Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 1: Books 1-6 Of 12 - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 36

‘His Grace, the Duke of Woollerton, Lady Amelia Darby, Countess of Ramsey, and Lady Charlotte Darby,’ Jenkins announced two afternoons later as he showed three more visitors into Genevieve’s gold salon.

Genevieve’s already crowded gold salon. At least a dozen other members of the ton had already made visits this afternoon, two ladies and four gentleman still gathered there in conversation.

But none of those callers had been Benedict …

He had been noticeably absent both yesterday and today, despite having told her he would call upon her yesterday afternoon. Of course, their last conversation had not been conducive to them being able to exchange pleasantries in front of an audience, but even so Genevieve could not help her inner feelings of disappointment that Benedict had so obviously taken her at her word, and not bothered to call on her at all.

She would certainly have much rather received a visit from Benedict today, despite the humiliation she had suffered at their last conversation, than William Forster, the Duke of Woollerton, accompanied by his fiancée and future mother-in-law!

She had been expecting them, of course, William having sent round a note earlier, informing her of the intended visit. Not asking for her permission, of course, or if it was convenient, but merely stating it was his intention to call this afternoon with the idea of introducing his future bride, and her mother, to the woman who had been married to his father and was now the Dowager Duchess of Woollerton.

Genevieve had suffered a familiar trepidation earlier today when she had received William’s note, instantly recognising the seal on the outside of the missive, and knowing that William must now have heard of her visit to Carlton House in the company of Lord Benedict Lucas, and was no doubt intending to berate her by letter before appearing himself to add more stringent—and physical—recriminations. The announcement of his true intention had taken her completely by surprise.

But Genevieve had not allowed herself to become complacent, knew she could not completely rule out William’s visit as having two purposes, rather than just the one. Indeed, several of her visitors today had already asked as to her enjoyment of the evening she had spent at Carlton House, and so it would be naïve on Genevieve’s part to assume that William had not heard of that evening out, too, as well as the name of her escort, and to expect the worst.

She suppressed those feelings of unease as she dealt with the necessary courtesies and introductions, before taking a closer look, as Charlotte and her mother conversed with one of the other gentlemen present, at the young woman who was shortly to become William’s bride.

Genevieve’s feelings of misgiving, when William had informed her of the betrothal several days ago, now seemed completely warranted as she found herself looking at a delicate wisp of a girl, fresh-faced and blonde-haired and blue-eyed, young but certainly not a beauty, and who did not look capable of saying boo to a goose, let alone standing up to the bullying William Forster once he became her husband!

‘You appear to have hurt your arm, madam?’

Genevieve briefly cursed herself for allowing her attention to wander as she studied the young Charlotte Darby, to a degree that, for once, she had not taken note of William Forster’s whereabouts until he now spoke softly behind her.

She turned to face him, her eyes coldly contemptuous as she looked up into those pale and triumphant ones. God, how she hated this man! Hated, as well as despised him. ‘As you are only too well aware, it was not of my own doing,’ she bit out disdainfully. ‘And the doctor believes there is a bone broken in my wrist.’ Her arm was once again resting in the lace shawl tied at her nape.

William raised a mocking brow. ‘How unfortunate.’

Her mouth tightened at his obvious satisfaction. ‘Indeed.’

‘Perhaps you should take better care in future?’ His eyes had chilled. ‘Indeed, I believe I advised as much when I called six days ago? A warning you do not seem to have heeded in the slightest,’ he added hardly.

‘You are no doubt referring to my having been to dinner at Carlton House?’

‘I am referring to your choice of escort for that evening entertainment, madam!’

Genevieve refused to so much as blink in the face of William’s obvious displeasure, aware as she was that she was the one facing into the salon, and that William’s expression was the one now hidden from the other people enjoying refreshment and chatting amiably. ‘As I informed you some days ago, I fully intend to behave in whatever manner I choose. As I also intend to choose my own escorts.’

His pugnacious jaw tightened. ‘I expressly forbade you to go anywhere near Lucifer again until after my wedding to Charlotte has taken place!’

‘You have no right to forbid me to do anything any more, William. Not that you ever did!’ It was this man’s bullying of her that had not only resulted in the broken bone in her wrist, but also caused her to irritate Benedict by turning him away from her door, for fear he might see that injury to her arm. ‘Neither is this the time nor the place for such a conversation.’

‘Would you rather I called back later today, so that we might continue this conversation in private?’ His eyes glittered.

Genevieve looked at him coldly. ‘I am sure I have made it more than obvious that I would not be in the least concerned if you were never to call upon me again,’ she returned insultingly.

William eyed her scathingly. ‘Perhaps if you learnt to behave yourself.’

‘I am not a child, nor will I any longer be told by you or anyone else what I may or may not do, or with whom I may do it!’ Her cheeks were flushed with temper.

He eyed her consideringly. ‘Your … friendship with Lucifer appears to have given you the courage you previously lacked,’ he finally drawled. ‘Let us hope, for your own sake, that this friendship soon comes to an end.’

Her cheeks felt warm. ‘I do not consider that my friendship with Lord Benedict Lucas as being any of your business!’

Contemptuous amusement suddenly glittered in those already pale grey eyes. ‘Grown bored with you already, has he?’ William guessed shrewdly. ‘Thrown you over for some other, more obliging woman?’

Genevieve had absolutely no idea how Benedict felt towards her now, although his noticeable absence these past two days would seem to imply that he had indeed grown tired of both her and their tenuous friendship. ‘If that is the case, then it is not because of anything you have said or done to me.’

‘What does that matter, as long as it is over?’ William chuckled unpleasantly.

‘You—’

‘Lord Benedict Lucas, your Grace.’

Genevieve turned sharply at Jenkins’s announcement, just in time to watch as Benedict strode confidently into the suddenly silent room, instantly making her heart rate increase at she took in how dark and broodingly handsome he looked in his usual completely black attire and snowy white linen.

The darkness of Benedict’s gaze moved lazily over the other members of the ton now openly gaping at him, until it alighted on her and stopped, before then moving on again to narrow on the scowling and obviously displeased gentleman standing at Genevieve’s side.

‘Lucifer!’ William hissed under cover of the return of the murmured conversation in the room, as Genevieve’s other guests obviously became aware that they were staring impolitely at this new—and unexpected—arrival in their midst.

Genevieve’s gaze gleamed with triumph as she turned to look briefly up at William. ‘So it is,’ she murmured with warm satisfaction. ‘If you will excuse me? I really must go and greet my new guest.’

‘Do not make the mistake of thinking you have heard the last of this, Genevieve,’ William warned softly.

Her eyes flashed. ‘I advise that you do not make the mistake of thinking I will allow myself to be cowed by any more of your threats!’ She walked away without so much as a backward glance, her attention now focused completely on the pleasure of seeing Benedict again.

He was here.

It was all that mattered …

Benedict’s feeling of impatience—already irrationally high after two days of deliberately staying away from Genevieve, a totally futile gesture, when he had done nothing but think about her instead—had deepened the instant he entered Genevieve’s salon and saw all of her other visitors already gathered there.

The darkness of his mood lifted slightly, however, at the look of genuine welcome upon Genevieve’s face as she now crossed the room towards him, her pale cream gown a perfect foil for her red curls and ivory complexion, as was the gold-and-cream décor of this elegantly furnished salon.

To Benedict’s eyes, Genevieve’s face seemed paler than usual, however. Because her arm was still paining her? Or because of the gentleman she had been in conversation with when he entered the room?

Benedict’s narrowed gaze shifted back to that gentleman. William Forster, the Duke of Woollerton—and Genevieve’s stepson from her marriage to Josiah Forster. Which seemed slightly farcical, considering that the florid and overweight William Forster was noticeably several years her senior. Benedict did not know the other man well, but the little he did know he did not particularly like, and if Woollerton was the reason behind Genevieve’s pallor, then that dislike was likely to increase.

‘I am so pleased to see you again, Benedict.’

Benedict turned his attention from William Forster as Genevieve greeted him warmly once she reached his side, his expression softening as he looked down into the obvious welcome in her deep-blue eyes. ‘And I you,’ he returned gruffly, continuing to hold her gaze as he raised her hand to his lips.

She smiled up at him shyly. ‘In truth, I was unsure as to whether or not I would ever see you again.’

Benedict drew his breath in sharply as he was once again overwhelmed by her honesty. ‘I assure you, there was never any doubt of it being so,’ he murmured huskily as he maintained his hold upon her hand.

Her eyes brightened as she continued to gaze up at him. ‘I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear it.’

She did not have to when that pleasure shone in the depth of her blue eyes. ‘Damn it, why were we not alone when you said that!’ Benedict rasped gruffly. ‘I hate such social inanities as this with a passion!’ He scowled darkly at the other guests, totally startling the Countess of Ramsey, as she had chanced to cast them a sideways glance before quickly looking away again, two bright spots of embarrassed colour now in her cheeks.

Genevieve laughed softly. ‘That remark was not at all complimentary to my own charms, Benedict!’

He smiled ruefully. ‘And after you advised me to bring my manners with me the next time we met!’

Her laughter faded. ‘I fear we were at cross-purposes the last time we spoke together, Benedict.’

He gave a shake of his head. ‘I believe I am completely to blame for that. For which you have my heartfelt apologies.’ He looked down at her intently. ‘You look pale, Genevieve—is your arm still paining you?’

‘Not at all,’ she assured warmly. ‘In fact, when the doctor called this morning he assured me that I am healing well, and may even dispense with this silly sling about my arm for several hours a day, when I am either sitting or lying down.’

Benedict raised dark brows. ‘That sounds … interesting.’

‘Benedict!’ Genevieve looked about them self-consciously as the warmth coloured her cheeks.

He chuckled huskily. ‘But you blush so very prettily, Genevieve.’

She cast him a reproving glance, an effect totally ruined by the mischievous laughter gleaming in her eyes. ‘I believe you must let go of my hand now, Benedict,’ she advised softly as she turned to look at her other guests and realised they were still being closely observed, despite the efforts being undertaken not to reveal that observation.

‘Must I?’

She nodded. ‘I believe people are staring at us.’

‘Let them.’

‘I would be glad to, I assure you, but I believe we are only giving my other guests reason to gossip.’ She cast down long lashes against her cheeks.

Benedict scowled at those other guests as he reluctantly released Genevieve’s hand, his gaze settling on Woollerton. ‘Your stepson looks as if he has recently swallowed something sour!’ The other man looked positively dyspeptic as he glowered across the room at the two of them. ‘A second visit in one week, Genevieve; I thought you said that the two of you were not on such socially amiable terms?’

‘We are not.’ Genevieve’s mouth had tightened. ‘I believe he merely felt obliged to introduce Lady Charlotte and her mother to me.’

Benedict did not in the least care for the way in which Woollerton was looking down his nose at Genevieve, as if she were an unpleasant insect he wished to crush beneath the heel of one of his highly polished boots. ‘Is he intending to invite you to the wedding, after all?’

‘I suppose he will have to, if only for appearances’ sake.’ Genevieve gave a pained frown at the realisation. Bad enough that she’d had to suffer William calling upon her again this afternoon without the possibility of having to keep up this socially polite farce for hours upon end at his wedding next month. ‘Perhaps you would care to escort me there, if that should be the case—please, forget I said that.’ She gave a self-conscious shake of her head as her gaze now avoided meeting his. ‘There is no guarantee that the two of us will even still be talking to each other by next month,’ she dismissed lightly.

‘We will see each other at Dante and your friend Sophia’s wedding next month at least,’ Benedict reminded her.

‘Of course, yes.’

‘And I believe, despite our having witnessed their marriage last week, that Rupert and Pandora are now intending to have a big society wedding later in the summer, too.’

‘Really?’ Genevieve’s eyes lit up with pleasure.

‘It would appear so,’ Benedict confirmed. ‘Having declared his deep love for your friend Pandora, and she for him, Rupert now seems to wish it to be publicly known he is well and truly leg-shackled!’

Genevieve could not have been happier for her two closest friends and sincerely wished them both every happiness with all her heart, the same heart which had minutes ago sunk just at the thought of no longer having Benedict in her life, even as a friend. It was a friendship, she had realised during this past two days of silence from him, upon which she had all too quickly come to depend …

Which was most unwise on her part.

She already knew that Benedict was a man who rebuffed all emotions, apart from the friendships he had with Devil Stirling and Dante Carfax, and that those particular friendships had been forged during their years together in the army. Certainly no woman had ever held Benedict’s sexual interest for long, and none of those women had ever retained his friendship once that physical interest came to an end.

Besides which, Genevieve had vowed to herself, when Josiah died and she was finally free to do as she pleased, never to become dependent upon any man again, for anything. Her independence, emotionally as well as financial, was now as necessary to her as the air she breathed—the first free-and-easy air Genevieve had been able to draw for more years than she cared to think about.

She gave Benedict a bright but insincere smile. ‘I am very pleased for all of them. Now, if you will excuse me? I fear I have neglected my other guests for quite long enough.’

‘Of course.’ Benedict had absolutely no idea what thoughts had been running through Genevieve’s head these past few minutes, but whatever they had been they did not seem to have been pleasant ones. ‘I believe that I shall go and renew my acquaintance with Woollerton.’

Her eyes widened at the suggestion. ‘I had thought—you gave me the impression, when last we spoke of him, that you were no fonder of him than I?’

‘I am not,’ Benedict assured her drily. ‘But someone should talk to him, don’t you think?’ It was noticeable, to Benedict at least, that not even Woollerton’s fiancée seemed particularly eager to seek out the other man’s company. ‘One cannot help but feel sorry for the nervous little rabbit who is to become his wife!’ To Benedict’s eyes Lady Charlotte Darby did indeed resemble a scared rabbit, with her pale colouring and wide, ingenuous eyes.

‘That is unkind, Benedict.’ Geneveive shot him a reproving glance.

‘The real unkindness is surely in Ramsey having agreed to his only daughter marrying one such as Woollerton?’

‘Possibly.’ Genevieve could not help but inwardly agree wholeheartedly with this statement, to a degree that she was still uncertain as to what to do about it, having now had chance to see how very young and delicate Charlotte Darby actually was. Far too much so for her to suffer having such a brute as William Forster as her husband. But for her to interfere, by talking to the Earl of Ramsey of her concerns for his daughter, would result in William’s fury. With the result that she might suffer more than just a broken bone in her wrist. ‘Viewed with pragmatism, it is surely a good marriage on both sides? He is a duke, she is the daughter of an earl.’

‘But?’

Genevieve frowned. ‘I cannot help but agree with you that it was not a kindness on Ramsey’s part to have accepted William’s suit on behalf of his only daughter.’

‘Unless it is a love match—no,’ Benedict instantly dismissed such an idea. ‘Woollerton has neither the looks nor character to incite such passions in one so young and obviously romantically inclined as Charlotte Darby.’

“Obviously” …?’

He nodded ruefully. ‘The chit has been giving me cow-eyed glances these past few minutes.’

‘Understandably so.’ Genevieve chuckled softly. ‘You are Lucifer, one of—if not the—most handsome and sought-after gentlemen of the ton,’ she added teasingly as Benedict raised dark and questioning brows.

‘Ye gods,’ he muttered disgustedly. ‘If that is true—’

‘Oh, I assure you that it is!’

‘—then let me assure you that my own tastes do not run to young ladies barely out of the schoolroom!’

Genevieve looked at him beneath the sweep of her long lashes. ‘Then what do they “run to”?’

He arched his dark brows. ‘At this moment? A beautiful and widowed duchess.’

A blush brightened the pallor of Genevieve’s cheeks. ‘I am gratified to hear it.’

Benedict’s expression tightened. ‘Enough, dare I hope, to hasten the departure of your other guests with all possible speed?’

She laughed again softly. ‘Oh, I believe I might just mention in the next few minutes that my arm is starting to ache and that the doctor has advised I need to rest when that happens.’

‘“Resting” is not quite what I had in mind for the remainder of the afternoon and evening,’ Benedict growled.

Genevieve’s blush deepened. ‘I really must go and talk to my guests now—before you have a chance to say anything even more shocking!’

Benedict made no effort to join Woollerton for several minutes after Genevieve had crossed the room to engage the Countess of Ramsey in polite conversation. Instead he simply stood and watched her as she talked easily and charmingly with the older woman, feeling more at ease with himself than he had for the past two days.

Two days, when he readily admitted he had sorely missed their bantering together. As he had felt the loss of Genevieve herself.

Those same two days when Benedict had once again found his thoughts turning far too often to those frustrating memories of their lovemaking, both at Vauxhall Gardens and Carlton House. Both of them occasions when they had come very close—but not close enough for his liking!—to consummating that lovemaking.

‘I am not sure that I altogether care for the way in which you are looking at my stepmother, Lucas.’

Benedict’s shoulders tensed, his eyes narrowing as he slowly turned to look at William Forster, the Duke of Woollerton, the other man scowling at him, his round face florid in his vexation. ‘I do not recall asking for your approval?’ he bit out with a chilling softness the other man would have known to be wary of if he had known Benedict better. If he had known Lucifer better …

‘I am Genevieve’s closest male relative,’ the other man reminded him pompously.

‘And a poor example of it you are, too, if her broken wrist is any example of the guardianship you have shown her these past weeks!’ Benedict eyed the younger man coldly.

The duke’s pale grey eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘And what do you know of Genevieve’s broken wrist?’

Benedict shrugged. ‘Only that she did not, as she claims, do it by catching the sleeve of her robe upon a door handle.’

‘Indeed?’ Woollerton gave a mocking smile. ‘Then, no doubt, if you are not the one responsible—’

‘I most certainly am not and I would advise that you not suggest such a possibility in my hearing again!’ The chill warning of Benedict’s tone would have silenced any man possessed of even the slightest sense of self-preservation.

Unfortunately, William Forster was far too full of his own self-importance to heed that warning. ‘Then I can only assume that one of her other lovers must have been a little too … rough with her during their love play?’

The fact that it had been Benedict’s thinking, too, did not detract from the insult just levelled to both himself and Genevieve; Woollerton was implying both that Benedict was a fool, if he believed himself to be Genevieve’s only lover, and that Genevieve was nothing more than a trollop because of the existence of those other lovers. It was also designed, Benedict had no doubt, to put the doubt of suspicion into his own mind in regard to Genevieve’s fidelity to their own supposed relationship.

And had it succeeded in doing that?

A part of Benedict knew that he and Genevieve should not even have a relationship, not when he had only approached her initially with thoughts of using her as a shield for his real activities during his necessary ventures into society!

Something which they seemed to have moved beyond almost from that very first carriage ride together …

As for whether Woollerton’s arrow had met its target …?

If it had, then Benedict had no intention of revealing as much to the other man.

Genevieve felt nothing but relief when she saw the last of her callers finally depart an hour or so later—William, his fiancée, and future mother-in-law had all thankfully departed shortly after the end of his conversation with Benedict.

A Benedict who, thankfully, still lingered in the salon awaiting her return …

It had been something of a strain to maintain her social façade as gracious hostess once she had seen William Forster approach Benedict and the two men had fallen into quiet but intense conversation together. And her unease had not been in the least assuaged by the stiffness of the manner in which those two gentlemen had finally parted some minutes later, William to move across the room to stand silently at the side of his fiancée, Benedict striking a brooding pose by one of the windows, the coldness of his expression not encouraging any present to so much as think of approaching him with the idea of engaging him in conversation.

Leading Genevieve to fear, whatever William’s remarks to Benedict might have been, they would not have been in the least complimentary to her …