by Cheryl Holt
“If you’re caught, I’ll have to kill you.”
He grinned. “I won’t be caught.”
He leaned in and kissed her, slowly, desperately, then he drew away and slid to the floor. He straightened his clothes while she was stretched out on the bed. She felt decadently wonderful, like a harem girl who’d been entertaining the sultan.
“We’re not finished discussing this,” he said.
“Yes, we are.”
“No, I intend to nag until I’ve convinced you.”
“You’ll never convince me.”
“Ha! You don’t think so?” He gestured to her prone form. “We’re halfway there already. I just need to push a bit more, and you’ll give me whatever I ask.”
“You are very possibly the vainest person I have ever met.”
“You’re correct. I am.”
He bent down, his palms on the mattress, and delivered a final kiss. She was putty in his hands and couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to resist him.
“Get some sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Will you stay home with us today? Please don’t ride in the rain again.”
“I will stay with you every second. I’m on a mission, remember? You have to be mine as fast as I can wear you down.”
“You say that like a threat.”
“No, I say it like a promise.”
He laughed and strutted out. He didn’t tiptoe, didn’t peek to discover if the hall was empty. He simply sauntered away.
She flopped down, terrified over what they’d set in motion. Where would it lead? Where would it end?
To her great horror and shame, she yearned for it to lead in every wicked direction. Where had her common sense gone? Where had her morals and probity gone?
There were no answers to those questions. There was merely the frightening realization that she was all alone in the world, and he’d offered her safety and security. She was making bad choices because of it, and she suspected he was right. She would disgrace herself if it would guarantee he continued to help her.
Like a foolish ninny, she was starting to hope she could remain by his side forever. A permanent situation was outrageous to consider, but why was she so keen to accept that conclusion? Why couldn’t she have a fairytale ending?
He’d just become an earl, but he didn’t care about that elevation. Plus, he’d turned thirty, and he needed to wed. Why couldn’t he pick Jo? Why not? She’d always been so willing to oblige others, to never ask for more than she was given, but why couldn’t she have Peyton Prescott?
The prospect—that she was counting on him, that she was envisioning a future—was alarming, but she ignored any of her reservations. She was ecstatic and excited and absolutely ready to learn what would happen next.
My, my but wasn’t she in trouble?
* * * *
Peyton sat on a sofa in the front parlor. He was sipping a brandy and staring at the fire in the grate. It was late in the evening, and he was trying to decide what sort of day it had been.
On the one hand, it had been the best day ever. The rain had fallen unabated, so he hadn’t ventured out. Instead, he’d dawdled at home with Jo and Daisy. They’d played cards and read to each other and told stories. It had been incredibly domestic in a fashion he typically scorned and usually avoided.
On the other hand, it had been especially dull. He wasn’t a fellow who tarried in parlors, playing games and drinking tea. He was a man of action and adventure, and he didn’t like to be idle. So what was he thinking?
He was entirely too fixated on Jo, and he had to impose some distance between them, but he couldn’t persuade himself to get moving. He recognized he had to change his behavior, but he kept devising reasons as to why he didn’t have to begin just yet.
He hadn’t initiated a single conversation about her and Daisy and their predicament, but if he pestered her over important topics, they’d have to proceed toward solutions, all of which would involve her leaving.
Obviously, he had to find her a place to live and figure out how she would support herself. Or should he offer to support her? He wasn’t sure. He had no connection or duty to her. But didn’t he have a duty to Daisy? After all, she was his niece. Shouldn’t he support Daisy? Should he pay Jo to mind her?
That would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?
Yet the Benton estate was in dreadful fiscal shape, so there wasn’t a ton of money to toss around. The cheapest option would be to send them to Benton to the cottage where Daisy had grown up, but Peyton understood Barbara’s position.
He’d always viewed himself as a better man than Neville, and he refused to torment Barbara. Even though he didn’t like her very much, he would never deliberately hurt her.
“What to do? What to do?” he muttered to himself as Jo walked in.
She’d been upstairs putting Daisy to bed, a chore that made it seem as if they were married and Daisy was their daughter.
“Are you talking to yourself?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that the first step down the road to insanity?”
“Only if I start answering.” She came over and sat by him on the sofa, and he inquired, “Would you like a glass of wine? Shall I pour you one?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Is Daisy asleep?”
“Yes, but it took an eternity for her to nod off. She’s nervous about the future, and she kept peppering me with questions.”
“Was she happy at Benton?”
“Happy enough, I think.”
They were quiet for a bit, both of them gazing into the dwindling flames.
“This was a good day,” Jo ultimately said.
“It was,” he agreed.
“It was kind of you to loaf with us, but weren’t you horribly bored? You were like a caged tiger.”
“Yes, I confess to being bored. I hate all this rain. I hope it will pass by soon.”
“Why were you talking to yourself?”
“I’m confused about everything. You know that.”
“My arrival with Daisy hasn’t helped.”
He scoffed. “You two are the least of my problems. Will you scold me if I list my complaints again?”
“No, go ahead, you poor, beleaguered aristocrat.”
He counted his grievances on his fingers. “I want to return to the navy. I don’t like having my in-laws at Benton, but I feel too guilty to kick them out. My brother was a spendthrift, so the finances are a disaster. I should stay in England and sort out the whole mess, but I can’t bear to do that. I’ve always lived a very different life. I’m not a farmer, and I have no desire to be.”
“If you’re that desperate to escape, you could retain people to watch over the estate for you.”
“If I can come up with the funds to pay them a salary. And Barbara and Richard would have to depart before I could hire a manager. I’d probably have to hire all new servants too. The ones working in the manor were brought from Barbara’s family home when she and Neville were initially married.”
“So they’re loyal to her. Not you.”
“Exactly, but how could I assemble an entire staff of strangers, then flee the country? Who would train them? Who would supervise them?”
“It sounds as if you need a wife and a countess. Perhaps you should be attending fancy parties and courting debutantes. There are dozens of girls who would love the chance to be installed at Benton as your bride.”
He nearly choked on his brandy. “Could you picture me wed to a debutante?”
She laughed. “No, I couldn’t picture it.”
“I could never marry some idiotic child, then disappear for years at a time. She’d be on her own, trying to administer that huge monstrosity of a house without me. It would be a nightmare.”
“Then maybe you need an heiress with a big, fat dowry. That would resolve many tricky issues. Are there any rich industrialists peddling the
ir daughters right now?”
“Oh, gad. Your suggestions are terrifying.”
He reached over and clasped her hand, linking their fingers as if they were adolescent sweethearts. With Daisy and various footmen constantly in the room all day, they’d had to pretend they weren’t dying to touch each other, but he’d sent everyone to bed, so they were alone. They could misbehave if they chose.
She turned toward him, and he turned too, so they were snuggled close, their sides pressed together all the way down.
“Here’s what I think,” she said.
“I figured you’d have some brilliant ideas.”
“First of all, I’ll admit to having an ulterior motive.”
“What is it?”
“I wish you would remain in England and that I could be part of your life. I’ve grown partial to your company, and I’d be sad if you left.”
“You’ve grown partial? Ha! I’m rubbing off on you. I knew I would.”
“Yes, you’re irresistible. But…”
“Uh-oh. I never like sentences that start like that.”
“Ever since I met you, you’ve waxed on about the navy and how much you miss it. It’s clear you should go back at once.”
He was surprised by her declaration, and her blasé attitude exasperated him. She’d be sad if he left?
It was such a paltry little word. If he sailed off into the sunset, she should be inconsolable, bereft, and barely able to continue on.
“You make it sound so easy,” he said.
“It is. Find a manager who suits you, and don’t worry about the Benton servants or your in-laws. Leave them at the estate for now. The property will always be there, and you won’t always be young and fit. You’ll eventually decide you’re finished with having adventures. You’ll be eager to settle down.”
“I can’t imagine that moment ever arriving.”
“I can. It happens to every wayfaring man sooner or later.”
He studied her, then snorted with amusement. “How old are you again?”
“Twenty.”
“How did you get so smart?”
“I’m not. I just want you to be happy. Recently, you’ve been overwhelmed with problems and choices. So…go to the navy; it’s what you yearn for most of all. After watching you pace all day, your path seems obvious to me.”
“I was pacing?”
“Yes.”
“And here I thought I was so relaxed.”
“You weren’t.”
They sat for a minute or two, pondering, then he murmured, “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“You’re welcome.”
They smiled, and he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. The embrace wasn’t tepid or gentle. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands in her hair, her pert breasts crushed to his chest.
He was riveted by the mischief he’d instigated the prior night, but he wasn’t sorry and didn’t feel guilty.
He’d suggested they engage in an affair, and she’d refused—as he might have expected. His proposition had been immoral and wrong. She was living under his protection, and in addition, she was doing his family an enormous favor by helping Daisy. He should have been grateful, and she should have been safe from him, but he couldn’t control himself.
She was penniless and desperate, and he didn’t doubt he could coerce her into giving him what he craved. Was he that awful? Was he that brazen? He was afraid he might be. Perhaps he was more like his brother, Neville, than he cared to admit.
He kissed her forever, deeply, passionately, but when his busy fingers began to massage her breasts, she drew away.
“We’re not carrying on like this in your parlor,” she scolded.
“All right.” He grinned. “Shall we retire to your room? We can—if you’d rather.”
“No! I will head there by myself, and you will stay here until I am inside and have spun the key in the lock.”
“What fun would that be?”
“Goodnight.”
“Are you really going up without me?”
“Yes, I really am.”
“You’re cruel to torment me like this.”
“You’ll survive.”
“It might not.”
She chuckled. “You’ll be home tomorrow, yes?”
“If it rains? Probably. But if it quits, I have to visit Evan and Amelia. Then I have meetings with my lawyers and bankers.”
“How tediously boring.”
“Yes, it will be.”
“I’m glad you’ll visit your friends though. You’ll feel better once you’ve resolved your quarrel with them.”
He shrugged. “If they’ll let me resolve it.”
“Goodnight,” she said again.
She stood and flashed a look as old as Eve’s, then she sauntered out, and he could barely keep from chasing after her like a berserker. He’d sweep her into his arms and take her to his bed. The notion was so thrilling it was difficult to remain seated.
He listened as she crossed the foyer, as she climbed the stairs. The place was very quiet, so he could even hear when she shut her door, when she spun the key as she’d vowed she would.
It dawned on him that he could find another key and bluster in—if he truly wanted to. Her trivial attempt to bar him would only last if he allowed it, but apparently, he wasn’t prepared to press the issue.
He was ready to head to bed too. He downed his drink and walked out to the foyer, and movement in the corner stopped him in his tracks.
Newman was standing in the shadows, a silent sentinel guarding the house. Earlier, Peyton had told him there was no need to wait up, but evidently, he’d waited up anyway in case his assistance became necessary.
How long had he been there? How long had he been eavesdropping?
It was a servant’s job to conceal his emotions and his opinions, but Peyton was behaving very badly toward Jo, and they both understood that he was. Newman’s concern for Jo was obvious, but his disappointment with Peyton was obvious too, and he made no effort to hide his reproach.
Peyton didn’t know Newman and assumed he was a Slater family retainer, brought in after they’d sold their property. He braced, figuring Newman would comment on Peyton’s conduct. Frantically, he wondered about his reply. It would be the height of folly for Newman to admonish Peyton, and it was definitely a firing offense. But Peyton wasn’t the sort of employer to terminate a man for speaking candidly.
Any criticism would be spot on, but no chastisement was voiced. Newman swallowed down every word he was dying to hurl, so no argument erupted.
Peyton nodded. “Goodnight, Newman.”
“Goodnight, Lord Benton. Sleep well.”
“I will.”
Peyton went to the stairs and trudged up them. He felt petty and small and very much in the wrong, and he could feel Newman’s eyes cutting into his back the whole way.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Newman stood in the corner of the dining room. It was after nine o’clock. Miss Bates and Daisy had had their breakfast, then headed off on a shopping excursion.
Miss Bates had heard about a church bazaar where parishioners were selling their old clothes at a fundraiser. Apparently, she pictured herself as a seamstress, and she enjoyed scrounging for items she could redesign.
He doubted Lord Benton would like their rummaging through other’s clothes and bringing them home, but it had gotten them out of the house which was a benefit.
He didn’t understand how she’d become so cordial with the Earl or how she’d ended up ensconced in a bedroom upstairs. Newman had presumed Lord Benton was about to engage himself to Amelia Boyle, but with Miss Bates barging in, Miss Boyle had vanished.
The evening Miss Bates had arrived during his birthday party, she’d definitely been in a bit of peril. The Earl had rescued her from her predicament, and Newman recognized how knightly conduct could bowl over a woman. And Lord Benton was a rich, handsome bachelor.
> That sort of combination could cause an innocent girl to make many risky choices.
He’d been surprised to discover that she was Daisy’s aunt, and everyone who worked for the Prescott family knew who she was. He wondered if the Countess was aware that Daisy had been invited to live at Benton House. Newman hadn’t written to the estate about it, and he couldn’t guess if any of the other servants had.
Did Lord Benton comprehend the hornet’s nest he was stirring? Did he care?
Newman hadn’t settled his opinion as to what Peyton Prescott’s true character would turn out to be, but he didn’t appear to be cruel or stupid. So what was he thinking with regard to Miss Bates?
She was only twenty, so she was ten years younger than he was, and she was very much alone in the world. Newman eavesdropped on her constantly, and there had been no mention of parents, relatives, or friends. In particular, there had been no mention of any male authority figures—a father, brother, or cousin—who might protect her when she desperately needed protection.
Newman had witnessed an incident between the Earl and Miss Bates that he shouldn’t have witnessed, and the spectacle had left him incredibly disturbed. He’d been awake until dawn, fretting and pacing about the rising danger to Miss Bates. It wasn’t any of his business, but it was totally his business too.
They had a dozen servants. He and the housekeeper were older, but the rest—the footmen and the maids—were around Miss Bates’s age. Lord Benton couldn’t carry on an affair with her. Not with so many young people hanging on their every word.
The Earl didn’t seem to realize it, but he had no secrets from them. There were already whispers among the maids as to how he gazed at Miss Bates when he assumed they weren’t watching. They cleaned Miss Bates’s room every morning, so it was only a matter of time before evidence leaked out that couldn’t be explained away.
How far down the road to perdition had the pair traveled?
The prior night, when the Earl’s shenanigans had been unmasked, he’d looked terribly guilty. It was clear he grasped that his behavior was very, very wrong. Someone had to admit it. Someone had to point out the hazards. If Newman remained silent, and Miss Bates was harmed, he’d never forgive himself.
