Benedict's Challenge (Regency Club Venus 3)

by Carole Mortimer

  Benedict had spent the past week lecturing himself as to the inadvisability of his calling at Gordon House for a second time, completely in the hope of seeing his blue-eyed angel again rather than any concern for that ill-mannered blusterer, Lord Henry Gordon. Unfortunately, Benedict had no reason to call on the older man now that Gabriel had settled the situation regarding who was responsible for the attacks outside Club Venus.

  It had been a very long week.

  There had been the usual rush and bustle of patients calling, plus Jimmy to care for on a day-to-day basis. Benedict had also attended the wedding of Gabriel and his Victory before they left for their honeymoon in France, where they also hoped to learn more of the niece Gabriel now knew he had. A young lady who would be aged nineteen. Another of Benedict’s close friends, Lord Julius Soames, the Earl of Andover, had also returned to London from spending the holidays in the country, and the two men had dined together in the evening twice this week.

  Still, it had possibly been the longest week of Benedict’s life. It was made worse by the fact he knew he could not just barge into Lord Gordon’s household or demand the other man tell him the identity of the blue-eyed angel Benedict had seen looking down at him from the gallery and attic in the other man’s home.

  Benedict’s own discreet enquiries as to who she might be had proved unsuccessful. Frustratingly so. None of Lord Gordon’s friends or associates knew of any young female relative or ward living with him at Gordon House. The few of Lord Gordon’s servants willing to answer questions, for a monetary sum, also, after being given the money, denied all knowledge of her.

  One thing Benedict was very sure of: he had not imagined her.

  He could never have imagined such a beautiful young woman nor the intensity and depth of her blue eyes. Eyes that haunted him, day and night, not only in his thoughts, but also in his dreams.

  The same beautiful blue eyes Carlton had just described?

  To think that the young lady might be here now. That she might have come to Benedict…

  He came to an abrupt halt the moment he saw the crumpled heap of unmoving blue silk on the back step of his home.

  The same blue silk gown he had seen his angel wearing the previous week?

  His angel?

  Yes, because if this was that same beautiful creature he had seen for the first time a week ago, then Benedict had absolutely no intention of returning her to Lord Gordon’s home until he knew exactly what or who she was to the older man. And, more importantly, why she had needed to seek Benedict out in this way. He did not for a moment fool himself into thinking it was because she had become as instantly enamored with him a week ago as he had with her.

  Benedict was well aware of the harshness of his features and the air of superiority and arrogance he exuded which tended to keep most people in Society, except for his three closest friends, at a distance. It was an air he had deliberately nurtured and for the reason of protecting someone very dear to him.

  He sincerely doubted the blue-eyed angel had seen something in him during that brief meeting of their gazes a week ago, to make her regard him any differently than that.

  But she was here now, and Benedict intended to ensure she did not leave again until he knew who she was and why she had run away from Lord Gordon’s home wearing only an inadequate silk gown.

  He moved forward to crouch beside the still figure, drawing in a harsh breath as he stared down into the deathly pale face of the blue-eyed young woman who had taken such complete possession of his thoughts this past week. A face which appeared even thinner and paler than it had then, the high cheekbones more pronounced, even the plumpness of her lips a paler shade of rose. No wonder Carlton had been concerned.

  For a moment, Benedict wondered if she was still breathing, and then he saw the shallow rise and fall of her breasts beneath the bodice of the gown.

  A short-sleeved silk gown which, as Carlton had already noted, was too large for her and totally unsuited for the late January weather when she did not have the benefit of a cloak, bonnet, and gloves.

  The matching blue slippers peeping out from beneath the hem of the gown were currently soaking wet. Meaning she had in all probability walked here, and these flimsy shoes had become wet from walking through the puddles on the pavement and roads formed by the rain which had fallen heavily the previous night. The hem of her gown was completely sodden in confirmation of that possibility.

  None of her limbs appeared to be out of alignment or swollen, as indication she had any broken bones, and although her hands were slightly blue in color, her fingers did not look to be injured either. Nor were there any visible injuries to her head or torso.

  After weighing up the danger of moving her if she was injured internally against leaving her out in the cold and wet a moment longer than necessary, Benedict quickly and carefully gathered her up into his arms.

  He tensed as she gave a slight groan. He allowed her time to settle with her head resting against his shoulder before turning on his heel and hurrying back to the infirmary. She weighed little more than a child, but he was inclined to think, taking into account the thinness and pallor of her face, that was more from a lack of sustenance than a specific illness.

  Carlton stood at the ready to open the doors through to the examination room. “Do you know who she is, Your Lordship?” he enquired quietly once Benedict had lain her down on the examination table before covering her with a blanket. Being placed on the table had caused her to give another groan.

  To answer Carlton’s question, Benedict had no idea what her name was, what possible connection she could have to Lord Gordon, nor anything else about her.

  Indeed, there was only one thing Benedict was absolutely sure of as he stroked the tangle of golden hair back from her brow. “She is mine,” he stated emphatically.

  Carlton gave him a wide-eyed look before nodding. “Very good, my lord. I’ll have Cook prepare a pot of hot sweet tea and bring it over directly.”

  Benedict was barely aware of the older man leaving as he stared in fascination at the young lady who had somehow taken up residence in his heart and soul without the two of them having even spoken a word to each other.

  Did she feel that connection too?

  Was that the reason, after a mere few seconds of the two of them staring at each other a week ago, she had now sought him out?

  Benedict somehow doubted that.

  Yet here she was. And once he had examined her and was satisfied she was not seriously ill, Benedict intended to carry her over to the main house and make her comfortable in one of the guest bedchambers there.

  “She’s a beauty.”

  Benedict turned to see Jimmy standing in the doorway. “But half starved, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The dark-haired young man strolled over to stand on the other side of the examination table, with only a slight limp to his gait to indicate his injured knee still troubled him. “I’d say so, yes,” he confirmed, his expression grim. “’Er gown and slippers is silk, and she’s refined lookin’, so starved on purpose, does ya fink?”

  Benedict pictured Henry Gordon’s glittering piggish eyes and his bloated and overfed body before nodding. “Yes, Jimmy, I do think.”

  “Does ya need me to ask the lads ta pay someone a visit?”

  Jimmy’s “lads” consisted of the three equally disreputable young Cockney men who had visited Jimmy here several times during the past week.

  “Can I defer making any decision on that for the moment?” Benedict answered slowly. “But let’s keep it in mind as an option,” he added in a hard voice as the young woman groaned again. She tried to roll over to her side but, for whatever reason, found the movement too difficult.

  “’Er back’s ’urting ’er,” Jimmy said softly.

  A spinal injury would surely have prevented her from walking here. So it must be some other injury to her back that was causing her this discomfort.

  “’Elp ’er to roll over onto ’er side,” Jimmy advised. “
I’d ’elp ’er meself, but me arms ain’t working proper right now.” He held up those bandaged appendages.

  Benedict very carefully turned the young woman and was rewarded with a relieved sigh once she lay on her side facing away from him.

  Turning her had revealed the high-backed gown was fastened with a dozen or so tiny pearl buttons down the length of her spine.

  Even so, Benedict hesitated to unfasten those buttons so that he could examine her more thoroughly. It somehow seemed like an invasion of her privacy to half undress her when she was not conscious enough to be aware of it. Or protest it.

  Which was ridiculous. He was a doctor and examined patients every day. He had actually cut Jimmy’s clothes off him the previous week so that he could learn the extent of the younger man’s injuries, and then had to give the younger man some of his own older clothing when it transpired the ruined clothes were the only ones Jimmy possessed. The younger man now made quite a dashing figure in one of Benedict’s white linen shirts, a silver brocade waistcoat, and fitted pantaloons. A slightly scuffed pair of Benedict’s boots completed the outfit of a gentleman, something that had caused Jimmy to grin cheekily.

  Jimmy.

  Benedict now realized his reluctance to unfasten this young woman’s gown was because he did not want to do so with the other man in the room.

  Again, ridiculous.

  Jimmy was hardly in any condition to appreciate this young lady’s body, let alone do anything about it.

  Even so, that hesitation remained.

  “Want me ta give ya some privacy?” Jimmy obviously sensed that reluctance. “Ya bein’ a doctor an’ all,” he added teasingly.

  Benedict gave him a reproving glance. “Me bein’ a doctor an all, I merely wished to maintain this young woman’s modesty.”

  Jimmy gave him a boyish grin. “I ’eard ya tell Carlton she’s yorn?”

  Mortified, Benedict felt the heat of an uncharacteristic blush in his cheeks. He had said that. And he should not have done so. Circumstances were such that he had no right to lay claim to any woman, let alone one who already appeared to be in some distress.

  He straightened. “Be ready to offer words of comfort if she should awaken when I examine her.”

  Jimmy lifted one bandaged arm as high as he could in the facsimile of a mocking salute. “Wiv pleasure, my lord.”

  Benedict was careful not to touch flesh as he unfastened the gown’s tiny buttons before folding back the sides of the opening to reveal she wore a white camisole beneath. The skin Benedict could see was as smooth and pale as the rest of her.

  Lifting a scalpel from a tray beside him, Benedict pushed away all thoughts as to who he was examining and concentrated solely on learning what was causing this woman to groan in pain whenever she was moved. It took mere seconds to slice down the back of the camisole and reveal that the skin here was also unblemished, with nothing visible that might have caused her pain.

  “Try lower,” Jimmy pressed.

  “Lower?”

  “’Er bottom and the tops of ’er legs.” The other man’s expression was grim. “A good thrashin’ on the bum and fighs causes the person being ’it great discomfort sittin’ down or standin’ up, wivout anyone else bein’ the wiser for it.”

  “You sound as if you speak from experience.” Benedict voiced his concern for his new young friend.

  Jimmy shrugged. “I do, yes.”

  “I am sorry for that.”

  “Not your fault.”

  If Benedict was to be able to see the areas of this woman’s body that Jimmy had suggested, then he would need to cut down the back of the gown and her drawers. Benedict felt an innate aversion to doing that. It seemed far too…invasive.

  And he would not have hesitated to do so with any other patient!

  The accusation was completely valid, Benedict accepted, his expression grim as he used the scalpel to slice through the silk and cotton.

  He gasped and drew back in horror when he saw the intricate lacework of stripes, some of them scabbed over, but others open and weeping pus—and testament to the fact they were not fresh wounds—which decorated the pale flesh across the young woman’s buttocks and the backs of her thighs.

  Injuries which had been deliberately and painfully inflicted, and, as Jimmy had said, so as to cause the most discomfort when sitting. Possibly applied with a whip or a thin stick.

  “I’ll go and send for the lads,” Jimmy stated firmly as he turned away to step out of the room.

  Benedict felt an unaccustomed stinging in his eyes, and it took him several seconds to realize that the uncomfortable sensation was caused by the tears that now blurred his vision.

  Someone, and Benedict was inclined to think it was not-a-buffoon-after-all Lord Henry Gordon, had inflicted severe and terrible injuries upon this defenseless young woman.

  Chapter Three

  Chloe was so warm and comfortable when she woke that she felt no inclination to open her eyes only to face yet another day of the hardship that had become her life these past two years.

  If her senses were functioning correctly, then she was currently lying on her side on a very soft mattress and covered in the heavy warmth of thick bedcovers.

  Which was unusual enough, considering she usually slept on a hard and lumpy mattress with only a thin blanket to warm her.

  Chloe decided to continue enjoying the dream, keeping her eyes closed as she stretched out her legs and felt the softness of sheets against them. The freedom of movement and lack of discomfort also informed her she was no longer dressed in the dampness of her blue gown but appeared to be wearing something made out of soft cotton. One of her two night rails, perhaps? If so, they had never felt so warm and comfortable as this before.

  Perhaps she had died and gone to heaven, and this warmth and comfort was her reward for having lived a blameless if short life.

  Her life had certainly been short, but had she lived a blameless life?

  Not according to Lord Gordon—

  “I know by your breathing that you are awake, and it is now time for you to open your eyes and look at me.”

  Chloe froze, in body and thought, at the sound of that strong and commanding voice.

  Perhaps it was God? Or one of his Archangels?

  Whatever, or whomever, Chloe recognized it as a voice which brooked no argument to her obeying its instruction.

  She raised heavy lids, wondering if her guess of being in heaven was correct when she found herself looking up at angels and cherubs. Until she realized she was looking at the painted and ornate ceiling above her.

  Where on earth was she?

  “You are currently occupying a guest bedchamber in Winter House.”

  Chloe turned her head to the side as her question was once again answered without, she was sure, her having asked the question.

  She drew in a sharp breath as she found herself looking into the face of the man Mrs. Tailor had told her was Doctor Lord Benedict Winter.

  Which, considering the name of the house, made sense.

  The part that didn’t make sense was that Chloe appeared to be staying in his home. In one of his guest bedchambers lit by several candles. The darkness outside the windows told her it was nighttime.

  But how—

  Oh God, yes…!

  Chloe closed her eyes again as the events of the past week came back to haunt her. The pleasure and inner warmth she had felt that day as she had stared at the handsome and confident Lord Benedict Winter. Then the price she had paid for having left her room. A punishment that had also resulted in her being fed only bread and water once she felt well enough to eat or drink at all.

  Followed by the leap of hope a week later, after Mrs. Tailor had delivered her meager breakfast tray, but had once again forgotten to lock Chloe’s room before she returned to the kitchen to enjoy her own no doubt sumptuous breakfast with the rest of the household staff.

  Chloe’s heart had been in her throat and beating far too fast as she gingerly opened
the door before stepping out into the hallway and checking over the bannister of the gallery to see that the butler wasn’t standing at his usual post beside the front door. He was no doubt also enjoying a full breakfast with his fellow employees. Whatever the reason for his absence, it had allowed Chloe to quietly open the front door and make good her escape.

  It had only been once she was a safe distance away from Gordon House and sure no one was following her that Chloe had realized she should have taken one of Lord Gordon’s cloaks to wear over her short-sleeved gown. She had quickly learned the error, her thin gown completely inappropriate against icy cold and wet weather.

  Something else Chloe also hadn’t considered when she made her great escape was that she had nowhere else to go. No one she could go to. That she didn’t know anyone who lived in London, nor did they know her.

  Except Lord Benedict Winter.

  With only that faint glimmer of hope to cling to, Chloe had asked a passerby for directions to Winter House, logically hoping that if Lord Gordon lived at Gordon House, then hopefully, Lord Benedict lived at Winter House.

  The relief Chloe had felt was immense when the gentleman she asked for those directions, after the briefest of frowning glances at her unsuitable attire and bedraggled appearance, had then instructed her on how best to reach Winter House.

  Although there had still been the possibility it was not the home of Lord Benedict at all but that of another gentleman with the last name of Winter.

  Chloe vaguely remembered hurrying through the wet roads and drizzling rain until she was looking up at the huge three-story white house with the nameplate Winter House attached to the brickwork near the front door. A huge and imposing front door which, after a glance down at her disheveled appearance, Chloe decided was not for the likes of her. Rather, she went down the lane at the side of the house and through a gate that led to a path which meandered through the garden to the back door.

  It was after this that things became a little hazy. She vaguely remembered a tall and imposing gentleman in livery opening the door into the kitchen, her mumbling something about needing to see Lord Winter. Chloe had been hit with such a wave of relief once the man had hurried off down the garden in search of his employer that it was quickly followed by dizziness and then total blackness.