Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 1: Books 1-6 Of 12 - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 34

Genevieve was feeling more than a little disgruntled when she returned to her bedchamber some long minutes later, having had more of a problem than she could possibly have realised dealing with her ablutions with only one useful hand. Even now she was unsure of whether or not her gown was tidy—or even decent!—at the back.

‘I will have the man’s name, Genevieve.’

She faltered slightly as she looked across the bedchamber, not because of Benedict’s demand but because he had made himself comfortable in her absence and was now stretched out upon her bed, with several pillows supporting his head and shoulders, his black hair tousled. He had removed his neckcloth completely, with several buttons of his shirt unfastened to reveal a glimpse of the dark curls that covered his chest.

Genevieve wished she could avert her gaze, but unfortunately instead found herself mesmerised by such blatant male sensuality. ‘You look as tired as I, Benedict,’ she spoke in self-defence.

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘It is after two o’clock in the morning.’

‘A time when you, and no doubt many of your friends, often begin the evening’s activities rather than end them!’

‘True,’ he acknowledged unrepentantly as he lazily crossed one booted foot over the ankle of the other to look at her uncompromisingly between the highly polished tips of those boots. ‘The man’s name, Genevieve.’

‘Is there a particular reason for your own … fatigue?’ Once again she ignored his question, having no idea how to answer him now any more than she had earlier. ‘Perhaps you have made some progress on your own quest in regard to your parents’—Benedict?’ Her eyes widened in alarm as he swung his booted feet impatiently to the floor and sat up.

He was so very, very male!

Clothed in his usual elegant finery, with his dark and dangerous looks, Benedict was enough to make every female heart in a room pound the moment he entered it. But here and now, with his dark hair tousled, wearing only that fine white linen shirt and silver waistcoat to cover his chest and those wide and muscled shoulders, with his throat revealed, black pantaloons fitting tautly across his thighs and the long length of his legs, he was quite literally, breathtaking. In fact, Genevieve could not recall having taken a breath since first looking across the bedchamber at him.

She drew one in deeply now. ‘I am sorry if I have enquired into something you feel is too personal to discuss with a woman who is little more than a stranger to you—’

‘Please be quiet, Genevieve.’ His voice was soft, but all the more of a warning because of it, his eyes once again that glittering black onyx as he glared across the room at her. ‘My reluctance to discuss with you my progress, or rather, lack of it, in regard to finding my parents’ murderer, has nothing to do with how well I do or do not know you—and I know you very well, Genevieve. Intimately. Both inside and out. Do I make myself clear?’ The darkness of his gaze was so compelling it was impossible for Genevieve to look away.

Her cheeks burned at memory of that ‘intimacy’. ‘Very.’

‘Good.’ Benedict nodded tersely. ‘I do not choose to discuss the subject with you, or anyone else, because there is nothing to tell. No new evidence which has suddenly come to light. Nothing,’ he added bleakly. ‘My godfather investigated the matter thoroughly at the time and I have continued those enquiries since, and there is no new evidence of why they died or who killed them.’

Genevieve winced. ‘I am sorry.’

‘No more so than I.’ He nodded grimly.

‘Did you talk to the servants? They are much more astute than they are ever given credit for, you know—’

‘Genevieve, much as I appreciate your efforts to divert my attention, it will not wash.’ He raised dark and pointed brows. ‘I am not a man easily diverted from my purpose. I will have the name of the man who hurt you and I will have it now.’

And his will, Genevieve knew, was as determined as her own. For different reasons, of course. Benedict was by nature strong and self-confident. Genevieve’s own stubbornness, in refusing to give in to Benedict’s demand, came from a continued need she felt to avoid any sort of confrontation between him and William Forster. Not because she feared Benedict would not emerge the victor in any fair exchange between the two men—his rapiersharp words could be as lethal as his prowess with both sword and pistol were reputed to be!—but because she knew William Forster was not a man who played by any rules but his own.

‘Are you and Suffolk perhaps … better acquainted than previously stated?’

Genevieve looked at him blankly. ‘You are referring to Frederick St James, the Earl of Suffolk?’

‘Obviously, it was not him,’ Benedict drawled self-derisively, Genevieve’s bewildered expression enough to tell him he had been well off the mark with that particular guess. He rose to his feet. ‘You know, Genevieve, this would all be so much simpler if you were to just give me the man’s name.’

‘I cannot.’ She gave a determined shake of her head.

Benedict looked at her through narrowed lids; her red curls were tousled, with several having escaped their pins to fall down the slender column of her throat, and her face was still deathly pale, despite the four hours’ sleep she had enjoyed earlier.

Those same four hours when Benedict had lain beside her and watched her as she slept, appreciating how young and delicate she looked without her feisty spirit in evidence, or any of the fire flashing in those deep-blue eyes.

‘You love the man still?’ he guessed shrewdly.

Her eyes widened. ‘Sorry?’

He grimaced. ‘I can think of no other reason why a woman would choose to protect a past lover from the present one.’

Was Benedict her lover? He had certainly kissed her two evenings ago, touched her intimately and given her immeasurable pleasure, but did that really make him her lover? Benedict appeared to think so …

She gave a shake of her head. ‘How could I possibly continue to love someone who has physically hurt me?’

Benedict’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘I have absolutely no idea. But I believe that some women do. Never having been in love myself, I do not understand the drive of that emotion, nor the workings of a woman’s heart in regard to the type of man they might choose to bestow that emotion upon.’ He shrugged.

Benedict was undoubtedly telling her not to mistake the desire he had shown her as being that emotion, either, as his concern for her now was no doubt stating that he would only ever contemplate being her lover.

Which was exactly as it should be. Unlike Sophia and Pandora, Genevieve had no intentions of ever falling in love, let alone marrying again.

‘I am told, however,’ Benedict continued scathingly, ‘that there is a very thin line between love and hate—and obviously you have not crossed over that line as yet with regard to your former lover.’ He arched a coldly derisory brow.

Genevieve became very still as she took in the full import of what Benedict was saying to her. He truly did believe that a previous lover had done this to her? That a man she loved, and who professed to love her in return, had done this to her after discovering she was now involved with Benedict and that she was remaining silent now in order to protect him?

The whole idea was ludicrous, ridiculous; women did not really behave so stupidly, did they, as to continue to love a man who treated them with such cruelty and contempt? Genevieve had certainly not felt anything approaching that emotion for Josiah Forster.

But was it not better, for all concerned, if Benedict believed her to be one of those women rather than for him to learn that it was her vicious and cruel stepson who had hurt her? The stepson who had also threatened to harm her again if she were to cause a scandal before his marriage to Charlotte Darby were to take place. ‘Did you end the relationship or did he?’ Benedict watched Genevieve closely as he asked the question.

She gave a slight shake of her head, the directness of her gaze not meeting his. ‘I was the one to—to sever that particular relationship.’

‘At least you had that much sense!’

The eyes she raised flashed deeply blue at his obvious scorn. ‘It does not seem to have done me much good!’

Benedict’s top lip curled with distaste. ‘Possibly because, despite bringing your intimacies to an end, you have allowed him to remain in your life?’

‘I—’ She drew in a deep and steadying breath. ‘Could we … talk of something else, Benedict?’

His mouth thinned with distaste. ‘If that is what you wish.’

‘It is.’

‘Then we will do so. For the moment,’ he added softly. ‘As it happens, there is something else I wished to discuss with you … The reason I came to see you yesterday, and again today, was to ask if you would care to accompany me to Carlton House in two evenings’ time.’ He picked up his jacket from the bedside chair where he had placed it earlier. ‘Obviously, I will understand if, in the circumstances, you were to choose to refuse the invitation.’ He looked at her with challenging black eyes.

‘Carlton House …?’ Genevieve breathed excitedly.

Benedict nodded. ‘The Prince Regent has invited myself, and a companion of my choice, to dine with him that evening. I should warn you—it will not be a dinner of manners or propriety.’ He grimaced. ‘I do not believe any of Prinny’s dinners could ever be called that!’

Genevieve had no idea what to say to such an invitation. Or why Benedict had bothered to mention it when he so obviously believed her to still be in love with another man. The same man who had broken her wrist.

But Carlton House!

She had lived in the country for almost the whole of her marriage to Josiah Forster, followed by another year of enforced mourning for him, and these past few weeks of the Season, whilst enjoyable, had certainly not included dinner with the Prince Regent at Carlton House.

Of course the Prince was so very unpopular now with the general public, his reputation as being a prolific rake, and for throwing excessively lavish parties, not in the least approved of by the majority of the country after the years of war against Napoleon and the hardships which had ensued. For all except the Prince Regent, apparently.

But she had heard such rumours of the Regent’s dinner parties, such tales of excess and licentiousness … ‘And is this invitation still open to me?’

Benedict gave a haughty inclination of his head. ‘If you are not too easily shocked, and your arm is not paining you as much by then.’

Genevieve would make sure that it was not, even if she had to refrain completely from exerting herself or removing her arm from the sling for the next two days! ‘Then I believe I should very much like to accompany you to dinner at Carlton House. Thank you for inviting me,’ she accepted quietly.

Benedict’s expression was enigmatic as he looked up from straightening the cuffs of his shirt beneath his jacket. ‘And if this evening out in public with me should reach the ears of your previous lover?’

Genevieve’s gaze sharpened suspiciously, knowing that suspicion was warranted as she now saw the look of challenge on Benedict’s harshly handsome face as he met that gaze. ‘You are hoping that it will,’ she realised slowly. ‘Knowing of my yearning for fun and adventure, you have dangled thoughts of going to Carlton House as a lure to entice me, for the sole purpose of hoping that this other man will then reveal himself to you, if it is reported I have once again spent the evening in your company.’

‘Your intelligence is only one of the many things I admire about you, Genevieve!’ He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘Although it is to be hoped that the novelty of a visit to Carlton House is not the only lure for spending the evening with me?’

‘Do not try to now divert me with your teasing, Benedict.’ She eyed him impatiently.

He smiled wryly. ‘As I said, intelligence as well as beauty. And, yes, Genevieve, as you have so rightly guessed, there are more ways than one to find the answer I seek.’

She gave a slow shake of her head. ‘You are—’

‘Now, now, Genevieve, there shall be no name calling.’ Benedict crossed the bedchamber in long strides before tapping her playfully on the tip of her nose. ‘Accept, pet, that I am simply more devious than you and let that be an end to it, hmmm?’

Benedict was so very much more devious than Genevieve could ever have imagined. And he had obviously come to know her nature well these past few days. Because try as she might, much as it might indeed reach the ears of William Forster, Genevieve knew she could not forgo the opportunity, the delicious excitement, of going to Carlton House with Benedict and dining with the Prince Regent himself.

She gave him an admiring glance. ‘What a wicked, wicked man you are, Benedict Lucas.’

He gave a hard and mocking smile. ‘As many others before you have noted.’

Genevieve had no doubt that they had and that most, if not all of them, were women, because Benedict had behaved, and no doubt would again in future, very wickedly indeed towards the women in his life.

It was no doubt part of the attraction …

Only part, of course, because Benedict was a man of fascinating contradictions: The coldly aloof and yet sensually dangerous Lucifer, and the lazily charming and yet equally as dangerous Benedict.

In either case, Genevieve admitted to finding those contradictions as fascinating as so many other women had before her.

As such, she was very much afraid that William Forster could be as displeased as he liked. She would not relinquish the pleasure of being with Benedict or Lucifer. ‘How should I dress for this dinner party at Carlton House?’

‘For Prinny’s taste? Better not to dress at all,’ Benedict drawled. ‘For my own …? Ravishingly so will do.’

Genevieve laughed excitedly. ‘I cannot begin to tell you how much I am looking forward to this.’

She did not have to when Benedict could clearly see that pleasure in the glow of her eyes and the excited flush to her cheeks.

He only hoped that he was at her side, or within the vicinity, when his efforts to flush out the bastard who had dared to hurt her came to fruition …

‘I am sure there is no need for you to feed me yourself in this noticeable way, Benedict. Everyone, including the Prince Regent, is watching us!’ Genevieve gave him a self-conscious glare from beneath long dark lashes as he enticingly held up a forkful of capon only inches from her lips.

Benedict sat beside her at Prinny’s own long and noisily crowded dinner table, with at least half-a-dozen other tables set about the room for the hundred or so guests squeezed in the dining room at Carlton House. As Benedict had warned her, it was a gathering of excesses, with several of the ladies and gentlemen openly indulging in intimacies which would be far better left to the privacy of the bedchamber.

Prinny himself, as Genevieve had just remarked, glanced down the table at them often. Benedict knew the other man well enough, and had spent enough time in his company, to realise that although Prinny might no longer be the slender and handsome man he had once been, he was nevertheless as charming and affable as he had ever been, and his eye for a beautiful woman remained as astute.

To Benedict’s intense irritation, the warmth of his Regent’s greeting earlier had shown that Prinny obviously considered Genevieve, in a satin gown of pale lemon, to be a very beautiful woman. ‘Let them look,’ Benedict answered with hard dismissal as he continued to hold the fork towards her temptingly.

To say that Genevieve felt slightly intimidated, by both her surroundings and the strange collection of people dining at Carlton House, would be an understatement.

Carlton House itself was perhaps smaller than she had expected for being the home of England’s Regent, but this room and the ones she and Benedict had passed through earlier this evening on their way to the dining room were all elegantly and magnificently furnished, even if their opulence did not suit Genevieve’s more reserved tastes. This dining room was decorated with such an array of artwork, both on the walls and upon the tables in the form of exquisitely decorated cakes and fancies. The tables were set with blazing candles and fine crystal and tableware glittered brightly beneath the dozens of chandeliers lit above them. It was obvious that no expense had been spared, even for what could only be called one of Prince Regent’s more intimate gatherings.

But it was the people seated at the tables who intimidated Genevieve the most, the numerous guests obviously a mix of both the ton and the somewhat lesser classes—the latter usually in regard to the ladies present. Indeed, the revealing gowns some of those ladies wore—in some cases they possessed no bodice to them at all, leaving the woman’s breasts bare for all to see, and in others the gowns were all but transparent—were indicative that they were not ladies at all! Although many female members of the ton were also present, most in the company of young gentlemen who were certainly not their husbands.

It was, at one and the same time, both fascinating and shocking to see so many members of the ton, both male and female, whom Genevieve usually encountered only in the formality of society’s drawing rooms and ballrooms, indulging in intimacies with ladies and gentlemen to whom they had no public connection.

As for the Prince Regent himself!

He had made a great show earlier, when Benedict had presented her to him, of lingering over the kissing of the back of her gloved hand, his eyes merrily glinting up at her in male appreciation as he did so. Corpulent and red-faced, and no longer a young man, he should not have been in the least attractive, yet there was an air about him still, of good humour and gaiety, that was so very appealing.

‘Prinny himself advised I take care of you,’ Benedict reminded drily.

He had indeed, and the concern the Prince Regent had shown for the lace shawl noticeably draped about Genevieve’s injured arm had appeared to be heartfelt.

Even so … ‘I do not think he meant for you to actually feed me,’ Genevieve muttered awkwardly.

‘It is far less … shocking than the things others are doing at his dinner table.’ Benedict looked about them pointedly.

It was true that the amount of alcohol which had been drunk, together with the copious amounts of food, was obviously taking its toll. The laughter and conversation had grown to almost a roar, one gentleman further down the table having unbuttoned his pantaloons, apparently on the excuse of showing the lady at his side his ‘war wound’. The lady seated on Benedict’s right was having her thighs fondled by another gentleman who had crawled under the table, all apparently without that lady missing so much of a word of the conversation she was having with the man seated to her right.

As Prinny’s dinner parties went, Benedict knew this was nowhere near as licentious as it would become later. Nevertheless, he deeply regretted bringing Genevieve to such a raucous dinner party as this one. For all that she liked to pretend she was a sophisticated and widowed duchess, her wide-eyed and fascinated expression as she observed the carryings on indicated otherwise.

‘I should not have brought you here.’ Benedict sat back with a scowl, his effort of sitting forwards and feeding Genevieve, and therefore using his body to shield her from some of the worst excesses on view, obviously serving little purpose when the couple opposite were engaged in—Lord knew what they were engaged in. ‘I believe it is time we left.’

‘Why, Benedict, I do believe you are discomforted by the behaviour of our dining companions?’ Genevieve looked at him with laughing blue eyes.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Do not look so mischievously satisfied that might be the case, Genevieve—or I too might disappear beneath the table and discomfort you!’

‘Discomfort me …?’ she repeated interestedly.

He drew his breath in with a hiss. ‘I do not believe this … company to be entirely suitable for you.’

She widened innocent eyes. ‘Surely we cannot leave now, with the meal still only half over? Would the Prince Regent not be offended?’

Benedict’s scowl deepened. ‘You are right, of course; we could not leave without bringing our departure to his notice when we make our necessary farewells, and he is sure to object.’ He glanced about them impatiently, wondering if Prinny’s entertainments were usually this scandalous—and knowing that they were. He had just never taken notice of it until in Genevieve’s more innocent company.

Besides which, he had not managed as yet to speak with the gentleman Eric Cargill had asked him to contact this evening, and the real reason for his having accepted Prinny’s invitation …

Nor was Benedict sure that he was going to be able to do so, not when it would necessitate leaving Genevieve alone whilst he talked to the other man. Several gentlemen—other than Prinny—had eyed her as if she were a tasty morsel they wished to gobble up and devour in a single bite. And if any man was going to take a bite out of Genevieve this evening, then Benedict had every intention of it being himself!

Indeed, this whole evening had become one of physical frustration and discomfort for Benedict, because he had been disturbed by Genevieve’s presence at his side since the moment she had greeted him at her home earlier. She looked so beautiful in the lemonsatin gown, which made her skin appear as pale and translucent as the pearls drops once again adorning her hair. There was a glow of excitement in her eyes, making them sparkle and shine, the flush to her cheeks adding to that glow. As to the laughter that never seemed far from those delectable lips as he fed her mouthfuls of food …!

They were the same delectable lips Benedict now ached to feel about his aching and throbbing cock as it pressed more and more insistently for release against the front of his pantaloons.

None of which was helped by the improper antics of those sitting close to them!

‘You seem troubled, Benedict?’ Genevieve placed her hand lightly upon the rigidity of his muscled thigh as she turned to him, her expression becoming even more concerned as he gave a low groan. ‘Is there anything I might do to relieve your discomfort?’

From any other woman, Benedict knew such a question would most certainly have carried a flirtatious innuendo, but from Genevieve it was no doubt exactly as it seemed: concern for the no doubt pained expression upon his face.

He drew in a deep breath. ‘I do not believe anyone would object if we were to step outside on to the terrace for some air before the next course is served.’ He threw his linen napkin abruptly down on the table before standing up—instantly giving Genevieve an eye-level view of the tented front of his tailored pantaloons.

She glanced up at him beneath heavy dark lashes. ‘Are you sure that it is air you are in need of, Benedict?’

Perhaps he had been wrong, and there had been innuendo in her earlier remark, after all?

His jaw was now so tightly clenched he felt as if his teeth were in danger of snapping off at the roots. ‘I believe a breath of fresh air will do to start with!’

She placed her folded napkin carefully upon the table before standing up slowly. ‘And to finish …?’

‘That, my dear Genevieve, will depend entirely upon you!’ Benedict took a firm hold of the elbow of her uninjured arm to escort her across the room and out through the French doors, which had been left open, no doubt in an effort to prevent the room from becoming too overheated with so many people crowded into it.

Obviously it had not worked in Benedict’s case; he was overheated to the point of bursting by his need to make love to Genevieve again!