The Earl's Perfect Match

by Kimberly Nee

  That was what Elena was—beautiful. Inside and out. Whether she wished to or not, she stood out, and he couldn’t help but watch. Couldn’t help stare at her beauty.

  He wasn’t the only one watching. Shelton had his eyes glued on her as she danced with Steven Angsley, and Conn frequently glanced over at her when he wasn’t caught up in the dancing. Bennett would have expected as much from Shelton, but whenever he caught Conn glaring at Elena’s current dance partner, he thought it nice how Conn looked out for his sister. Claudia had told him how tightly knit the Sebastiano family was, even more so than her own, she’d said. They were a protective lot and went above and beyond to make certain everyone knew it, especially where their sisters were concerned.

  He’d never met the older girl, Serena. She had married his cousin Chris several years before, but he hadn’t been invited to the wedding, which was a last-minute sort of affair, according to Claudia, who had sounded almost apologetic.

  He knew the Markham side of her family tended to be forgotten. He was the only one left now, and in the past his cousin Gabby—Claudia’s mother—had had a terrible relationship with the fourth earl, her half brother. Bennett frowned and rubbed his forehead. It was far too easy to become lost when trying to sort through the Markham family tree. He barely knew Gabby, as she had left England to marry Claudia’s father and returned only sporadically after her marriage and before that, he was only a distant cousin and not close with her side of the family.

  He liked the Santa Cruzes. When they’d arrived, and he’d thought he’d be marrying Claudia, for the first time he’d felt as if he was part of a family. At first, they’d regarded him as an oddity, their pale English cousin, and had been on their best behavior. But then an argument had broken out between the Sebastiano brothers over the absence of Claudia’s brothers, who were somewhere on one of the oceans and would be unable to attend the wedding. It had grown heated until Elena stepped in and soothed all ruffled feathers. From that point on, Bennett saw them as they were, and they accepted him as one of them.

  He’d often wondered what that was like, to have brothers and sisters to look after, and to look after him in return. Since his father’s death, it was just him and the staff, and while they were like family, they were still paid to be there.

  Not too long ago, he’d thought of a family of his own—wife, children—Dunning Court filled with the sounds of laughter and arguing, of loving and fighting. But those same things filled him with fear as well.

  Some—such as Cordelia Chandler—spoke of his blood being cursed. Although it felt foolish to believe in such things, he had no choice but to believe. Tragedy seemed to befall Markham men. The last five earls had died shortly after their thirtieth year. Five generations, gone well before their time.

  When he saw how much Claudia loved Galen—and one would have to be blind to not see it—he could never take that chance for himself. The thought of leaving a wife to grieve for him, of leaving children with such a hole in their lives as well—he didn’t want to do that. Ever. But as he watched Elena Sebastiano, watched her eyes sparkle and her teeth flash with each smile, he found himself wondering if there was some way to avoid his fate. Some way that he might find happiness, for however short the time may be.

  No. He couldn’t do that. How selfish of him to even think such a thing. Far better to enter into marriage with the understanding that it was merely a business arrangement, just as it had been when the first Earl of Dunning came into being. An arrangement solely for the benefit of strengthening the family, enlarging the holdings, and continuing the line. They were what mattered in the end.

  A sudden slap of a palm striking flesh rang out, and Elena’s voice carried clear above the musicians as she snapped, “How dare you!” and stormed off the floor, leaving one very red-faced, somewhat stunned-looking Michael Angsley, Viscount Huxley, staring after her in disbelief.

  Elena rushed from the ballroom, out through the open doors leading to the Dunning gardens. Without hesitation, Bennett got to his feet and followed. Casting a quick glance around the room, he saw no sign of Conn. Had her brother observed that slap, he no doubt would have been throwing punches already.

  Bennett quickened his pace, afraid she’d stumble into the enormous hedge maze in her fury and wind up lost until morning.

  The late spring air was clear and cool, a hint of dampness clinging to it, a promise of forthcoming showers. The smallest sliver of moon suspended from the black ceiling of the night sky like a lone candle in a chandelier. Bennett lost sight of Elena as the darkness quickly swallowed up the dark blue silk gown she wore, but he could hear her, could hear the swish of her skirts grow fainter.

  She was in the hedge maze.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, moving faster still. The maze was trouble enough on a brightly lit afternoon. “Miss Sebastiano, wait!” He broke into a trot and smothered another curse as he found himself partway into the maze. “Miss Sebastiano! Wherever you are, please stop.”

  The soft crush of grass meeting slippers reached his ears, growing still softer. Finally, he cupped his hands about his mouth to bellow, “STOP!”

  The noise ceased, and he smacked his palm flat against his forehead. “Bloody genius, you fool. Now how do you find her?”

  “Lord Dunning?” Her voice floated out in the darkness.

  A hint of nervousness edged Elena’s faint question, and he lowered his hand to call, “Where are you?”

  “I—I don’t know. I think I’m lost inside your silly labyrinth. What is the point of this? To trap people forever?”

  “You aren’t trapped, Elena. Keep talking. I’ll find you.”

  “What do I say?”

  She was at a loss for words? Impossible. He grinned into the darkness. “Sing a song. I’ll follow the sound of your voice.”

  “I don’t know any.”

  “Everyone knows something. ‘Greensleeves.’ Surely you know that.”

  “I don’t think I do.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows it. Alas my love, you do—”

  His grin returned as she interrupted, “—me wrong, to cast me off discourteously.”

  “That’s it. Keep singing. I’ll find you.”

  “And if I get to the end before you do?”

  “Start over.”

  She must have been swifter of foot than he’d originally thought, for she was three quarters of the way through her second pass of the song when he finally found her. They were at least halfway into the maze, and as he’d been concentrating on her voice and not his surroundings, he wasn’t at all sure he could find his way out.

  “You should have warned me about this,” she said when he rounded a corner and she came into view.

  His eyes had adjusted well enough to make out her scowl. She was also easier to find, as she’d discovered one of the white marble benches scattered throughout the maze.

  “I would have, had I expected you to try to negotiate it in the dark.” He moved to sit beside her. “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t, that’s why.”

  His eyes adjusted more, and he saw the dark smudges of kohl beneath her eyes and the rivulets on either cheek. Pulling out his handkerchief, he leaned over to gently wipe one of the dark streaks from her face.

  “You didn’t lick it first, did you?”

  He shook his head but smiled. “I didn’t. I promise.”

  “I hate when the person licks it first. You did that the last time.”

  “Here.” He pressed the linen into her hand. “You don’t need to worry.”

  “Thank you.” White flashed against her olive-skinned cheek as she dabbed at the first smear. “This most likely won’t launder out.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s only a handkerchief.” He leaned back, into the hedge, wincing as the branches poked him. “What did he do, Miss Sebastiano?”

  “I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”
>
  “And I don’t want misbehaving men in my ballroom.”

  She let out a shaky sigh that made her “Misbehaving men?” emerge just as shakily.

  “I won’t tolerate such a thing.”

  He glanced over at her. She wiped her other cheek, and then dabbed beneath one eye. “He put his hands on…on…my”—her voice dropped to barely a whisper—“backside.”

  “What?”

  She nodded. “He did.”

  His hand, resting on his thigh, tightened into a fist. “Really.”

  “And before that, the other one whispered something about sneaking into my room later this evening, and why I should let him. He said some terrible things.”

  Bennett’s gut twisted sharply. “He did, did he?”

  “Don’t tell Conn,” she murmured. “He’ll kill him otherwise and you don’t need that sort of trouble. There’s been enough fighting in this house over the last few days.”

  “That there has, although I trust Captain Sebastiano and Cousin Claudia have forgiven one another whatever it was they were fighting about.”

  She nodded. “I think so. You know what’s said about true love.”

  “Never a smooth path,” he finished with a smile. He studied her for a long moment before saying, “Miss Sebastiano, I know it means nothing, since I’m not the one who put his hands on you, but I’m sorry Huxley thought to paw you.”

  “Thank you, but honestly, I should have expected it, I suppose.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the kohl.” She gestured to her eyes. “I should have never worn it. I know better, but for a moment…” Her voice trailed off.

  “For a moment what, love?” The endearment slipped out on its own, to his embarrassment. His face grew warm. Damn it. This was what happened when one let oneself have more than a glass of champagne.

  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice his slip. Staring down at the linen in her hands, she said, “For a moment, they treated me as if I was one of them. As if I belonged here.”

  “Rosamund and Eleanor?”

  “They let me do their eyes as well, but when we were coming down to dinner, Rosamund claimed she left her wrap in her room and I should go on ahead.” She sniffed, her voice growing shaky once more. “I was a fool for trusting them.”

  “No, they were fools for deceiving you.” He let his hand come to rest atop hers. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to get angry with me?”

  A wary look came to her face. “Tell me what?”

  “Promise me first.”

  She scowled, lowering the handkerchief to her lap. “My lord, I’m in no mood for games.”

  “Neither am I. Nor am I in the mood to upset you even further.”

  She looked up and met his gaze, and in that instant he wanted to find Huxley himself and smash his face in.

  The kohl remained, resisting her scrubbing, and her eyes were on the puffy side. The sadness, the hurt, he saw in those eyes was enough to fire up bloodlust on her behalf.

  She twisted the handkerchief and smoothed it. Twisted it and smoothed it. And then she slowly nodded. “I promise. I won’t be angry with you.”

  “I thought you looked striking.”

  “Of course you did. I looked like a troll—”

  “No”—his hand tightened over hers—“I don’t mean that. I mean…well…you looked beautiful. Strikingly so, But, I’m afraid that it may be because of this that Huxley tried to paw you.” He took the crushed, damp, thoroughly wrinkled handkerchief from her and gently wiped beneath her right eye. “The only ladies who wear such paint are those considered to be of loose virtue and even looser morals.”

  “Loose…” Her voice drifted off and her eyes went almost perfectly round. “Oh…they thought that I…but Lady Rosamund said—”

  “I’d say she wasn’t being intentionally cruel, but I’d be lying. It seems she and Eleanor both thought to make sport of you.”

  “Sport of—” Now her eyes went narrow and for a moment, Bennett leaned back, afraid she might level a punch at him. “Are you smiling? Do you think it amusing to watch me fall on my face in front of all these fine lords and ladies?”

  “Not at all. I would have said something but—”

  “But what?”

  “As I said, I thought you looked quite lovely. And it’s selfish of me, I know, but I was in no hurry to see you look like the others.”

  She blinked and some of the fire went out of her eyes. He managed to mop up most of the kohl from below her right eye and started wiping her left. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft with hurt. “Did you think it amusing as well? That I have loose virtue and even looser morals?”

  That hollow hurt in her voice made him pause, and he shook his head. “No, of course not. And if I’d thought for one second either Huxley or Angsley would try something, I would have thrown them both out by the scruff of their necks.”

  To his relief, she smiled. Well, perhaps smile was a bit too generous to describe the slight upward twitch of her lips, but at least she no longer looked so lost and unhappy. He pressed the handkerchief back into her palm and without thinking, slid his hand beneath hers, entwining their fingers. Her small hand fit his perfectly, warm and soft, and she sank into him with a faint sigh, her head resting against his shoulder.

  “I was having such a wonderful time, too. I love to dance. I thought Claudia’s wedding would be my only opportunity.”

  “Perhaps I should tell your brother. It’s been a few weeks since he’s been in a row of any sort. It might shake things up a bit.”

  “The blood would be difficult to clean out of that beautiful parquet.”

  “Ah, so it would. Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to wait until we are all out on the lawn somewhere. I don’t mind blood on the grass nearly as much.”

  “They’re staying?”

  He sat upright at the dismay in her voice. “No, of course not. But I haven’t had the chance to toss them out. I thought I’d do that when I went back indoors.”

  “They’re friends of yours, aren’t they? Old friends?”

  “They are.” Or were, considering one had put his hands on Elena and the other had spoken out of turn to her.

  “Then you needn’t evict them. I’d hate to see a friendship tarnished over my foolishness.”

  “It’s already tarnished and you weren’t foolish. You were trusting. Sometimes it comes up to bite you on the bottom. In the form of roaming hands.”

  He waited and then breathed a silent sigh of relief when she chuckled and slapped him lightly in the chest with her free hand. “You’re terrible, my lord.”

  “Please”—he caught that hand as well—“call me Bennett.”

  Her laughter faded into the night, and she gazed up at him with soft eyes. Soft, kohl-less eyes. Soft, kohl-less, beautiful eyes. They searched his, with an intensity so strong he was certain she could see into his soul. “I couldn’t,” she whispered.

  “You could. I don’t mind. As I’ve said, it’s tiring sometimes, never having a name.”

  Her lips curved slightly. “Bennett.”

  He smiled. She said it so softly, with her lightly accented voice, his name was more a caress than a word, and hearing it did something strange to him. A sudden warmth crept over him, wrapped all around him, and all he could think about was how her lips were only a few inches from his. He need only lean forward and he’d know if those lips were anywhere near as soft as they looked.

  His breath seemed damned difficult to catch and her eyes widened ever so slightly, as if she sensed the emotions rising within him. Bloody hell, he wanted to kiss her.

  To make matters worse, he had the feeling she wanted him to kiss her as well.

  They were alone in the secluded maze. No one knew where to find them. There was nothing to stop him from gathering her in his arms, pulling her to his chest, and putting that need to rest.

  Of course, easing that need would only cause other needs to roar to life. One very insistent nee
d stirred already, one that would remain hidden thanks to darkness and black breeches, but if he wasn’t careful… If she leaned into him for any reason, she would discover it for herself and then it would be his cheek seared with a rightfully deserved slap.

  He cleared his throat and pulled away. “We should go in. Your brother is bound to have noticed your absence by now and I don’t relish the thought of trying to explain this to him.”

  As she gazed up at him, the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, and he forgot how to breathe at the sight of her in the silver light. He imagined what she would look like by the light of a full moon, lying beneath him, with her glorious mane of thick dark hair spread out on the grass—just as it had been the other day on the dock. It didn’t matter that the grass would be damp. It didn’t matter that the air would be cool enough to make them shiver. She’d be wanton and warm, and sultry and passionate. A woman made to be loved—one who would explore her sensual side with the right man.

  He fought down a groan. It’d been a long time since he’d sought out a woman—far better to just ignore those needs and pretend they didn’t exist until he had more pressing matters under control.

  Under control.

  Just once he wanted to lead with his heart and not his head.

  His nose bumped hers, but with a slight adjustment, his mouth covered hers completely. He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to kiss her, but because he didn’t want to fumble and ruin the moment.

  She melted into him, her hand sliding sensually along his nape, up into his hair, to pull him into her. He held her by the upper arms, caught himself, and eased one hand down, along her arm, into the gap between her elbow and her waist, and slid his arm about her.

  Her lips were as soft and inviting as they looked, warm and sweet like honey, and every bit of tension fell away as he savored the velvety dewiness of her kiss. Fire smoked through his blood, hot and swirling. Without thinking, he eased from the bench, sank to one knee, and pulled her down with him.