Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 1: Books 1-6 Of 12 - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 39

Was that what Benedict wished to hear …?

Did Genevieve really believe that he wished to hear of any man, any husband, beating his wife—beating Genevieve!—and then raping her on their wedding night? On any night?

Benedict was so angered at hearing of it now, seven years after the event, that if Josiah Forster were not already dead then he would have taken great pleasure in killing the other man himself!

As it was he still felt like seeking out the man’s grave and running a sword through the bastard’s coffin, just to make sure he was definitely dead.

Which might help to appease some of his own angry frustration, but was not of the least comfort to Genevieve …

‘Or perhaps, as he was my legal husband, his to do with as he wished, you do not consider it rape?’ she murmured heavily at Benedict’s silence. ‘Or believe, as Josiah did, that he had every right to beat and abuse me as he wished once I was his wife.’

‘No, Genevieve, I do not believe that for a moment.’ Benedict kept his raging anger towards Josiah Forster under firm control as he answered her softly, knowing that Genevieve needed that gentleness now, that she was so distressed by talking of these past events that she was likely to misinterpret his anger as being directed towards her.

And how could Genevieve possibly imagine that he might be angry with her? She had been but eighteen years old when she had married Josiah Forster, a man almost forty years her senior, and moreover one who had already buried one wife; knowing what he did now, Benedict could not help but wonder if the previous Duchess of Woollerton had not chosen to die out of self-defence, as her only means of escaping the clutches of her brutal husband!

‘Let’s sit down over there, love, and talk quietly together,’ he suggested gently as he gathered Genevieve up into his arms before lowering his lean length into the bedroom chair beside the window. ‘Lean against me, love,’ he encouraged as she held herself stiffly in his arms. Benedict waited until some of the tension had eased from her body, her head resting against his shoulder, before speaking again. ‘I want—I should like it very much, Genevieve, if you were able to tell me everything about your marriage,’ he spoke soothingly.

‘Everything?’ She sounded doubtful.

‘If it will not distress you too much to do so.’

Would it distress her too much, Genevieve wondered, or would the relief of sharing with someone those horrible years of being Josiah’s wife, perhaps help to ease some of the aching burden she had carried in her heart for so long?

It was difficult for her to think at all when she was cradled within the comfort and strength of Benedict’s arms. When she knew, by the gentleness he now showed towards her, that whatever she told Benedict of the past, he would listen without comment or judgement.

She had known instinctively from the first that Benedict was not a man who would ever use brute strength against a woman to attain his own ends, least of all in the bedchamber; she did not believe she would have learnt to trust Benedict if she had thought that would ever be the case!

Even so, she was not sure she could relive those memories of her wedding night, or those bleak and unhappy years that had followed …

‘Please, Genevieve,’ Benedict spoke gruffly, persuasively. ‘I do not ask this of you lightly, or with any intention of causing you further pain—God forbid I should ever do that!’ he added grimly. ‘It is only so that I will know in future how—how not to hurt you again.’

Genevieve looked up at him uncertainly. ‘In future?’

Having decided before coming here that he would spend only this one afternoon in Genevieve’s bed, before walking away from her never to return, Benedict surprised himself by now talking to her of the future …

But how could he ask her to talk to him of the past, listen to everything Genevieve had suffered at her husband’s hands and then just walk away from her? He could not. Knew that to do so would hurt Genevieve even further and deeply wound the chrysalis of the self-composed and confident woman she was striving so hard to be, and in ways he did not even care to think about.

No, despite what he might have decided before coming here today, he would not walk away from Genevieve now.

‘Grateful as I am for your concern, Benedict, I do not need or require your pity.’

‘That is as well—because you do not have it,’ he rasped forcefully.

‘No?’

‘Most certainly not!’ Benedict assured firmly.

And she did not, he realised with dismay, knowing that his reasoning just now had been at fault. The truth was he wished to spend more time with Genevieve, to be her lover, to share with her the depth and warmth of lovemaking rather than the memories she now had of it, and for as long as it pleased her to do so.

‘Genevieve, I do not pity you,’ he repeated huskily. ‘I admire and respect you for the graciously beautiful woman you are, despite all that you have suffered.’ He placed his hand gently against her cheek as he guided her head back down on to his shoulder. ‘Now talk to me, love, and I promise I will listen without comment,’ he assured.

A promise Benedict very quickly discovered he should not have made as Genevieve told him of her brother’s debts that had caused her to marry Josiah Forster, of those painful years of being his wife, haltingly at first, and then more quickly, more fiercely, as her own inner outrage at her treatment took over her narrative.

A rage that Benedict very quickly understood—and more than equalled!—as he listened to the way in which Josiah Forster had tricked Genevieve into marrying him by promising to pay off her brother’s gambling debts, and then refused to honour that debt before the ink was even dry on the marriage certificate. A refusal which had later resulted in the suicide of Genevieve’s brother, the last of her close family, and so leaving her completely alone and defenceless against Josiah Forster and his equally repulsive son, William.

Her wedding night had been even more horrific than Benedict could ever have imagined. Beaten by her husband, raped by him, Genevieve had then had to endure having that husband suffer a fit whilst committing that rape, resulting in his collapsing upon her as a dead and unmovable weight, and causing her further humiliation as she had to cry out for the help of the servants and her stepson, William, to aid in her husband’s removal, both from her body and her bed.

‘He remained paralysed down one side of his body for the rest of his life,’ Genevieve added huskily. ‘Unable to walk or talk properly, to so much as eat without the food dribbling down his chin and soiling his clothing. Disabilities for which he held me completely accountable.’

‘You?’ Benedict repeated disbelievingly.

She gave a shaky sigh. ‘He said I was the devil’s spawn. That it was the temptation of my—my beauty, my body, which had led him to commit the sin of lust and as a consequence for him to be punished for that sin by being paralysed, so preventing him from ever being tempted again.’

‘He—but—’ Benedict stared down at her. ‘Your marriage was never—The two of you never again—’

‘No.’ Her lashes remained downcast. ‘Oh, he tried, several times, but he—I—’

‘You do not need to tell me any more on that subject, Genevieve,’ Benedict cut in quickly, completely sickened by imagining in what way Josiah Forster might have ‘tried, several times’ to take Genevieve’s body again. And furious at the other man’s cruelty to a young girl, his own bride, whose only sin was to be beautiful and desirable.

She shuddered in his arms. ‘I see no reason not to tell you all now that I have begun.’

Genevieve had only begun to tell him of her husband’s cruelties to her?

Benedict was unsure if his own stomach could take listening to any more!

Which was unbelievably cowardly of him; he was only hearing of these events secondhand, but Genevieve had lived through them. That she was now the woman she was, beautiful, vivacious, kind, able to see the excitement and promise of the life before her, seemed to him to be nothing short of a miracle.

Benedict had lost both of his parents ten years ago to an unknown murderer, seen things during his years in the army he would never forget, lost friends in battle and to long lingering deaths after, and been emotionally scarred by all of them. Genevieve’s suffering had been equal to, if not worse than his own, and yet here she was, beautiful, generous of nature and eagerly seeking out the goodness in people, the excitement life still had to offer her. Oh, Benedict had no doubt that Genevieve’s inner scars were etched as deeply as his own, but they did not prevent her from living, from enjoying all the freedoms she now had in her life.

His admiration for her grew, and then grew again.

So he remained silent as Genevieve continued to talk softly, telling him of those occasions when her husband had attempted to bed her again and failed, his body no longer capable of attaining an erection no matter what the inducement, after which she would receive yet another beating.

‘But how, if your husband was paralysed, did he manage to beat—Oh, my God! William Forster?’ Benedict prompted sharply.

‘Yes.’ Genevieve gave a shiver of revulsion.

William Forster had! ‘What possible reason could he have had to agree to carry out his father’s bidding?’

She gave another shudder. ‘I believe—I know that he was—displeased when his father married again. Most especially to a woman who was several years younger than he was himself.’ Genevieve grimaced. ‘No doubt, after five years of widowhood, he had not thought of his father ever marrying again. He despised me utterly from the moment we first met, accused me of marrying his father merely for his fortune. He was right, of course.’ She sighed. ‘Except I did not want any of that money for myself.’

No, she had wanted it so that her brother would be able pay off his gambling debts. The brother who had taken his own life …

Benedict gave a terse shake of his head. ‘And is William Forster also responsible for the broken bone you recently suffered in your wrist?’ He spoke softly, so as not to reveal the burn of anger churning so strongly inside him.

She stiffened. ‘Benedict—’

‘Please answer me, Genevieve!’ A nerve pulsed so strongly in Benedict’s tightly clenched jaw it was almost painful.

‘Yes.’

‘The bastard!’ Benedict could no longer hold in that anger. ‘Why? What did you do—or should I say, what did his warped and twisted mind believe you had done, to deserve having your wrist snapped like a twig?’

Her lashes lowered. ‘He … disapproved of my choice of lover.’

Benedict scowled darkly. ‘Me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he broke your wrist because of it?’ he prompted incredulously.

Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Not only that, he demanded that I not see you again, that I not bring so much as a whiff of scandal to the Forster name, until after his marriage to Charlotte Darby has taken place.’

‘And yet still you defied him by going to Vauxhall Gardens with me, and later attending the dinner at Carlton House?’

‘I decided that I could not—cannot—let him continue to rule my life in that way. The result of my defiance was to have him come here this afternoon and threaten me with more physical violence if I defied him again. You must not do anything to retaliate, Benedict!’ Genevieve protested as she saw how his mouth had thinned with displeasure. ‘William was brought up by a sadistic bully—’

‘And he is now a sadistic bully himself!’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘Which is why I have decided I cannot just sit idly by and watch him take that young and fragile creature as his wife.’

‘It is your intention to intercede by talking to Ramsey?’ Benedict frowned darkly.

‘I believe I shall have to, yes.’ Genevieve gave a shrug of her slender shoulders. ‘To do anything else would be a cruelty to Charlotte Darby.’

‘And what of your own well-being?’ Benedict rasped grimly. ‘You must know that Forster will not just sit idly by either if you interfere in his marriage arrangements.’

Yes, of course Genevieve knew that, just as surely as she accepted she had to talk to the Earl of Ramsey in regard to the man he intended taking as his son-in-law; she really did not have a choice when just the thought of the fragile Charlotte Darby as William’s wife was enough to send a shiver down the length of Genevieve’s spine.

Her smile more resembled a grimace. ‘No doubt I will survive another beating as I have survived all the others.’

‘I forbid you to—’ Benedict drew in a deep, controlling breath. ‘Genevieve, I ask that you leave this matter to me?’ he corrected stiffly.

Genevieve gave a shake of her head. ‘I could not possibly involve you any further.’

He looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘I am your lover, Genevieve, and as such I have the right to offer you my protection. From all who would dare to harm you.’

Genevieve looked up at him quizzically. The two of them had been intimate several times and she had now confided all to Benedict with regard to her marriage and William Forster, but that did not make them lovers.

In truth, after today Genevieve had no idea if she would ever succeed in taking a lover!

She enjoyed Benedict’s company more than she could say and she trusted him as she had trusted no other man, and obviously she responded to his caresses, but even he, with all of his expertise in lovemaking, had not managed to pierce those inner barriers which prevented her from knowing true physical intimacy, from moving past the memories of that ripping, tearing pain she had suffered on her wedding night.

She gave a sad shake of her head as she released herself from Benedict’s arms before rising shakily to her feet, needing to put some distance between the two of them, to remove herself from the succour and comfort Benedict’s arms now offered to her. ‘I may be totally ignorant in regard to—to physical matters, Benedict, but even I know enough to realise that you have not—you have not become my lover.’

He looked up at her through narrowed lids for long, searching seconds, an expression of disbelief on his face. ‘I am your first lover since your husband?’ he finally murmured softly.

‘He was not my lover, either!’ Her eyes flashed deeply blue.

‘Forgive me, I worded that badly.’ Benedict grimaced. ‘What I meant to ask was—no other man has made love to you since the end of your marriage?’

Her gaze avoided meeting his. ‘Or before, or during.’

Or before or during … ‘I am your first lover …?’ Benedict murmured in hushed disbelief.

‘We have not—’

‘Genevieve, I have touched you intimately, given you pleasure, as you have touched me and given me pleasure in return,’ he pointed out gently. ‘That I have not joined with you does not mean we have not made love together. Now, please answer me, am I your first lover since—?’

‘Since my fiasco of a wedding night?’ she finished flatly. ‘Yes, you would have become so.’

Benedict drew in a sharp breath at the enormity of her admission. At the knowledge that Genevieve had chosen him, above all other men, to be her lover. That she had trusted him enough, believed in him enough, to entrust her physical well-being into his care alone. It was as humbling as it was onerous.

‘Obviously it did not happen,’ she continued with brisk dismissal. ‘Which is the reason I now assure you that you have no obligation to me, or—or to other events taking place in my life.’

‘I disagree.’

Genevieve’s expression became pained. ‘Benedict, I cannot ask you to become involved in this situation with William.’

‘You did not ask, I stated it as being my intention.’

She nodded distractedly. ‘And in my turn I am asking you not to attempt to interfere in this. You will only succeed in bringing William’s wrath to your own door.’

‘And you believe I should be intimidated by the possibility?’ He eyed her mockingly.

Genevieve sighed. ‘No, I believe you would enjoy nothing more than the excuse to beat William within an inch of his life.’

‘I should.’ He gave a grim and arrogant inclination of his dark head in acknowledgement of that fact.

‘And I appreciate your offer. I truly do. Know it is inborn in you to protect those you consider less able than you to take care of themselves. But—’

‘I could never think of you as being less able than I, Genevieve.’ He gave a pained frown at the suggestion. ‘Than anyone,’ he added grimly. ‘You are, I believe, the strongest, most courageous woman I have ever known.’

‘How can you possibly say that?’ she groaned self-disgustedly. ‘When for six years I allowed myself to be abused, not only by my husband, but also by his son?’

Benedict stood up abruptly. ‘And what else should you have done?’ he bit out harshly. ‘The important thing is that you survived. Not only survived, but now flourish.’ He took a step towards her, only to halt again as she instinctively took a step back. ‘I will not harm you, Genevieve. I will never harm you. Nor will I allow anyone else to do so. Which is why William Forster must be dealt with, so that he can no longer continue to bully and hurt you, or anyone else, in this cruel way.’

Genevieve eyed him warily. ‘Dealt with …?’

Benedict gave a terse inclination of his head. ‘I will start by suggesting he remove himself permanently from London and all polite society.’

‘And if that fails …?’

His eyes narrowed grimly. ‘Then it will be my pleasure to ensure that he does so.’

‘How?’

His mouth thinned with hard, uncompromising humour. ‘I believe I will find a way.’

‘Not without bringing a scandal down upon your own head and mine.’

‘It will be achieved without involving you in any way,’ Benedict assured grimly.

Genevieve gave a shake of her head. ‘I do not see how, when William’s only sin has been to beat his father’s wife on that father’s instructions—’

‘And for that alone he will be thoroughly thrashed himself before he is allowed to depart for ever to his country estates!’ Benedict bit out harshly.

‘Whilst I appreciate your concern, Benedict, I do not believe—do not dare to believe …’ she gave a helpless shake of her head ‘… that even you will succeed in permanently ridding me of William’s threats.’

He gave another humourless smile. ‘Then you do not know me as well as I had hoped that you might.’

She looked at Benedict searchingly, easily noting the grimness of purpose in his expression and the hard and angry glitter of his eyes. ‘I know you well enough to realise that you are not at all the cold and remote gentleman that you allow the ton to believe you to be.’

His expression softened. ‘Then I ask that you also have a little faith in both me and my ability to protect you.’

Tears welled up in her expressive eyes. ‘I could not bear it if—if you were to come to harm because of me.’

Benedict shook his head. ‘I shall come to no harm, I assure you, Genevieve. I do not consider men like Forster, either father or son, to be men at all. They are worms. Lower than worms, when they choose to bully and abuse a woman as you have been bullied and abused.’ His eyes gleamed darkly. ‘The father is beyond my reach, but William Forster, at least, shall pay, and pay dearly, for his sins against you.’

He sounded so confident, so sure of himself, that Genevieve could do no other than believe him. Believe in him. If any man could rid her of William’s oppressive presence in her life, then she now believed that man to be Benedict.

She gave a shake of her head. ‘If you succeed, then how shall I ever repay you?’

Benedict eyed her ruefully. ‘A lesser man would be insulted that you might ever consider I should require repayment.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, I meant you no insult, Benedict—’ She broke off as he began to chuckle softly. ‘I fail to see anything in the least funny about this situation, Benedict.’

Nor, in truth, did Benedict. But these past few minutes had been harrowing ones for Genevieve, as she relived the pain and fear she had suffered this past seven years. Seven years …! Damn it—No, he must not allow his anger to get the better of him now; that he intended saving until he was able to see and deal with William Forster as he deserved to be dealt with. And the sooner the better, as far as Benedict was concerned.

He reached out to take both Genevieve’s hands in his before lifting one of those hands to his lips. ‘Before you ask,’ he murmured indulgently as he saw the question in her expressive blue eyes, ‘I am saluting the bravery of a fellow soldier.’

She gave a puzzled shake of her head. ‘I do not understand …’

‘If we had a dozen as brave as you during our battle against the Corsican then I have no doubts that war would have been over years earlier than it was!’ Benedict assured ruefully.

A delicate blush coloured her otherwise pale cheeks. ‘It is not brave merely to have survived the battle.’

Benedict touched the warmth of her cheek. ‘It is the way in which you have survived, Genevieve!’ He looked down at her admiringly. ‘There is no bitterness inside you. No drive for revenge against the people who harmed you.’ He gave a disbelieving shake of his head that this should be the case.

Genevieve knew, as surely as if Benedict had spoken the words out loud, that he referred now to the bitterness and drive for revenge he still felt against whoever had murdered his parents all those years ago. That same bitterness and need for revenge which had driven Benedict, moulded his character, for these past ten years.

‘Such destructive emotions only damage those who feel them,’ she chided gently.

He gave a heavy sigh. ‘And yet I find it impossible not to feel those emotions when I know that a murderer still walks free whilst my parents are both dead.’

Genevieve gave a pained frown. ‘I do not mean to interfere, Benedict, but—you said that your godfather carried out the initial investigation?’

‘Yes.’

‘And do you know if he questioned all of the servants?’

‘I am sure that he will have done so. Yes, I know that he did.’ Benedict nodded grimly. ‘As I recall, there were two of them that I was unable to question when I carried out my own investigation some months later.’

‘And why was that?’

‘They had moved on to another household.’ He shrugged. ‘And who can blame them? Two people had been murdered in their present household.’

‘You are sure they went to another household?’

‘Genevieve, what are you implying?’

‘I know, from personal experience, that the household servants are usually privy to much more than we give them credit for.’ She grimaced. ‘For example, whenever I had been locked in my bedchamber, cook would help my maid to bring me food and water to drink.’

‘When were you locked away in your bedchamber—?’

‘Please do not let us become distracted from this conversation again, Benedict—’

‘I will know who locked you away in your bedchamber!’ A nerve pulsed in Benedict’s jaw. ‘No, do not bother answering; I can see by your expression exactly who is to blame for that!’ His eyes glittered darkly as he envisaged all of the things he would do to William Forster when he saw him next.

Which he intended to be very soon indeed …