Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 1: Books 1-6 Of 12 - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 42

‘Cook has prepared a delicious chicken broth and a milk pudding for your dinner, your Grace.’ Jenkins placed the tray down upon the small table beside the chair where Genevieve sat in quiet contemplation.

She gave the butler a sad and wistful smile. ‘Thank Cook for me, Jenkins, but I am afraid I am not hungry.’

‘It has been days, your Grace … You really should try to eat something.’ The elderly man looked down at her concernedly as she gave another shake of her head.

It had been days, Genevieve acknowledged. Far too many days. And nights. Days and nights when she had sat at Benedict’s bedside, willing him to fight the fever that had beset him within hours of the doctor removing the bullet from his side, and then another day and another night once that fever had broken, willing him to awaken and look at her again with those beautiful black and fathomless eyes.

She glanced at Benedict now as he lay so still against the pillows, his face pale and gaunt against the white bedsheets; she had instructed he be carried to her own bedchamber the night he had been shot and the servants had come running in answer to her screams, pushing down her own hysteria long enough to issue instructions for one of the servants to go for the doctor and another to bring towels and bandages up to her bedchamber so that she might staunch the bleeding until the doctor arrived.

At which time she had insisted on assisting the doctor herself in removing the bullet that had penetrated Benedict’s left side and helping to apply the bandage to his wound once the doctor had stitched it, grateful that Benedict was unconscious throughout and could not feel the pain or see the copious amount of blood he had lost. The bullet, miraculously, had not succeeded in piercing any of his vital organs.

And all the time she had worked, so silently and efficiently at the doctor’s side, it had been with the knowledge that someone had shot Benedict and that if the bullet had entered his body several inches higher than it had, they would have succeeded in killing him, whether or not he had been the intended target.

Which Genevieve was not sure he had been …

He had been shot outside her home, on her doorstep, and if he had not pushed her aside, Genevieve would as like as not have been the target rather than Benedict …

In the anxious days and nights that followed Genevieve had wondered if they had not succeeded in killing Benedict, anyway.

She had remained constantly at his side, allowing no one else to tend him and only the doctor and Jenkins allowed into the sickroom as Benedict fought the fever that had taken him into a state of delirium, his mutterings incomprehensible, his body burning hot, his nightshirt and bedlinens needing to be changed often as they became sweat-dampened.

She had sent word to his two closest friends of his condition, of course, but with the added proviso that Benedict could not receive visitors as yet and she would contact them both immediately the moment that he was conscious. They in turn had sent word of the shooting to Benedict’s godfather, the Earl of Dartmouth, that gentleman having called personally himself yesterday, anxious to see his godson and reassure himself as to his well-being. Genevieve had gently but firmly refused that gentleman entry, too, but again with the added assurance she would send word as soon as Benedict was well enough to receive visitors. Until Benedict had awakened from his fever, and the two of them were able to speak together, to decide who could have fired the gun, Genevieve had no intention of allowing anyone but herself to be anywhere near him.

She gave the butler another apologetic smile. ‘Please return the tray to the kitchen with my apologies to Cook, Jenkins.’ In truth, the smell of the chicken broth was starting to make her feel nauseous.

‘Cook will not be pleased, your Grace, and you really should keep up your strength if you are to continue to nurse his lordship so diligently.’

‘I—’

‘Eat the damned broth and pudding, Genevieve, and stop giving Jenkins a hard time,’ Benedict instructed weakly.

‘Benedict!’ she gave a startled but relieved cry as she stood up to bend over him solicitously, tears filling her eyes as he looked up at her with shadowed but completely lucid black eyes. ‘Oh, my dear!’ She clasped one of his hands tightly to her breasts as those tears began to fall hotly down her cheeks.

Benedict felt as weak as a newborn kitten as he gazed up at Genevieve, but not so much so that he could not see that her face seemed much thinner than he remembered and there were dark shadows beneath her cornflower-blue eyes. ‘What has happened here …?’

‘You were shot six evenings ago,’ she supplied huskily.

Damn it, yes, Benedict remembered now. Remembered hearing the distinct and unmistakable click of a gun being fired in the still of the night. The whistle of the bullet as it sped quickly towards them. His instinctive protection of Genevieve as he’d stepped forwards to push her behind him. And then the searing hot pain as the bullet ripped into his flesh. The same flesh which still throbbed painfully in his side …

He licked the dryness of his lips. ‘Do you have some water I might drink?’

‘Of course.’ Genevieve seemed relieved to be able to do something for him as she released his hand in order to turn her attention to pouring some water from the pitcher into a glass.

He lay in Genevieve’s own bed, Benedict recognised with a frown. He had obviously spent the past six nights and days in Genevieve’s bedchamber, in her bed, which begged the question of where had she slept? From the looks of her—the pallor of her face, those dark shadows beneath her eyes, the untidiness of her hair and the crumpled blue-silk gown she still wore—she had not slept, or eaten, or so much as changed her clothes for those past six days and nights. Which went a long way to explaining Jenkins’s familiarity in his concern over his mistress’s own health.

‘Thank you.’ Benedict lay back weakly against the pillows once he had taken several sips of the cool and refreshing water. ‘Do you think Cook has another bowl of that broth and pudding to spare?’ He glanced hopefully at Jenkins as the butler hovered anxiously at Genevieve’s back.

‘The doctor instructed that you were only to drink water if—when you awakened,’ Genevieve cautioned worriedly.

‘If’ he awakened, Benedict noted with a grimace. There had been some danger that he might not, then? ‘Luckily the doctor is not here to see whether or not his instructions are being carried out—I need to eat something, Genevieve,’ he spoke firmly as she would have interrupted him. ‘Before I fade away from lack of nourishment,’ he added disgustedly, aware that his own body had lost as much weight in the last six days as Genevieve’s appeared to have done. ‘We can sit and eat together.’

‘A capital idea, your Grace.’ The butler nodded his approval.

Genevieve gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘You are awake two minutes and already you have my household staff eating out of the palm of your hand!’

Benedict grinned unrepentantly. ‘I believe Jenkins merely sees the benefit of my suggestion.’

‘I do indeed, my lord.’

‘Very well,’ she conceded irritably at the insistence of the two men. ‘I shall see to giving you this cooling bowl of broth whilst Jenkins returns to the kitchen for another.’

‘I think not,’ Benedict drawled derisively. ‘I see through your ruse, Genevieve; I shall be given this bowl of broth and then you will refuse to eat the second one.’ He glanced at the butler. ‘I am sure I can wait to eat until Jenkins returns in a minute or two?’

‘I shall be but one minute, my lord,’ the butler promised.

‘And, Jenkins …’ Genevieve halted him as he reached the door. ‘Could you send word to the doctor, the Duke of Stratton, and the Earls of Sherborne and Dartmouth, as to his lordship’s recovery?’

‘Immediately, your Grace.’ Jenkins hurried from the bedchamber.

Genevieve sat down heavily in the chair beside the bed once she and Benedict were alone, her face deathly pale as her hand once again moved to grip his tightly. ‘I believed I—we might have lost you!’

Benedict smiled bleakly. ‘Obviously I am made of much sterner stuff than was thought.’

‘You have been so very ill, Benedict.’ Her eyes were huge and dark with the memories of that illness. ‘You developed an infection, which led to a fever, and—’ She gave a helpless shake of her head. ‘The doctor has called every morning and evening, but even he was not sure until yesterday whether or not you would survive.’

‘What happened yesterday?’ Much as he wished it were otherwise, Benedict felt at a distinct disadvantage in his weakened state—even his normally sharp thought processes were not completely under his command.

‘The fever finally broke.’ She sighed her relief. ‘Although still you did not awaken …’ Genevieve frowned her consternation.

‘And you have nursed me all this time yourself?’

‘Of course.’ She nodded firmly. ‘Until we know what—or should I say who?—did this, then I dare not entrust your welfare to anyone else.’

Which was the reason she looked so exhausted, Benedict realised with a frown, and why she was still wearing the blue gown in which she had dined with him six evenings ago. ‘William Forster, do you think?’

Genevieve had thought of little else but who could have done this to Benedict during the long hours she had remained at his side, bathing his face and body with cold cloths when he became too hot, lying beside him on the bed to add her warmth to his whenever he was racked with the cold shivers that followed. Over and over again she had gone over that question in her own mind.

William did seem to be the obvious culprit, of course. The shot in the dark, from a faceless assailant, would fit in perfectly with what she knew to be his cowardly nature.

And yet somehow, for some inexplicable reason, Genevieve still found difficulty in believing him to be the one responsible for having shot Benedict.

There was something, some fact which Genevieve could not grasp, but which she knew was significant, which had nagged and gnawed at the edges of her mind for all of these days and nights. Until Genevieve had become so befuddled by exhaustion and lack of sleep that she had not been able to think at all, but had instead concentrated what little energy she had on caring for Benedict’s needs.

She felt too weary still to give the question the attention it deserved. ‘Perhaps,’ she finally dismissed doubtfully. ‘As you no doubt realise, I have informed your friends Devil and Dante of your condition, and they in turn have contacted your godfather, Lord Cargill. Perhaps now that you are awake, and they may visit you, one of them may be able to make the necessary enquiries?’

‘No doubt,’ Benedict answered distractedly. ‘I—ah, Jenkins.’ He turned to the butler as he returned with a second laden tray, which he now placed on the bedside table beside the jug of water. ‘When you return downstairs, could you possibly see to water being heated and then brought up so that her Grace might bathe once she has eaten her fill?’

Genevieve was suddenly self-consciously aware of the picture she must present to Benedict; her hair was falling in untidy wisps about her shoulders where it had escaped its pins, her gown not only crumpled, but also stained with Benedict’s blood. She had not so much as glanced in a mirror these past six days, but no doubt her face was white with strain and lack of sleep, and also gaunt from lack of food she had refused to eat.

She put up a self-conscious hand to her bedraggled hair. ‘Yes, please do that, Jenkins.’ She waited until the butler had left before turning to Benedict. ‘I must look a mess.’

‘To me you have never looked more beautiful,’ Benedict assured her gruffly.

Genevieve instantly frowned. ‘Has your fever returned?’ She moved to place a hand against his brow, but found it only mildly warm.

‘Not a bit of it.’ Benedict smiled ruefully as he realised that Genevieve thought his compliment was due to his once again being delirious with the fever, and wishing he had the strength to get up from the bed and take Genevieve into his arms as he reassured her of how beautiful she was to him. An ethereal and beautiful angel.

He remembered nothing of the past six days and nights, but it was obvious from Genevieve’s appearance, and the butler’s concern for her, that she had not left his side during all of that time. Nursing him. Bathing him. Caring for him.

That knowledge did very little for his self-esteem, of course, but it showed Genevieve’s mettle. If Benedict had needed to be shown. Which he did not.

He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You should not have let me remain here, Genevieve.’

‘And where else should you have gone?’ She frowned.

‘Your reputation—’

‘To the devil with my reputation!’ Her eyes snapped with temper. ‘You have been too ill to be moved anywhere, nor would I have allowed it. Besides, no one knows of your presence here but your two friends, your godfather and my own household servants. And I do not believe that any one of them would breathe a word of it to anyone else.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Benedict conceded slowly. ‘But—’

‘Perhaps we should wait until you are feeling better before you commence once again lecturing me as to the wisdom or otherwise of my actions?’ Genevieve reasoned drily. ‘For now I shall see to feeding you the broth and pudding.’

‘I am perfectly capable of feeding myself—’ He broke off with a groan as the pain lanced through his side as he attempted to sit up, causing him to sink back weakly on to the pillows.

‘Are you …?’ She arched a pointed brow as she moved forwards to place a napkin across his chest before turning to pick up the bowl of broth.

Attempting to sit up had shown Benedict that he wore nothing on his chest but a bandage swathed about his lower torso, and the feel of the bedsheets now against his bare thighs and legs told him that he wore nothing beneath those sheets either. ‘I trust you have not taken advantage of me as I slept, Genevieve?’ He arched one mocking brow.

‘I see that your sense of humour is as dry and wicked as it ever was.’ She eyed him in exasperation.

‘Did you ever doubt that it would be?’

‘I hoped not,’ she assured huskily. ‘And the reason you are without a nightshirt is because it became too difficult to continually change them as the fever raged.’

‘Did you change them your—? Hmm,’ Benedict groaned his approval as Genevieve took advantage of his open mouth to spoon in the broth; after days of taking no sustenance at all it tasted as rich and nourishing as ambrosia! ‘I was only going to enquire as to whether you were the one who undress—umph.’ Another spoonful of the broth appeared in his mouth. ‘You will soon run out of broth and pudding—then what shall you do to silence me?’ He eyed her teasingly.

In truth, Genevieve was so relieved to have Benedict returned to her—wicked humour or otherwise—that it was difficult for her to stop herself from grinning. As it was, she smiled down at him mischievously. ‘I thought I might take my bath before the fire over there and bedevil you in that way?’

Benedict gave a low groan. ‘You are like to give me another fever!’

She chuckled softly. ‘Then no doubt, if you are feeling strong enough, I shall find some way in which to ease it.’

Benedict eyed her speculatively. ‘I will make sure that I am!’

Genevieve made no answer as her smile became enigmatic. These days and nights of sitting beside Benedict, unsure if he would ever wake up again and look at her with those beautiful and sensual dark eyes, had succeeded in showing Genevieve the depth of feelings she had for him.

She was in love with him.

Deeply.

Irrevocably.

And with the realisation of that love Genevieve’s past had simply melted away, those nightmare years of being Josiah’s wife no longer of any relevance, to a degree that all she wished for now was to have Benedict returned to her so that she might be with him, in every way, for as often and long as he wished her to remain with him.

Nothing else mattered to her now. Not the past. Certainly not the future. Here and now was all that mattered. With Benedict …

‘I was unsure as to whether you were being serious …’ Benedict could not take his eyes off Genevieve as she began to remove her clothes in readiness for climbing into the bathtub where a footman had placed it in front of the fire, before Jenkins returned to supervise several maids as they poured in the steaming hot water in readiness for Genevieve’s bath.

Maids who had sent Benedict curious and sideways glances as he lay in their mistress’s bed, before Jenkins had ushered them from the bedchamber and closed the door firmly behind them.

At which time Genevieve had risen gracefully to her feet, letting down her hair and stepping out of her slippers, before she began to unbutton and remove her gown.

She wore only her chemise now as she glanced across at him between thick dark lashes, her hair a silky red-gold curtain about the slenderness of her shoulders. ‘You would rather I bathed elsewhere?’

‘Not in the least.’ Benedict eased himself up slightly and made himself comfortable against the half-dozen or so pillows piled behind him, the broth and pudding having surprisingly gone a long way to restoring much of his strength. Certainly enough that he was thoroughly enjoying watching Genevieve prepare for her bath!

She gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘In that case I shall continue to undress …’

That Benedict found it difficult to breathe, as Genevieve slipped the straps of her chemise down her arms before allowing it to fall on to the carpet at her feet, owed very little to his injury and all to the fact that she was now completely naked apart from delicate white stockings held in place with silky white garters adorned with tiny blue bows.

Her red-gold hair cascaded in wild abandon about her shoulders and the firmness of her uptilting breasts, tipped by rosy-red nipples that pouted invitingly through those silky tresses. Her waist was slender, hips softly curvaceous, red-gold curls at their apex.

Benedict’s breathing became even more laboured as she perched facing him on the edge of the stool before the dressing table, allowing him glimpses of her most intimate part as she raised first one leg and then the other as she slowly removed her garters and stockings before once again standing up.

The next hour proved to be equally as tortuous for Benedict—and arousing!—as Genevieve’s breasts swayed temptingly as she stepped slowly into the bathtub before sitting down facing him, the water lapping against those berry-red nipples as she slowly washed her hair before lathering each and every inch of her body with perfumed soap. Her shoulders and arms, her breasts, first one leg and then the other, as she lathered the soap along their length before she stood up to turn her attention to between her silky thighs.

‘I believe I am in danger of suffering a relapse!’ Benedict groaned, his cock hard and aching as he watched her soapy fingers sweep down and then dip into those delicate folds.

Genevieve’s eyes were deeply blue and sultry as she stood in the bathtub, looking across at him between the darkness of her lashes. ‘Shall I call for the doctor?’

‘I believe the attentions of my nurse might be more beneficial to my present ailment,’ he assured gruffly.

‘Indeed …?’ She arched her brows as she stepped out of the tub to wrap the dampness of her hair in a towel before picking up another to begin dabbing delicately at the moisture coating her breasts.

‘Genevieve …!’ The evidence of the fierceness of Benedict’s erection now tented the bedclothes.

Still she made no move to come to him. ‘I am not sure you are well enough as yet for those sort of attentions.’ She turned away from him slightly as she continued to dry her arms, revealing the slender slope of her back and the delicate curve of her bottom.

A bottom Benedict longed to sink his teeth into!

The teeth he now gritted. ‘I believe, if I may remain on my back, that I am more than well enough!’ He threw off the weight of the bedcovers, his cock so engorged and hard it now throbbed more painfully than the wound in his side.

‘That sounds … interesting.’ She removed the towel from about the dampness of her hair before dropping both towels on the carpet and slowly walking towards him, Aphrodite incarnate as her sultry gaze fixed upon his pulsing arousal, her breasts high and nipples pouting invitingly, those silky red curls still damp between her thighs as she climbed on to the bed before moving to straddle his thighs with her own. ‘Mmm, very interesting,’ she murmured huskily as her fingers caressed the pulsing length of him before she slowly lowered her head so that Benedict might draw her down even further as he finally captured her lips with his own.

Genevieve had believed she might never be kissed by Benedict again, might never be with him like this again, and channelled all of that worry and fear into the intensity of the kiss they now shared, the depth of the desire she felt to be one with him. A desire Benedict more than shared if the throb of his erection nudging insistently between her thighs was any indication.

She briefly raised her mouth from his to look down at him searchingly. ‘You are sure this will not hurt you?’ The darkness of his gaze looked feverish and the harsh planes of his cheeks were flushed.

‘I was never more sure of anything in my life,’ he assured her gruffly, forcefully, even as his hands on her hips raised her in readiness over his straining erection.

Genevieve’s gaze deliberately held his as she reached down between them, her fingers encircling that silken hardness as she guided him between her moist and swollen lips, her groan one of pleasure as she felt that hardness gliding smoothly into her, one slow inch at a time, filling her, stretching her with an intensity of pleasure she had never imagined existed.

‘I am not hurting you …?’ Benedict looked up at her concernedly.

She laughed exultantly. ‘Not in the least!’ To prove the truth of her words she deliberately thrust her hips down, taking all of him inside her, his shaft so long and so thick that it claimed her so completely and felt as if he touched her womb. ‘It feels wonderful, Benedict,’ she assured breathlessly. ‘It is still not causing you discomfort …?’ She hesitated as she looked down at him anxiously, sure that she would die if he were to say yes and they had to stop.

‘Not in the least,’ he echoed her own words even as his hands moved to grasp her hips once again and he began to guide her up the length of his shaft before slowly easing her down again, setting a rhythm that was pleasurable to them both.

And causing Genevieve to gasp anew at the intensity of that pleasure. ‘It feels so wonderful, Benedict! So gloriously wonderful!’ Her back arched as she began to move faster, harder into the rhythm of those thrusts, the pleasure between her thighs, the heat, becoming deeper, higher, with each pulsing thrust of Benedict’s shaft. ‘I—Benedict, I—’ She broke off to let out a keening cry as Benedict latched on to one of her roused nipples as her breasts bobbed in front of him, suckling her deeply into the warmth of his mouth, and sending her over the edge of that pleasure in a release so deep and intense Genevieve thought she might faint from the ecstasy that now so completely overwhelmed her.

‘Again!’ Benedict groaned harshly just minutes later, nothing else mattering, existing, as he thrust deeply up and into Genevieve as his own release became imminent amidst the continued clenching and unclenching of her inner muscles. ‘God …!’ he cried out as that release claimed him with a fierceness he had never experienced before, pumping hotly, deeply inside her as her second climax prolonged and deepened their pleasure to the point that Benedict believed she might be an angel after all, that he must have died and gone to heaven …