by Kimberly Nee
He looked up, a somewhat sheepish smile creasing his face. “Lying down. I think the trip into the village wore her out. All that shopping.”
She gave him a pointed look—the one she usually received from him or one of her other brothers. “You weren’t gone that long.”
“She can shop.” He turned a page, adding casually, “She seems to have forgotten she stutters. Do you suppose it was for attention all along?”
“No.” Elena traced her fingertip along Bennett’s middle finger, over the back of his hand, to his wrist. “She told me it fades when she grows comfortable with someone.” As Conn glanced her way, she smiled. “You must have made her very comfortable.”
To her surprise, a dull flush crept through his olive skin, sweeping up over his cheekbones to vanish into his hairline. She clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. “Conn, you didn’t.”
“’Fraid I did.”
“When?”
His smile was full of the boyish impishness she knew so well. “After the wedding last eve. We both had too much champagne and it went to our heads.”
“And now what?”
He chuckled. “I’m thinking of staying in England a bit longer. I’ve sent word to Papi about you and the earl, and also to Rafe to let him know he should try to gather everyone for a visit. They’ll miss the wedding, but will probably arrive in time for the first child.”
He said it with a sly grin, and it was her turn to blush. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know where you were last eve, Lena. And I don’t mind admitting my first inclination was to break down the door and put him through the nearest wall.” He flipped the book closed, tapping one forefinger against the leather cover. “Especially when I saw you this morning. You can deny it all you wish, but you were upset about something and I’ve the feeling the earl is somehow responsible for that as well.”
She swallowed hard. “Conn, I—”
“He is going to marry you, isn’t he? Because if the answer is anything other than yes, I cannot be held responsible for what happens to your earl once you leave this room.”
She glanced down at Bennett. They would talk, but she had no way of knowing what he wanted to say. Still, it was in his best interest for her to tell Conn what he wanted to hear, and so she nodded. “He is.”
“Good. Then I suppose I might keep this between you and me. Providing”—he lowered his brows at her—“that he remains in his own bed and you in yours until you have a ring on your finger.”
“Conn—”
“I mean it, Elena.”
“Conn”—she fought the urge to squirm—“can we please stop talking about this? It’s odd, having this talk with my brother.”
“That it is.” He cleared his throat. “Very well. Subject forgotten.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to see about having a tray sent up here. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” He rose, setting the book on the chair seat. “Are you hungry?”
“No.” She turned to Bennett. “I’m fine, Conn. Thank you.”
After he left, she reached over to brush Bennett’s hair away from his face. She couldn’t help it. She was at a loss as to what to do. Helplessness bit into her with fiercely sharp teeth, and she hated the feeling. It wasn’t in her nature to just sit and wait. She acted. Only now, there was nothing to do.
Except wait.
She settled in and propped her chin on her fist. It was the first time she’d ever seen him sleeping and although she’d have preferred it not to be for this reason, she couldn’t help but sigh a little. He was just so striking, with his high forehead and proud nose. She could study his face for days and never grow bored with it.
“Miss Sebastiano?”
She spun about at the unexpected interruption and found Shelton in the doorway, looking unsure as to whether or not he should enter. “Yes?”
He came into the room, but only just a few steps. “May I?”
“Of course.” She smiled even as she turned to Bennett.
“Has he woken up yet?”
“Off and on.” Her smile faded. “But more than off than anything. I’d almost swear he was asleep. I mean, regular sleep, not—”
“I understand.” He sank into Conn’s chair, his hand coming to rest atop hers. “Do you need anything?”
“No. My brother just asked me the same thing. I’m fine. Worried, but otherwise…”
“Mr. Payneswick has known Dunning for years. If he thought there was anything to worry about, he’d have said so.”
“Perhaps.” She turned her gaze to Bennett. “But even so, it won’t keep me from worrying about him.”
“Of course not.” Shelton removed his hand. “You know, he cares for you. You do know that, don’t you? He told me himself.”
She smiled. “Did he? I’m afraid he’s all too keen on insisting that he’s on the threshold of death’s door.”
“Give him time to get used to the thought of not dying.” Shelton let out a low chuckle. “I must confess, I’d be happy for him if he manages to somehow not bungle this with you. But, I’m a tad jealous as well.”
“Why?”
“Because you are unlike any woman I’ve ever known, Miss Sebastiano. And I cannot help but wonder what would have happened, had I pursued you as well.”
She smiled. “You flatter me, Lord Shelton. Truly.”
“I speak true.” He cleared his throat. “Dunning is a fortunate man.”
“And I am a fortunate woman to have crossed paths with him when I did.”
His head tilted slightly to the left, his voice soft as he asked, “You love him, don’t you?”
“I do. With everything I am.”
Shelton pressed his lips together, but managed to smile and nod. “He’s a lucky fellow. I wish you nothing but a brilliant, happy future together. I only hope he knows how fortunate he is.”
She turned to Bennett and slid her hand into his again. Lifting his, she brought it to her lips and kissed it. “We’re both fortunate. Right place, right time, and all that.”
He offered up a sad smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Well, I won’t claim I’m not jealous of him even more now. You would have made a fine marchioness.”
She gave him a long look, her eyebrow fighting to arch in skepticism. “No, I wouldn’t have done. But I thank you that you think so.”
“You are a true lady, Miss Sebastiano. Never let Rosamund and her ilk convince you otherwise.” He came around and bent to brush a kiss over her forehead. Then he was gone, and a gentle peace settled about the room.
…
Bennett’s head ached.
Actually, his entire body ached, from the top of his head all the way down to the soles of his feet. Certain parts hurt worse—his head, his face, his right shoulder, right knee, and right ankle all ached much more than the rest of him.
He opened his eyes to find himself in his chambers. It was dusk and several candles had already been lit in the room. A flutter of movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned with a wince to see Elena standing before his wardrobe, a frock coat in one hand, her other hand pressed to her lips.
“It goes on the left,” he said, smiling as she jumped.
“The left it is.” She hung up the coat and closed the doors softly, then approached him. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was dragged behind a horse. What happened?”
“Have you forgotten already?” She settled into one of the two chairs at his bedside. “You were dragged behind a horse. But he is safe and sound and tucked in his stall. Mr. Crawford checked him from nose to tail.”
“That’s right. Mr. Payneswick said I might have a little trouble remembering what all happened. And from the sounds of it, I don’t really wish to remember.” He reached up to gingerly rub his forehead. “I hurt all over.”
“You’re a little banged up, I’m afraid. A few cuts. A few bruises. But you’re lucky, no broken bones. Mr. Payne
swick was amazed by that. He said by rights you should be in at least two, if not three, pieces. Quite possibly more.”
“Loki has a habit of blowing himself up when he’s first saddled. And Crawford knows this. He should have double checked, but must have forgotten.”
“Either way, you are alive and that is all that matters.”
“I’m alive. After something that should, by all rights, have killed me. Just as it did my father.” He spoke slowly, shaking his head. “Perhaps you and Shelton are right and I am hiding behind fear.”
She just stared. “Bennett…”
The words clanged about inside his skull, but he couldn’t force them to his tongue. He sank into the pillows. The aches had dissipated some, but he still felt out of sorts. He turned his head in her direction. She looked windblown and rumpled, her hair no longer pulled back but tumbling freely over her shoulders, and she looked tired. “How long have you been sitting here?”
“Since Conn managed to barge our way in here after the doctor arrived. I think he and Lord Shelton were surprised by how—ah—persistent, Conn can be.”
“Shelton? Not Huxley?” An involuntary groan rose to his lips as a spear of pain cut him in half. He’d thought, somewhere in the haze of unconsciousness, he’d heard the deep rasp of Huxley’s voice. What the deuce was he doing at Dunning Court, when Bennett had bodily tossed him out onto the drive himself?
“Huxley?” Confusion wove through that one word. “No. I haven’t seen him since the maze…”
“Are you certain? I thought I’d heard him.”
“No. He wasn’t at the race. At least, I didn’t see him.” She rose to catch him by the shoulders and tried to press him down into the pillows, but he refused to budge. “Bennett, please, it’s all right. Shelton was there and he came to your aid along with a lot of other people I didn’t recognize. That’s all.”
He knew better. He and Huxley went back a long way and he didn’t put it past him to not have revenge on his mind after being publicly shamed and shunned before being escorted from Dunning Court. “I don’t trust him.”
“Well, neither do I, but he’s gone now.” She tucked a wayward curl behind one ear and shifted to the edge of the bed. As her hand came over his, he found his breath that much more difficult to catch, but pain had nothing to do with it. In fact, his pain seemed to vanish. How did she do that? How did she make his every last ache, his every last pain, disappear by simply touching him?
“Elena.” He caught her hand between both of his. “Remember how I told you there are secret passages running all through Dunning Court?”
“Yes. You said if I was nice”—she grinned—“you might show them to me.”
“And I will, as soon as I’m up to it.
“One goes into your chambers as well. To the left of the hearth, if you’re facing it. There is a panel that is actually a door. If you run your fingers along the molding at the top, you’ll feel a small latch.”
She chuckled. “Are you trying to warn me not to panic if you are of a mind to sneak into my chambers?”
He would have laughed with her if it didn’t hurt so much to do so at the moment. Instead, he nodded. “I should hate for you to possibly injure me in the process.” He glanced at the second empty chair. “Conn?”
She nodded. “He went to see about having dinner trays sent up. And I think he might be paying Miss Chandler a call as well. He seems to have gone sweet on her.”
“Miss Chandler?” He managed a smile, which only hurt the right side of his face a little. So he hadn’t imagined the crackle of electricity between Elena’s brother and the baron’s younger daughter. Without really thinking, he tugged on her arm. “I expect he won’t mind being detained here a bit longer.”
“Not one bit.” She smiled, gently stretching out beside him and resting her head on his chest. He didn’t know if she heard his quick intake of breath, or if she felt the way his heartbeat quickened. All he knew was that she felt perfect where she was and he slid his arm about her to hold her even closer.
She snuggled against him, which made him smile. Then his smile faded as he felt her shake against him. “Elena, are you crying?”
She didn’t answer, but he felt a definite wet patch against his chest and her shoulders shook harder. “Darling, there’s no need for that. See? I’m going to be fine in time.” He grazed her hair with his fingertips, adding, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one convinced I’m dying any day now?”
“That isn’t funny.” She lifted her head, her cheeks streaked with tears. “Not one bit.”
“Don’t cry, love,” he murmured, reaching up to sweep his thumb along her left cheek, swiping her tears with it. “I cannot help but wonder if this was meant to prove to me that you were right all along, and that maybe, just maybe, my days aren’t quite as numbered as I once thought.”
She sniffed, her voice cracking as she said, “Do you honestly believe that? Or are you simply going to humor me once more?”
That stung. “I owe you an apology, Elena,” he replied softly, easing out of her arms to gingerly roll onto his side to gaze down at her. “What I did—what I said—are unforgivable. And you must believe me when I said I did not use you. It was not simply another night, another conquest, for me.”
“That’s how it feels, my lord,” she murmured.
“I know, and for that I can never be sorry enough.” He couldn’t resist touching her, letting his hand curve about her cheek. Her skin was so soft…it begged to be touched. To be loved. And to be loved by no other man but him.
He leaned over, covering her lips with his. She hesitated at first, but then met his kiss, sliding one arm about his midsection—albeit gently—to pull him closer. As she did, pain sliced through him, but he gritted his teeth, willing it into the furthest recess of his mind. He didn’t want to think about it. Wasn’t about to let it think for him. He just wanted to savor the way he and Elena seemed to fit together so perfectly.
He rose onto his forearms to curve his hands about her face. “You have bewitched me, my island girl. Bewitched me and ensnared me and somehow stole my heart when I wasn’t looking,” he whispered, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. “And I fear I will never reclaim it.”
“Bennett,” she whispered, her hands inching beneath his shirt once more, this time to stroke his back, sending a rush of shivers through him. No woman’s touch had ever felt so scandalous and so sensual at the same time, especially one as innocent as this. His innocent Elena was such a temptress as well, and most likely had no idea what wicked thoughts she sent screaming through his mind.
He captured her lips in a soft kiss, hers parting at their first touch. Her tongue darted out, skimming lightly over his with such sensuousness that he groaned into her open mouth. It was enough to bring his passion for her simmering to life, and his body responded in the most primal of ways.
Which only served to bring about another wave of pain, one he couldn’t ignore this time. He drew back, still stroking her cheeks as he murmured, “Elena.”
“Do you wish to reclaim it, my lord?” she whispered, reaching up to trace the curve of his cheek with her forefinger. “Because if so, then you should probably know that you are not the only one bewitched. Not by half.”
“Do tell.”
“When I saw you fall from Loki, it was as if my whole world stopped turning. Everything just stopped. And then, when you opened your eyes again, everything was as it should be.”
“I’m going to be fine, love. It may take a few days, but I’m going to be fine.”
“So,” she asked, her eyes sparkling with that devilish light again, “does this mean no more nonsense about curses and the like?”
He took a deep breath. “You do realize, you are asking me to believe in something I’ve never thought possible, don’t you?”
“I do, but as you said, perhaps your fall was a sign. A sign that you aren’t going to meet the same fate as your father and your grandfather.”
“I don’t kno
w if I can,” he murmured, smiling as he added, “But I would like to try.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Although Elena knew Bennett was in no danger, she was still reluctant to leave him alone for the night. So for long after what was most likely considered proper in England, she remained at Bennett’s bedside, in the uncomfortable straight-backed chair, her head propped on her fist, watching him sleep and trying not to fall asleep herself. If she did, it would probably be days before she’d be able to walk upright.
There was something fascinating about watching him. There was that lock of dark hair that refused to fall back, but remained over his forehead when he lay flat. Those adorable crinkles at the corners of his eyes whenever he smiled, the way his teeth flashed when he laughed. If there was such a thing as a perfect face, Bennett Markham, Earl of Dunning, possessed it.
When she’d first met him, she’d thought him much older than he actually was. He had seemed so stoic and humorless, like an old man trapped in a younger man’s body. Yet, now he appeared much younger, both when he slept and when he was awake. The stoic, humorless lord had vanished.
And his voice! How pompous he’d sounded, as if verbally looking down his nose at his cousin and her friends from the West Indies. Everything had sounded so over pronounced and arrogant.
She smiled down at him. Now, his voice was perfect to her. Deep and smooth as warm chocolate, his voice was something she could listen to for the rest of her life and still get chills down her spine. Especially when he spoke her name.
She stole a glance over her shoulder at the door, which was ajar at Conn’s insistence. Then she peered at the clock on the mantle. It was half ten. The house was quiet. Conn was probably hidden away with Cordelia—which made her grin, as she’d never seen her brother act this way with any lady. Perhaps he’d met his match in Cordelia? And the servants would have all gone to bed for the evening.
That in mind, she moved to the door, pushed it completely shut and twisted the key in the lock. Moving to the bed, she skirted it to the far side, and gently eased onto the mattress beside Bennett.
