that since so many had traveled long distances tonight, they would have a quiet evening.
Tomorrow, she conceded, they could perhaps roll back the large rug for some innocent dancing.
Claire’s chest tightened. What would it be like to dance with Benjamin Peabody? Would his gaze follow her throughout all of the dance, even when she switched partners temporarily? A part of her wanted that.
Heavy footsteps announced the return of the gentlemen. They hadn’t taken long this evening. When Mr. Fairchild got caught up in business, he’d been known to keep various business associates locked away with him for hours.
Had he done so tonight?
The tingling awareness that slid down her spine answered her question before she even glanced up.
She felt his presence.
How was this even possible? They’d only just met.
The higher pitched conversation of the females resonated to lower tones as some of the male guests joined in.
Claire’s heartbeat sped up and nearly burst from her chest. He would approach her. She knew it and she wanted it.
What was she going to do about him?
“Are you waiting for me, Miss Dorrill?”
His voice nearly had her jumping when his shadow halted at her feet. Claire peered up, caught once again by his intent stare. “Aren’t all the ladies, normally?” she teased. She couldn’t stop herself from flirting! “Would you care to sit down?”
He bit his bottom lip and then rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
His pause made her feel almost like he’d thrown cold water in her face. “By all means—”
“Will you walk outside with me?” he interrupted her. “On the terrace.” He grimaced as he glanced around the room. “I can only handle so much of this.”
She shouldn’t. She absolutely should not.
“I’d love to.” Claire placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. At his touch, she immediately felt the spark. She recognized it now. A special connection between just the two of them. Without so much as a glance toward her hostess, she smiled. “Too much time spent sitting today already.”
A long glass door had been left open at the far end of the drawing room, and she followed him without question.
He glanced about the room, though, making her curious.
“What is it?”
“Your dog. I thought he might have joined you after the meal.”
Those eyes of his.
“Elmer?”
“Ah yes, Elmer.” A teasing smile lit his eyes. As they stepped outside, the breeze lifted a few locks of his golden hair, making them stand on end. Claire felt a powerful urge to reach up and smooth those locks.
Instead, she placed her hand on his arm. “Dolores and Elmer keep one another company. Elmer…” she paused and searched for the words to speak without disparaging the pup, “…has not taken well to polite society.”
Mr. Peabody laughed. “Smart dog.”
That low, gravelly mirth of his stirred up all those butterflies.
“So, my dear Mister Peabody,” she began, “if I asked about your life, would you imagine I was trying to pry trade secrets out of you?” The volatile relationship that existed between their two families could not be ignored. And yet, she wanted to know more about him. “Do you just have the one older brother? Have you any other family?”
“Our parents died years ago, but we have a few elderly aunts sprinkled about England. We do our best to assure their comfort. And we have some cousins in our employ. We’ve been lucky.”
Claire nodded. She’d been lucky too. If not for the hard work of her brother, she’d likely be working as a chamber maid somewhere…or worse. “I hate that Ethan envies the upper classes. He’d never admit to it, but he does.”
“And he expects you to marry into it.” He didn’t sound as though he approved.
“He does. Much as he toils at his own work, I’ve had to wade through an endless stream of these…gentlemen.” She couldn’t prevent the hard edge to her words. These men might consider themselves gentlemen, but none of them ever had afforded her the respect of a true lady. She guessed that even if she were to marry one of them, she’d always be considered common. All they saw in her was that blasted dowry. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I’m exhausted from it. And it all seems utterly futile.”
He squeezed her hand.
Could he possibly understand? “Does your brother expect you to marry a titled gentleman’s daughter? I’d imagine so. Ethan and your brother seem to be constantly chasing the same prize.”
“My brother has no say over whom I marry.”
Claire’s throat felt dry. How had they come to be talking about marriage? Because suddenly, all she could imagine was what it would be like to be married to Benjamin Peabody.
She cleared her throat uncomfortably. She didn’t want him to imagine she had set her cap after him.
Did she?
Had she?
Of course not!
“It’s a shame.” She sighed. “That our families cannot declare a truce. Work together, even. I’d often thought that both businesses could ultimately benefit by combining economies of scale.”
“Pride is a powerful thing.”
“Which can, at times, be counterproductive.”
“Indeed.”
He steered them away from the terrace, down a flagstone path leading into the garden. She’d never experienced such an enticing yet comfortable presence. All of this felt like the most wonderful night of her life, and yet perfectly natural at the same time. As though all time had existed to lead her to this moment.
“Your scent is sweeter than the flowers,” his voice cut through the darkness.
“My scent?”
She felt him nod in answer. “Sweet and floral, like a snapdragon. And fruity, citrusy. When I lean in…” She felt his lips touch her hair. Gone were all thoughts of business and of Ethan and of his brother.
Claire froze, unable to breathe as she absorbed his warmth. “When you lean in?” she encouraged him to complete his thought.
His fingers trailed along the side of her face. As she inhaled, his subtle masculine scent assaulted all of her restraint. With his mouth mere inches from hers, Claire licked her lips.
Never had she craved a kiss before. She’d been curious. She’d thought it might be pleasant. But she’d never hungered for one.
Until now.
In this moment, she wanted Benjamin Peabody’s kiss with every inch of her being.
“Claire?” he whispered.
She couldn’t speak. All she could do was bring her lips closer to his by tipping her head back a few inches.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day.” His breath mingled with hers. “Since I first saw you sitting primly on that log, ‘my lording’ me. Teasing me with that smile.”
Claire swallowed. For all the life of her, she couldn’t remember a single reason why she shouldn’t allow him to kiss her.
Destiny.
Fate.
“So why haven’t you?”
/> With the sudden assault of his mouth on hers, Claire’s knees weakened and the world spun out of control. Magic. Sorcery. Enchantment.
Her hands wound around his neck. She needed something to cling to so that she would not dissolve into a pool of liquid. She tasted him in wonderment, his flavor a delight, thrilling and masculine. Sweet brandy mingled with something smoky.
“Hmmm…” he rumbled. A growling, humming sound that had her pressing her thighs together as his mouth skimmed to her jaw and onto her shoulder.
“Benjamin.” She clung tighter.
She shouldn’t allow him, but how could she not? This kiss had all the makings of a terrible addiction. Worse than opium or spirits. Claire pressed her curves into the hard planes of his chest and thighs. Man and woman. It all made sense to her now.
Oh, God.
Oh. God.
Benjamin’s lips trailed like fire, bringing something to life inside of her she’d never known existed. An urge to give herself away. An urge to be conquered, to be possessed.
“What in the bloody hell is going on?” an icy voice had Claire’s clinging hands shoving at her lover.
Blasted bollocks in hell.
Ethan.
Chapter Seven
Cold Cocked
He lay upon something cool and hard. Rather uncomfortable, really. Rocks? Stone? The hint of fresh cut grass wafted over his senses. Barely had he registered the cool breeze before blinding pain reminded Ben that he’d been hit.
On the receiving end of a merciless facer.
One moment, Ben’s lips had been exploring the sensual delights of Miss Claire Dorrill and the next a fist of steel had landed neatly between his eyes. He’d seen stars inside his head. White flashes of light and then blinding pain before fading into oblivion.
Remembering all of this, his tongue explored the rows of his teeth, and although he tasted the coppery flavor of blood, none had rattled loose.
That would have been a damned nuisance.
Damned Ethan Dorrill. Not giving a fellow the chance to so much as flinch before landing such a blow.
Not Another Nob (The Marriage Maker Book 32) Page 4
