The Care and Taming of a Rogue (15 page)

“I’m something of a hunter, you know,” he murmured, his breath skimming warmly along her cheek. “You trying to run only makes me want you more.”

“I’m not trying to be coy,” she managed, her eyes closing at his touch. “I’m trying not to be ruined.”

“I know that.” With a sigh of his own he backed away, placing the necklace back into the satchel. “You’ll get this later, then. Will the carving suffice as an object of intellectual curiosity?”

She smiled. “Yes. I shall keep the carving.”

“Good.”

Because now she wanted to kiss him again, Phil lipa stood and wandered over to the edge of the water. “Did you bring luncheon?” she asked over her shoulder.

He walked over beside her. “I have peanuts, an apple, and a peach,” he said, patting various pockets. “I didn’t actually think of luncheon.”

“Well, if Kero will share, I’m satisfied with the repast.”

His fingers touched hers, twining with them. “
I’m
not satisfied yet,” he returned quietly, “but this is a very good start.”

Chapter Eleven

“All addressed to you,” the butler returned, extending his arm as far as he could while keeping his body well back from Kero’s apparently terrifying and intimidating person.

“I thought I was being viewed cautiously,” Bennett muttered to himself, taking the stack of cards and parchment and heading upstairs to his borrowed bedchamber.

Apparently it was as Phillipa claimed, and his yearly stipend from the Crown made him more acceptable than Langley’s book damned him. Still, he needed to choose the events he attended with care; an appearance at the wrong soiree could send him sliding back to infamy. He’d have to pay a call on Jack for a bit of guidance. And in more than one field, since he seemed to be even more uncivilized than he’d believed.

As he topped the stairs, he dug his fingers into his right side just above his hip. The spear wound was fairly well healed by now, but driving a carriage and pulling on the leads of a spirited animal used muscles that he’d been fairly careful with previously.

With a concerned chitter, Kero patted his cheek. Bennett reached up and scratched her between the ears. “Don’t worry,” he muttered at her. “Nothing broke loose, so the exercise is likely good for me.”

“Cousin.”

For a moment Bennett though he’d imagined the nearly inaudible whisper, until the sound repeated. He turned his head to spy the figure lurking behind a hall table. “Good afternoon, Geoffrey.”

“Shh.” Backing away, the ten-year-old gestured for Bennett to follow him along the hallway back toward the house’s west wing, where the family’s bedchambers lay.

With a glance about to make certain the disapproving Fennington wasn’t somewhere waiting to club him over the head, Bennett followed his cousin into what was clearly the lad’s bedchamber. Lead soldiers, wooden swords and muskets and pistols, even what looked like a genuine American Indian bow and sheaf of arrows, littered the walls and floor and shelves.

Books, jars of rocks and glass marbles and seashells—he’d had much the same collection himself at nearly the same age. Shortly after that, however, his worldly belongings had been pared down to what he could tote from school to school in one battered trunk.

The boy closed the door once they were both inside. “I wanted to speak with you,” he said in a low, conspiratorial voice.

Bennett pushed back against his general dislike of the entire Howard family. “What is it?”

“My father says you should be more understanding of his position.”

Hm. Considering that he had no intention of pummeling a ten-year-old, this seemed to be one of those occasions that Phillipa had mentioned, when patience and diplomacy were both called for. “And?” he prompted.

“And I think you should be nicer to him. He’s had a very bad time of it, you know. Lord Mason purchased his favorite team, a sterling pair of grays, and Mama stopped speaking to him for a fortnight because he wouldn’t allow her and Madeline to holiday in Paris last spring to purchase the latest fashions.”

Money troubles?
In all the imaginings of his relations he’d entertained over the years, Fennington and his brood had always been wealthy and privileged and condescending. Apparently he’d been in error on one of those counts, anyway. Whether that explained the marquis’s eagerness to received fifty percent of Langley’s book profits, he didn’t know. Even if it did explain his actions, it didn’t excuse them.

The boy continued to look up at him, all gangly elbows and knees and dark eyes set above high cheekbones. “I’ll make an attempt to be nicer,” he hedged.

Geoffrey smiled. “Splendid. Because I read Captain Langley’s book, and I would very much like to become acquainted with Kero, even if Papa doesn’t wish me to.”

Langley’s apparent affection for Kero was one of the largest surprises in his book, considering that the two of them couldn’t abide each other in the Congo. Bennett supposed it was a matter of David being unable to conjure any writing talent on his own. He sucked in a breath. “Shouldn’t your father and I make amends first?”

“I thought about that, but it may take some time. And your disagreement shouldn’t keep Kero and me from becoming friends.”

Bennett considered in silence for a moment. While he didn’t particularly care whether he angered Fennington, putting Geoffrey into the middle of their feud hardly seemed fair. On the other hand, he didn’t want Kero sitting on his shoulder while he attempted to woo or court or seduce Phillipa—whatever they were calling it at the moment.

Perhaps Geoffrey had a point; a bit more civility toward Fennington might well benefit both of them. “Let’s sit on the floor, shall we?” he suggested, sinking down cross-legged.

Across from him, young Geoffrey followed suit, his eyes shining as he focused his attention on the small vervet monkey. “I have some peanuts,” he said, and leaned under the bed to pull out a small box stuffed with them. “I gathered them in case you agreed.”

“Good thinking.” As soon as Kero recognized the contents of the box she began to bark, bouncing up and down on Bennett’s shoulder. “You could put a few of them on the floor in front of you,” he commented. “She’s just as likely to grab the box and run, though, so you might as well dump them all out right beside you.”

The boy did as instructed, and Bennett lowered his shoulder, the usual signal for Kero to disembark. She bounded onto the floor and began gathering peanuts into her arms, her teeth chattering in absolute delight.

“Hold one out to her in the flat of your palm.”

“Will she bite me? Father says she will.”

“I can’t swear to anything, but she’s good-tempered and very bright. Move slowly and keep your voice gentle until she becomes accustomed to you.”

Geoffrey nodded, looking nervous. Even so, he held out his open palm, and Kero grabbed his thumb for balance while she removed the peanut with her other hand. “It feels like an infant’s hand,” the boy announced in a carefully hushed tone.

“Except much stronger, especially when it comes to opening things that contain food. Offer her another.”

Within five minutes his instruction had been reduced to “Don’t worry, she won’t pull your ear off,” and “She prefers being scratched between the ears.”

“Oh, she’s brilliant,” Geoffrey laughed, hunching his shoulders as Kero sat on his head and rained peanut shells down on him.

“You are two of a kind, I think.”

Finally, Bennett stood. At least two of the invitations Hayling had handed over to him seemed to be for that evening, and he needed to find Jack before he accepted the wrong one.

“Can she stay?” Geoffrey asked, handing up another peanut.

Damnation. He couldn’t leave the house until he was certain the vervet wouldn’t panic, and he didn’t want to split them up if they were becoming friendly. Very well, he’d had to have Jack come to him. “We’ll give it a try. Kero,
utangoja
,” he instructed. “Stay” was the one command she tended to listen to, since the first incident with the leopard. Only, though, if he said it in Swahili.

He left Geoffrey’s door open in case she became anxious and wanted to find him, then made his way back downstairs. “Writing paper?” he asked Hayling as the butler appeared in the foyer to meet him.

“The desk in the morning room, sir.”

“Thank you. And I’ll need someone to deliver a note to Clancy House.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“What’s amiss?” his friend prompted.

“Nothing’s amiss.”

“Your note said,” Jack returned, pulling it from his pocket and unfolding it, “and I quote, ‘I require your assistance.’”

“And I do. I have invitations, and I don’t know which ones to accept.”

Jack blew out his breath, sinking heavily into a chair. “Christ, Bennett. You fight crocodiles barehanded. When
you
need assistance,
I
get frightened half out of my wits.”

Bennett laughed. “Apologies. I’ll attempt not to abuse my reputation for animal wrestling in the future.” He tossed the stack of cards and invitations at Jack. “Help.”

With a put-upon frown, Jack glanced through them. “What are you looking for?” he asked. “Are you trying to avoid Langley’s family? If so, I would send my regrets to L—”

“I want to know which parties Phillipa is most likely to attend.”

Jack looked up at him. “Phillipa Eddison? Flip?”

“Yes. Secondary to that, I don’t want to be seen anywhere that will raise more questions about my judgment or competence. When I come face-to-face with Langley, I want the high ground.”

“Flip?” his friend repeated, lifting both eyebrows. “I mean, I know you shoved roses at her, but you’re serious, aren’t you?”

Bennett walked to the nearest window and sat back against the sill. “I’m getting somewhat tired of you—of everyone—dismissing the idea that I find her attractive. That she is attractive. You keep claiming to be her friend. I hadn’t realized you were such a shortsighted one.”

“I
am
her friend. That’s why your interest in her worries me, Bennett. You’re a damned adventurer. What do you want from her? A warm bed? A traveling companion? A family?”

Walls abruptly began to close in, and Bennett turned to shove open the window and stick his head outside to draw in a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he finally said, ducking back inside the room.

“You’d best figure it out.”

“Why? Why do I have to think that far ahead? I like her, and I want to be close to her. And at this moment, that is all I require. She and Sommerset said that implies marriage. So I’ll marry her to have that.”

“Do you know how many steps and rules you’ve just crushed beneath your soddy old boots?”

“I’m becoming aware of that. So are you going to assist me, or not?”

“Oh, the stories I’ll be able to tell my grandchildren,” Jack muttered, sifting through the stack again. “I once helped the great Bennett Wolfe choose a soiree to attend.”

“It’ll be an even better story if I don’t punch you in the nose for excessive cheekiness. Where will she be tonight?”

Finally the Marquis of Emery’s youngest son picked out a heavy, folded card and flipped it to him. “The Beckwith recital. Millicent Beckwith is her cousin. And Livi’s attending, so Flip’s likely the one who bullied her into it.”

“Then you’ll be attending, as well.” Of course Jack would be, if Lady Olivia planned to appear. Bennett considered pointing out that he found his friend’s interest in the one sister as baffling as Jack likely found his interest in the other, but the timing seemed poor. After all, he still needed advice on another dozen invitations.

“Yes, I’m attending. I’ll come by for you at seven o’clock, shall I?”

“Thank you.” Bennett gestured at the stack. “Continue. Phillipa first, then respectability.”

“I’d rather help you fight crocodiles,” Jack grumbled, but went back to his task.

Phillipa blinked at the reflection in her dressing mirror. She couldn’t recall how long she’d been standing there, staring at herself, but she did know it was more than likely longer than all the minutes she’d previously spent there all Season. “Yes,” she called, then took another look at herself. “No. Livi, could you come in here for a moment?”

Olivia opened her bedchamber door and entered, Mary, the maid they shared, following. “You’re the one who said we must be on time tonight. And don’t you dare beg off.”

“I’m not begging off,” Phillipa protested. “I wanted your opinion about something.”

“About what?”

Phillipa glanced at her pale blue-clothed reflection again. “My gown. I’m not certain it’s terribly…flattering.”

Silence. Then Olivia practically leapt into the air, pirouetting as she landed. “It’s a miracle,” she exclaimed, laughing excitedly.

“No, it isn’t,” Phillipa returned with a scowl. “I only want to know what you think of me in this dress.”

“You’re fine. The dress is hideous. The color is all wrong for you, and the neck is far too high, and—”

“What do you mean, it’s hideous? I wore it last month and you never said anything!”

“Yes, I did. You just couldn’t be bothered to listen. Mary, go fetch Flip’s peach and green gown, the one with the lace sleeves. And my faux emeralds.”

The maid curtsied. “Right away, my lady.”

“Oh, and my green hair ribbons.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Oh, dear
. “Do I look that awful?” Phillipa asked, attempting to look at herself critically and seeing the same not-quite-easy figure who always looked back at her.

“No, you don’t look awful.” Livi made a circle around her, one eye narrowed thoughtfully. “But you could look better. I don’t know how much difference it will make at Milly’s recital, but I’ve always found that when I know I look nice, I feel…confident.”

Mary reappeared with the gown and the jewelry, and Phillipa found herself in the unusual position of being fawned over. The simple knot she and Mary had fashioned for her hair became an elaborate tangle of delicate, dripping curls. The pale blue dress vanished, apparently never to be seen again, and instead she found herself in her new, daringly low-cut peach and green silk gown with matching green stones ringing her throat and hanging from her ears.

“Oh, Flip,” Livi exclaimed, putting both hands to her cheeks as she finally stepped back. “You’re my Mona Lisa.”

“Mona Lisa has no eyebrows.” She faced her reflection once more. To her relief the image was still clearly she, not obscured by face paint and beauty patches. For one of the first times in her life, though, she felt…well put-together. Her rough edges hidden a bit better. The fact that she didn’t quite fit in, disguised.

“You know what I mean. Now let’s be off. No one will believe their eyes.”

Frowning again, Phillipa hurried down the stairs after her sister. “Do not go about announcing that you’ve improved me or some such thing.”

“I won’t.” Olivia spun about to take her hands and pull her out the front door. “But you do look very nice. It’s almost a shame there’s no dancing.”

A smile pulled at Phillipa’s mouth. “I will be more than happy just to sit and be admired.”

“Speaking of being admired, is Sir Bennett planning to attend, by chance?”

Her heart began pounding. “A recital? I very much doubt it.”

“Good. That will give the other gentlemen present a chance to look at you.”

That hadn’t even occurred to her. For heaven’s sake, she hadn’t wanted to look nice to impress anyone. Not directly, anyway. In fact, she realized as she took her seat in the coach opposite Livi, what she seemed to have achieved tonight was looking on the outside the way she felt on the inside when Bennett looked at her.

And yes, she did wish he could see her tonight, dull recital or not. He heated her blood and spun her mind, neither of which she was accustomed to. It was intoxicating for someone who’d been born with both feet firmly planted on the ground. He was intoxicating. And if she could have believed for a second that she could possibly be more than a passing fancy for such a famed and worldly adventurer, she would more than likely be absolutely terrified.

She knew that she should take his interest for what it was, enjoy it while it lasted, and use the opportunity to learn what she’d agreed to teach him—those silly rules of decorum, propriety, and courtship. Whereas she’d thus far been able to be as direct and blunt as she pleased because no one paid her any mind,
his
mistakes would be noticed. He did need her help, then, if only to recover his journals and his reputation so he could stride off to enjoy his next adventure.

“If you keep frowning, your face will crease.”

“I’m not frowning,” she retorted. “I’m thinking.”

The coach lurched to a stop. “Well, think later, because now you must be pretty and charming.”

The music room of her aunt and uncle’s house was lined with chairs, and thankfully there seemed to be enough people in the room to occupy most of them. Given that Millicent hated playing the pianoforte in public, the only thing worse than a large crowd would be a very small one.

She hurried forward to kiss her older cousin on the cheek. “Look how many people have come!” she exclaimed.

The petite brunette smiled, the expression pinched. “I think it’s the desserts Mama always serves,” she whispered. “And the Robbins twins are going to play a duet.”

“Well, I’m here to see
you
.”

“I’m a bit nervous,” Milly confessed, nodding as Livi joined them. “You’ll never guess who sent an acceptance this afternoon. Of course there’s no chance for a match between him and me, but can you imagine?”

Phillipa began to frown, then remembered Olivia’s warning and attempted to smooth the expression away. “Who’s coming?”

“Oh.” Their cousin’s gaze went past them, her already fair complexion paling to an alarming degree. “Him.”

She and Olivia both turned around. Phillipa’s heart stopped, then resumed beating again in a rather fluttery manner. John Clancy was there, but he wasn’t the man at whom everyone was looking. At whom she was looking. Bennett was absolutely…edible in a well-fitted black jacket, gray and black flecked waistcoat, and tan breeches. An arrested look on his face, Bennett gazed directly back at her.

He walked toward her, his stride long, his gait smooth and confident. No wonder he drew every female’s attention merely by virtue of his presence. And those eyes, deeper green than the faux emeralds around her neck. She felt as though she’d run her stockinged feet along the carpet on a windy day, full of sparks and electricity.

“Hello, Livi,” John’s voice came from beside him. “Flip, you look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, John,” she returned, though she couldn’t pull her gaze from Bennett’s. She didn’t want to.

What was wrong with her? She couldn’t recall that she’d ever been at a loss for words before. Fighting the urge to simply wrap her hands into his lapels and kiss him, she cleared her throat. “Good evening, Bennett,” she managed.

“Good evening.” Kero on his shoulder clicked her teeth. “She would like for you to scratch her,” he translated after a moment.

Someone tugged at her skirt, and Phillipa shook herself. Milly stood beside her, brown eyes wide. “Bennett, this is my cousin, Miss Beckwith. Milly, Captain Bennett Wolfe. And Kero, of course.”

“Pl-pleased to meet you,” Milly stammered, curtsying.

Finally Bennett looked away from her. “Miss Beckwith,” he said in his low drawl.

“How lovely of you to come and hear me play,” she continued, offering another of her tight, uncertain smiles.

“Lady Phillipa always chooses interesting outings,” he returned, “so I attempt to follow her lead.”

Milly sent her a surprised glance. “She has interesting friends, as well.”

John stirred. “Come along, Bennett,” he said, nodding at the ladies. “I’ll introduce you around.”

For a moment Phillipa wasn’t certain he would leave her side, but with a breath he turned and followed his friend across the room. Immediately Millicent grabbed her arm. “I heard that he gave you roses, Flip, but everyone said it was a jest. It’s not though, is it?”

She watched him for a moment, nodding at the various guests, mostly female, to whom John introduced him. He simply dominated the room, and he didn’t even seem to be aware of it. “He says he’s courting me,” she whispered, still not quite ready to say the words out loud.

“Good heavens.” Milly continued staring at him as well. “I have to say, I can’t think of a better way for him to shore up his reputation than by associ ating himself with the most brilliant and sensible young woman in London.”

Phillipa blinked. “What?”

“Oh, Mama’s waving at me.” Millicent hugged her. “I need to go take my place.”

“Good luck,” Livi said, taking Phillipa’s arm as Milly released her. “Don’t listen to her,” her sister continued in a quieter voice. “You know how jealous she gets. And you do look very fine tonight.”

With a forced smile, Phillipa nodded. “We should find seats.”

“You’re thinking about it, Flip,” Livi chastised, leading her toward the rows and rows of chairs. “She probably spent three days thinking up what she would say to you. Now she won’t have anything else to contribute for a week or more.”

Despite her abrupt concern, Phillipa snorted. “Goodness, your fangs are sharp tonight,” she told her sister.

“You ask yourself enough questions about everything,” Olivia returned, taking a chair and pulling Phillipa down beside her. “You don’t need anyone else inventing mischief.”

If Milly’s theory was an invention, it was one that made a certain amount of sense. Bennett’s star burned far brighter than hers, but she knew what some of her peers said about her. She knew they called her a bluestocking, more interested in books than in anything actually going on around her.

A large, muscled form sank onto the chair beside her. “I don’t think I’ve ever attended a recital before,” Bennett said in a low voice. “Does one throw money?”

If a lady skilled in charm and conversation had the questions that Phillipa did, no doubt she would find a way to ask around them, to peel away the layers and discover the truth without saying a cross word or offending a soul. Phillipa turned in her seat to face Bennett. “Are you courting me in order to quell the talk about your performance in the Congo?” she asked.

Milly sat at the pianoforte, and Phillipa turned forward again to join in the applause. Even without looking directly at him, she could still feel him gazing at her. No, not gazing—glaring. A heartbeat later, his glass of vodka spilled down the side of her dress.

Startled at the sensation of cold running down her leg, Phillipa shot to her feet. Bennett stood at the same moment. “My apologies,” he said, just loud enough so those directly around them could hear. “Let me help you get something for that.” He lifted Kero from his shoulder and handed her and an apple to John. Then he wrapped a hand around Phillipa’s wrist and pulled her away from the chairs and through a door into a hallway.

“You ruined my dr—”

She couldn’t finish her complaint, because his mouth found hers. He tilted her face up with his hands, kissing and retreating, kissing again, until she couldn’t think of anything but how exciting it felt. When her hands slid around his shoulders, he uttered a low moan that made her shiver.

This long, hard, dark-haired lion of a man made her yearn for things she couldn’t quite put a name to, made her lift up on her toes to follow him when he retreated for breath. “This is rather rash, don’t you think?” she managed, her voice as unsteady as her legs.

“You need to stop thinking so much,” he returned, kissing her hot and openmouthed. “What’s in here?” he asked, gesturing at the door beside her.

For a moment she couldn’t even remember. “It’s where the chairs are stored,” she finally answered.

“Good.” Still holding on to her with one hand, he opened the door and pushed it open, then pulled her with him into the room.

“Bennett, you’re going to ruin me.”

He lifted her around the waist, setting her down on a sheet-covered table. Now his hands splayed over her thighs, slowly drawing her dress up past her knees. When he parted her legs to step between them, she gasped at the intimacy of the position.

“Stop.” Grasping for logic again, she pushed against his shoulder.

Bennett lifted his head. “Why?”

Yes, why?
“Because I asked you a question, and you haven’t answered me.”

His long fingers caressed her face again. “You’ve read my books, Phillipa,” he said quietly, his eyes searching hers. “You know me. Would I use you to fortify my own standing in front of these people?”

The kernel of doubt Milly’s comments had sent into her chest crumbled away. “No,” she returned.

“Then what is your objection?”

Phillipa forced a smile, attempting to pretend that having him so close and so set on…having her, didn’t make her more than a little nervous. “You haven’t even brought me daisies.”

“For God’s sake.” Blowing out his breath, Bennett rested his forehead against hers. “Being civilized has very few merits.” Slowly he backed away a little, tugging her skirt back down to its proper place. “I’ll purchase you a new dress.”