Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2) (21 page)

Secondly—and this was the visit Benedict anticipated the most!—he would call upon William Forster at his London home, and make it known to the other man that he was now conversant with events of both the past and present in regard to Genevieve, and that in the circumstances he would not welcome—in fact, it might be detrimental to William’s own health—if he were to find the other man anywhere within Genevieve’s vicinity in the future.

A challenge Benedict sincerely hoped that
the other man would take him up on—he would enjoy nothing more than, as Genevieve had already stated, ‘the excuse to beat William Forster within an inch of his life’!

‘You need to see my opponent to realise the triviality of my own injuries!’ Benedict assured with satisfaction as Genevieve’s eyes widened in concern later that evening as she obviously spotted the bruise upon his cheek the moment the butler showed him into her gold salon.

‘Thank you, Jenkins.’ She waited until her butler had departed before turning back to Benedict. ‘And do I really need to take a guess as to whom that “opponent” might have been?’

‘As a woman of intelligence, I rather think not,’ Benedict drawled as he stepped further into the room, eyes dark with appreciation as he took in Genevieve’s appearance in a deep-blue silk gown the exact same colour as her eyes. ‘You are looking very beautiful this evening, love.’

It was impossible for Genevieve to hold back the flush of pleasure that warmed her cheeks. Just as it was impossible for her not to be affected, in turn, by Benedict’s dark good looks, the darkness of his hair lightly tousled,
that bruise he now sported upon his cheek only adding to that air of danger he carried so easily.

She gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘If you are hoping to divert my attention with flattery—’

‘The truth can never be called flattery, Genevieve,’ he assured her softly.

‘You
are
attempting to divert me.’ She eyed him reprovingly.

He laughed softly. ‘But only by telling the truth.’

‘Then do me the service of answering me as truthfully in regard to your meeting with William Forster!’

‘Tenacious as well as beautiful,’ Benedict murmured appreciatively.

Genevieve reached up to gently touch the livid discolouration upon his cheek. ‘Your poor face,’ she murmured with compassion. ‘Did the brute dare to hit you?’ Her expression darkened with displeasure.

Benedict continued to grin his satisfaction. ‘Only after I had hit him. And he did not touch me with his fist, but the heel of his boot, as he toppled over with all the grace and trumpeting of a bull elephant!’

‘Now that you mention it, he does rather
resemble one!’ Benedict had described the scene so well that Genevieve could not help but smile at the vision which had appeared so vividly in her mind. ‘Even so …’ she sobered with a frown ‘… you promised me that you would not allow yourself to come to any harm when you met with William.’

‘I seem to recall my precise words were that I would not allow anything to prevent me from joining you here for dinner this evening,’ Benedict reminded her softly as he reached out to clasp both her gloved hands in his own. ‘And now that I have, I believe I would prefer to eat you up rather than any meal your cook may have prepared for us …’

‘Benedict …!’

‘Yes, love?’ He lowered his head to nuzzle his lips against the bare skin between her shoulders and throat.

‘I—is this what lovers do, too?’

‘I believe so …’ he murmured distractedly.

‘I—but you—Surely you are so much more conversant in these things than—than I …?’ Genevieve’s heart was pounding loudly in her chest, her pulse racing to the point that she could barely think, let alone answer him coherently.

‘Am I?’

‘Well, are you not?’ She gave an inelegant squeak as the warmth of his lips grazed the tops of her breasts left bare above the low neckline of her gown.

He shrugged elegant shoulders as his lips continued to blaze a trail of fire across the swell of her breasts. ‘I do not recall being so, no.’

‘Benedict …!’

His eyes were dark as onyx as he lifted his head slightly, his lips now only inches from her own. ‘It is not gentlemanly to discuss previous … relationships, pet. Not that there have been any in my own life which could be called such,’ he added softly as Genevieve’s frown deepened. ‘Very few women have captured my interest for as long as you have, love.’

‘But we have only been acquainted for two weeks.’

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘And that is twelve, or perhaps thirteen days longer than any other woman has succeeded in holding my interest.’

Genevieve looked up at him searchingly, unsure whether or not Benedict was teasing her. The directness of his dark gaze implied he was not. ‘I had thought—I believed—’

‘Yes, love?’ Benedict looked down at her with dark and mocking eyes.

Genevieve’s frown became pained. ‘I believe there is something else which I must tell you, Benedict, if we are to proceed any further …’

He arched dark brows. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I—I would hate for you to learn of this by any other means.’

He stepped back slightly, his own expression guarded. ‘Proceed, Genevieve.’

She moistened the plumpness of her lips with the tip of her tongue before continuing. ‘The truth is, that several weeks ago, the night of Sophia Rowlands’s ball, as it happens, I—I made a deliberately outrageous statement to my two dearest friends, declaring that if we had any sense at all, now that our year of mourning was over, we should all take a lover or two before this dreary Season came to an end.’ She gave a sad shake of her head. ‘At the time I had believed that I would be able to—I had thought I might succeed—No matter.’ She grimaced. ‘You arrived at the ball with Devil Stirling at the very time I made my announcement and I impulsively stated that either of you fine gentlemen would make one of us a splendid lover.’

Benedict had listened to Genevieve’s confession with ever-increasing amusement. Would this woman ever cease to surprise him? ‘And you now wish to confess that you are disappointed Devil preferred your friend Pandora?’

‘Not at all!’ She gave him an impatient frown. ‘Indeed, I find him even more fearful than I do you!’

His brows rose. ‘Fearful, pet …?’

‘Top-lofty and arrogant.’

‘And you do not now consider me to be either of those things?’

‘On the contrary, I
know
that you are both of those things,’ she assured airily. ‘It is just that, having come to know you better, I tend to forget to feel nervous of you the moment you kiss me.’

‘I am glad to hear it,’ Benedict drawled.

‘Yes. Well.’ Her cheeks were once again aflame with embarrassment. ‘I had not realised at the time I made that statement that you did not take mistresses and that any interest you might show me would place you in a position where you would be made the subject of gossip and speculation,’ she continued earnestly. ‘Otherwise I should not have—should not have—’

‘Allowed me to pursue you?’

‘Exactly!’

Benedict held back his laughter with effort. ‘In that case, I believe I have a confession of my own to make.’

Her eyes widened guilessly. ‘You do?’

‘Hmmm.’ He nodded. ‘Do you remember, on the day of Devil and Pandora’s wedding, when I asked you if you would care to come for a ride with me in my carriage?’

‘I recall it very well,’ she answered cautiously.

‘Well, I am afraid that the ride I was suggesting was not one where you sat on your side of the carriage and I sat on mine!’

She stared at him blankly for several minutes, before her eyes widened, her cheeks reddened and she gave a shocked gasp. ‘Benedict!’

He chuckled softly. ‘I also confess to not giving a single thought to the gossip of the
ton
either then or since. There, are we done with confessions for now, pet, or do we need to delay our dinner a while longer?’ He held out his arm pointedly.

‘I think it best that we do not!’ Genevieve placed her gloved hand upon that arm.

It was not until much later, when Genevieve, at Benedict’s insistence, remained seated opposite him at the small dinner table enjoying a cup of coffee as he indulged in a brandy and cigar after Jenkins had served them a delicious dinner, that she realised he had once again succeeded in diverting her attention, this time from his meeting earlier with William Forster.

Having spent the past two hours or so looking across the candlelit dining table at Benedict, answering his conversation more and more distractedly as her complete physical awareness of him deepened—the darkness of his hair was rakishly tousled, the blackness of his gaze hooded as he returned her gaze often, those patrician features appearing harshly etched in the candlelight—Genevieve confessed to having found it difficult to concentrate on anything else but the physical splendour of the gentleman with whom she was currently enjoying an intimate dinner.

It was shockingly improper, of course, for a young widow to dine alone in her home with any gentleman, but she doubted that Benedict was any more eager than she was to have that knowledge made public; he was, despite
what she had said earlier, the arrogantly elusive Lord Benedict Lucas as well as the disreputable Lucifer.

Although Genevieve confessed to finding herself thinking of him less and less as Lucifer, and more and more as Benedict—the gentleman who excited her more than she could ever have imagined and who had today leapt so ably to her defence—she did not believe the face he chose to present to the
ton
, that of the bored and arrogant Lucifer, would ever have cared to stir himself enough to bother leaping to any lady’s defence!

‘What are you thinking of now, pet?’ Benedict eyed her through the haze of the smoke given off from his cigar, having been aware of her shy glances in his direction through dinner, as well as noting the flush of arousal that had now spread from her cheeks down to the swell of her breasts, and the return of that reckless light to the deep blue of her eyes.

An awareness that he had felt just as deeply as their dinner had progressed and he attempted to keep up a light conversation. So much so that he was unable to stand up at this moment without revealing the throbbing state of his own arousal!

Those deep-blue eyes now avoided meeting
his. ‘You did not finish telling me earlier of the conclusion of your visit to William Forster.’

‘Possibly because I am grown bored by the subject—do not look so stricken, pet!’ Benedict instantly regretted his impatience as he saw the way Genevieve’s cheeks had paled at his harsh dismissal. ‘It was not my intention to hurt you, Genevieve—’

‘Please ignore me, Benedict, I am merely being silly.’ She blinked back the tears swimming in those deep-blue eyes as she looked across at him. ‘I should have realised how bored you have become by all this talk of my disreputable family.’

‘Forster was never your family, disreputable or otherwise,’ he assured her firmly, wanting to stand up and go to her, but knowing that his physical arousal was now such that he very much doubted they would be able to finish this conversation if he were to do so. ‘Nor is it now his intention to become a member of the Earl of Ramsey’s family next month,’ he added with satisfaction.

Genevieve gasped. ‘William has agreed to end his engagement to Charlotte Darby?’

The hardness of Benedict’s smile lacked all humour. ‘That would never do, Genevieve;
the lady must always be the one to end the betrothal if she is to maintain her place in the marriage mart.’ He grimaced at thoughts of the social strictures society placed upon them all. ‘No, what Forster has agreed to do is give Charlotte Darby every reason to break the engagement.’

‘How …?’

‘I have left the details of that arrangement to Forster. My only condition was that it be accomplished as soon as is possible and that he then as quickly remove himself, and remain removed, from all polite society.’ Benedict’s expression hardened as his thoughts lingered on the unpleasantness of his conversation with William Forster earlier this evening.

His meeting with Eric Cargill having been quickly completed, the earl showing he was as eager as Benedict to reopen the investigation into the death of Benedict’s parents, Benedict had then wasted no time in calling upon the Duke of Woollerton.

The other man had at first refused to receive him, something which Benedict had taken exception to, to the point that he had pushed his way inside the house and sought that gentleman out in his study. Nor had he spared a moment’s interest in hearing his indignant
blustering at this infringement of good manners, dismissing Forster’s butler himself before coldly informing the other man of the exact reason he was there.

The insults and scorn Forster had then proceeded to rain down upon Genevieve’s innocent head were not for repeating to anyone, let alone to Genevieve herself, and had earned William Forster a hefty right hook to the chin for his trouble!

Once the other man recovered enough to be able to talk through his swollen lips and bruised jaw, it had quickly become obvious that Forster did indeed feel deep resentment towards Genevieve for having married his father, a man old enough to be her own father, and that his main reason for that resentment was the huge financial settlement he knew Genevieve was to receive upon his father’s death—too late to be of any help to Genevieve’s hapless brother, but timely enough to allow Genevieve to set up her own household and rejoin the society she had been forced to leave so abruptly seven years ago.

The Forster fortune was not, it seemed, as healthy as it had once been, the previous Duke of Woollerton having squandered much of that fortune, first on the extravagant life he had
chosen to lead in London for so many years, and latterly on the doctors he constantly had brought to his country estate with a view to finding a cure for his affliction. It seemed that Genevieve’s widow settlement had been the final straw that broke that particular camel’s back, necessitating Forster now needing to find himself a wife in possession of her own fortune, a role Charlotte Darby suited admirably.

Benedict’s chilling promise to expose the other man to the Earl of Ramsey for the vicious and violent bully that he was had succeeded in persuading Forster into deciding Charlotte Darby would not make him a suitable wife, after all.