Читать книгу The Scandalous Proposal Of Lord Bennett - Raven McAllan - Страница 8

Chapter One

I hate balls. Balls, and stupid so-called gentlemen of the ton, who are no gentlemen at all. Debs, balls, catty gossips and yes, bloody balls.

Why on earth had her papa insisted she attend? He knew as well as she did, she had no wish to dance. She’d spend most of the night fending off inappropriate advances from idiots who thought because she’d reached a certain age and was unwed, she would welcome their attention, and need their protection, be it improper or not.

How wrong could they be?

Lady Clarissa Macpherson stared at one young buck in such a way that he blanched, took a step backwards, turned away and muttered something to his companion.

Of course it had to be Lord Theodore Bennett who stood next to the idiot. Lord Bennett grinned and, as he saw her watching, bowed mockingly. The one man who got under her guard and made her wonder, what if …

It was oh so easy to cast her mind back to the one time the ‘what if’ almost became ‘now I know’.

If only.

It was enough to make a saint swear, and Clarissa was no saint.

She’d been sixteen, and not yet out. The summer was hot, and she’d spent a few weeks at the ancestral seat in Northumberland with her father, and unusually, no house party. Even her best friend had left to return to her own home and Clarissa was bored.

Phillip, her elder brother, had called unexpectedly with one of his closest friends. Lord Theodore Bennett was everything a woman could want in a man, and everything she shouldn’t. Wealthy, tall, dark and handsome – and the sort of rake mamas warned their daughters not to associate with, unless in a large crowd, and preferably with the said mama to watch every move. As Clarissa’s mama had died when she was young, it fell to her godmother to tell her … Watch him. Which she did, although probably not in the manner meant.

As in the ways of a brother, Phillip had ignored Clarissa and the two young men spent most of their time roaming the estate. If it had stayed like that, perhaps her attitude would have been different.

However …

Clarissa had watched Phillip and Ben walk towards the copse with guns and bags and surmised they were after pheasants. Her father was ensconced in his study with the factor, and had no time to spend with her. Therefore, she reasoned, no one would know if she sneaked off to fish. It had taken mere minutes to put on an old – and somewhat too tight and several inches too short – shabby gown and her elderly sandals and purloin a slice of bread from the kitchen while the chef was otherwise engaged. Then she’d headed to the river in the opposite direction from that which the men had taken.

Three fish and four hours later, she’d looked at the sun and realised she’d better make haste to get home in time to tidy up for dinner. The fish were too small to eat, and thus returned to the water before she scrambled up the bank and ran headfirst into a tree trunk.

It hadn’t been there before. Clarissa put out her hand to steady herself and touched … not bark, but body.

A hard male body.

What followed was either the stuff of dreams or nightmares, depending on your point of view.

Lord Theodore Bennett steadied her and grinned.

‘A water nymph or a poacher?’

She stared at his wicked expression, and was unable to speak. A great lump of disappointment hit her squarely in the stomach. He didn’t recognise her.

‘Whichever, I think you owe me something,’ he continued. ‘As you ran into me … Now let me see, what shall I demand as a forfeit?’ He cocked his head and stroked his finger over one of her cheeks.

She shivered and, to her horror, swayed and moaned.

He chuckled. ‘Ah, sadly not enough time. But this I think …’ He pulled her close until their bodies touched, bent his head and, for the first time in her life, Clarissa felt a man’s torso against her own, and his lips on hers.

‘Open, sweetness, let me taste more.’ His voice was thick and guttural.

More? She opened her mouth to voice the question and almost swooned. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and played with hers and oh goodness, something rigid and hard pressed against her belly. It was strange, exciting and … scary. His hands crept around her waist and scribed circles on her rear.

‘Oh yes …’ He sighed the words, and she stiffened as they impinged on her thoughts. Oh yes, what?

Lord Bennett drew back as if he’d been stung, and stared at her with unfocused eyes. Then his gaze sharpened. He let her go and took a step backwards. ‘You’d best go back to the village while you can. Did no one warn you of the animals you find roaming the countryside? Especially with your ankles on show. Enough to get the juices flowing. Run home, little girl, before I forget I am, allegedly, a gentleman as well as a rake.’

She ran.

With hindsight she could only approve of his restraint. Although, at the time, hearing Lord Bennett tell her brother of the beautiful village wench who had made his cock stiff and how he had ached for her, she wished different. He reckoned she would have willingly rolled over for him if he had persevered. After all he was well able to seduce a response from a female. As it hadn’t been said in a boastful manner, Clarissa saw nothing wrong with his reasoning. She pressed her ear to the door to hear more.

Phillip had laughed. ‘You mean you have enough willing women, so you chose not to take her up on her offer.’

To Clarissa, unable to see either of them, Lord Bennett’s answer seemed somewhat stiff. It wasn’t, he said, his way to tease a young woman, and bed her for no reason, beautiful or not

Clarissa didn’t know whether to be mortified that he hadn’t recognised her or upset he hadn’t carried on. But she preened at the idea he thought her beautiful.

Now, years later, in an overcrowded ballroom, full of the scents and aromas of humans, flowers and beeswax, she’d had enough of the Hemmingtons and their ball, enough of the capital, and more than enough of her peers. Clarissa made her way to the ladies’ withdrawing room, and accepted a glass of orgeat as she tidied her hair and washed her hands. When could she reasonably leave?

Sadly not yet, and worse was still to come. As she left the room, she spied Lord Theodore Bennett standing nearby. He was the last person she could cope with at that moment. Why couldn’t she be aroused by someone other than him? An acknowledged rake of the first water, he still made her senses reel and her skin tingle. With a toss of her head – after all, she couldn’t show how he affected her – Clarissa whisked into another anteroom and leant against the window frame. Her tummy churned. The way he affected her was ridiculous. At sixteen it was surely instant lust. At six and twenty it should be long dead and buried. He probably thought of her as an irritant. One to be ignored. After all, he’d never said one word to make her think that his friend’s sister was his willing village wench in Northumberland.

How long would she need to skulk?

She wasn’t about to find out. The door opened and Ferdy Pendragon entered. Could it get any worse? It seemed it could.

‘Yu … Yesh …’

She sighed. He was as drunk as a fly in a vat of ale.

‘Go away.’

He blinked and stumbled towards her.

‘Ha. You lured me.’

Clarissa had to laugh. She’d never lured anyone anywhere in her life, let alone an imbecile like him. With a growl, she poked him, and bit back a smirk as he rocked on his heels.

‘Shm n …’

‘You are addlepated and mistaken. Go far, far, away.’ She couldn’t help it. Clarissa laughed again. Sadly the laugh was a red rag to a bull.

He roared … well, almost. It was, she decided, a pathetic attempt at showing who was in charge.

‘Rub … bb … bish, and here I am.’ He held his arms out and swayed.

‘You are the one talking rubbish. Drunken rubbish at that. Go away before I … I knee you.’

‘Do … don’t be like that. I’m all for you, you know … every bit of me.’ His eyes crossed, as he hiccoughed and burped. Had he so little between his ears that he couldn’t believe that she spurned him?

‘If you do not leave me alone, this instant, your body will be missing some vital parts,’ Clarissa threatened him harshly. ‘You are a pest, and pests deserve to be squashed.’

Sadly he was so full of his own importance, and alcohol, he didn’t believe her. Ferdy grabbed her arms, and pulled her so close to him that she wouldn’t have been surprised to be overcome by brandy fumes. He put one large foot on her flounce, which effectively anchored her where she was. Clarissa began to wonder if this once she had found herself in a situation she couldn’t control, and it worried her.

No, I am not a victim. Not now, not ever. Clarissa gathered her panicky self together. She could cope, and cope with ease. Ferdy needed showing what for. She was about to box his ears, and if necessary follow through with something more drastic, when Lord Bennett stalked in and took stock of the situation. He grabbed the hapless Ferdy by the shoulders, boxed his ears much more successfully that Clarissa would have managed, spun him around and forcibly manhandled him out of the room.

‘Do not ever let me see you behave like this again, do you understand? If a lady says no, a male, be he a gentleman or not, listens and takes heed. Is that clear?’

Ferdy had stuttered, protested and agreed. Lord Bennett scowled as he slammed the door shut with a bang that made Clarissa jump, before he returned, to cross his arms over his chest and stare at her broodingly.

‘Do you have the sense you were born with? What on earth are you doing alone in a room with him? He could have done whatever he wanted and you’d have been helpless to stop him.’

Clarissa went on the offensive.

‘Rubbish! I could have coped with him. He’s a worm. A bosky worm at that.’ Even as she spoke the words, Clarissa was uneasily aware they weren’t necessarily the truth. Ferdy had been more insistent than she had thought possible and Lord Bennett’s intervention was a timely relief. Ferdy had been drunk enough not to listen to reason, and strong enough to make her more than slightly worried. ‘I’m alone with you. Are you going to pounce?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Do not tempt me.’

Why had she retreated into that room anyway? To hide from the man who now stared at her. That was even more idiotic. What on earth made her think such a sought-after man would look for her? What a waste of effort it had been.

‘I’m sorry you felt you had to intervene,’ Clarissa said stiffly.

‘Would you have preferred me not to?’ His voice was glacial. ‘To leave you to him? Really?’

‘Well, no. Thank you.’

He bowed. ‘Said with such grace, my dear.’

Grr. Why did he have to make her feel an inch tall?

‘I meant it. Now, pray excuse me.’ That ‘slightly worried’ became ‘full blown extremely worried’ as she turned to walk around Lord Bennett, tripped and he caught her before she measured her length on the Aubusson carpet. ‘Bloody Ferdy stood on my gown.’ She twisted to try and see if anything was amiss. Without lifting her skirts to her thighs it was impossible.

Lord Bennett muttered something under his breath. ‘Stand still, woman – you’ll do yourself an injury. Let me look.’

‘You’ll see my ankles.’

He snorted. ‘I’d need to see a lot more than an ankle, well turned or not, to ravish you here and now. This room is not conducive to seduction, believe me.’

Well, you would know that, wouldn’t you? Clarissa thought snippily. No doubt he knew all the best places for such things.

‘Hold on, where abouts? Just here?’ Ben knelt on the floor at her feet and checked her gown wasn’t ripped. ‘Although I must add, this ankle could perhaps persuade me differently.’ He winked at her.

She chuckled. His cheerful attitude banished her bad temper instantly. ‘In your dreams.’

‘You are quite right, my dear. Frequently.’ His tone was so serious she jumped.

Really?

He stroked her ankle. ‘Careful. If you put your foot down it won’t just be your flounce in tatters. My wrist will have joined it. Then you’d need to kiss it better.’

In this mood it was all too easy to remember his good points, and his lips on hers.

Clarissa thought she’d stopped breathing as his fingers grazed her skin. A flash of heat danced over the area. Goosebumps hit her and her mouth went dry. He touched me. She shivered. Was this what the pamphlets meant about desire? It was so much more than those lukewarm feelings she’d experienced when he kissed her all those years ago. Much more.

‘It seems …’ He got no further, and she never did find out what seemed what.

‘Argh. Unhand her you, you villain. What do you think you are doing?’ The biggest gossip of the ton sailed into the room and shrieked loud enough to alert the majority of guests at the ball that something was more than amiss. Several other dowagers and two or three debs and their partners followed her and stood and stared at the scene in front of them.

Clarissa shut her eyes. What now? Lord Bennett still knelt at her feet, in the manner of a supplicant … or a cobbler. What on earth made her think of that at such a time? Was it imagine the ridiculous or scream? Probably.

‘What on earth …’ The dowager produced smelling salts and held them under her own nose. She then proceeded to tell them, and the rest of the guests who now crowded through the doorway in the manner of the cows in Hyde Park gathering to be milked, how disgraceful Clarissa’s behaviour was.

None, Clarissa noticed, came close enough to her to give her support.

‘Standing there like a hussy, and letting this, this hell hound, no good, young rake touch her ankles.’ The woman’s shrill voice rose so high, Clarissa wouldn’t have been surprised to see the glass globe around the lamp shatter. ‘What next, eh? Disgraceful. Someone find Lady Jersey. Her vouchers to Almacks must be rescinded at once.’

That had been the only positive highlight of it all. Clarissa hated Almacks with a vengeance. Although the way the dowager worded her demand, it sounded to Clarissa as if it were Lady Jersey’s vouchers that were to be withdrawn. That would be difficult. She was one of the patronesses.

Lord Bennett had straightened up and let the hem of Clarissa’s pale lemon gown drop past her ankles once more. He placed his arm around Clarissa’s waist and nipped her through her dress. Even through layers of silk and petticoats the pressure of his hand warmed her skin, as he put his mouth close to her ear. ‘Bear up, we will survive. I have you.’

He does? I wonder how? She didn’t have long to wait to find out.

‘Madam.’

Clarissa had never heard such ice in his tone. Lord Theodore Bennett, one of the recognised leaders of the ton – albeit a rogue – was renowned for his easy-going geniality. This proper gentleman made the dowager stop speaking mid word, and her mouth hung open in surprise. It struck Clarissa that the woman looked like a fish. A fish in hideous puce silk and lace.

‘If you insist on speaking about my affianced in such a way I will be forced to take drastic action.’ He didn’t say what. However, he did nip Clarissa’s thigh to stop her denying his words.

Affianced? Since when?

She was getting a bit annoyed with all this nipping. Did he think her totally without sense? Very likely after my stupidity in not leaving the minute Ferdy waylaid me. But affianced?

‘Lady Clarissa has just given me the honour of agreeing to be my wife. Be assured you will not be a guest at our nuptials.’

I have?

The woman, who had gone white, then red, stammered and rushed out. Clarissa was afraid it was now she herself who did the fish impression. But thankfully not one in puce silk.

Is he deluded? Nuptials? Surely I couldn’t have missed something like that?

Lord Bennett had somehow whisked Clarissa through the throng of sensation seekers turned well-wishers and taken her to find her father before she had time to ask him what on earth he was doing.

Of course, with so many witnesses to the fiasco, it was no wonder that less than fifteen minutes after they had found her papa, and Lord Bennett had requested a private word, Clarissa and her ‘fiancé’ were being congratulated on their good sense.

‘Even if you did jump the gun and announce it before even asking me.’ Her father’s eyes had twinkled and Clarissa realised he was truly pleased at the news.

Her heart sank.

He was the only one. Lord Bennett looked like he was going to his execution, and Clarissa knew she was. Phillip, her brother, was nowhere to be seen, and she knew without asking he wouldn’t get involved. She was on her own. Nasty spiders crawled over her skin, and her stomach lurched. Could there be anything worse than marriage to a man who never noticed you? One you sadly wished did. One you knew could turn your insides to mawkishness. A man who had, according to gossip, several mistresses? Each one worldly wise and fashionable, neither of which label, to her secret satisfaction, could be attributed to her. Clarissa was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the capital and the petty rules and regulations of the ton. She preferred the simpler life of the country, and she didn’t include house parties in that description.

She ignored the tiny voice that added that, by all accounts, he had satisfied each and every one of those he had chosen to share his talents with. Clarissa was honest enough to accept that she didn’t share, and that the situation would be intolerable. He didn’t want her, whereas she … Yes, she wanted him. But not on the wed, bed, heir and spare, separate rooms, separate lives, take a mistress again, wife take a lover terms that permeated the ton. Heaven knows he might not even dispatch his mistress in the interim. How could any wife survive knowing one of the women around her enjoyed her husband’s body more often that she? Especially when she knew which woman.

I do not share …

‘Papa, I don’t have to marry him. It’s all a bit sudden.’ That was, in her mind, the understatement of the year. Her father would have none of it. After all, as he reminded Clarissa ad nauseam, he had despaired of her ever agreeing to be a wife.

Her affianced left them to talk alone together for a few moments. He informed Clarissa he would return and escort her to the ballroom, where he would then officially introduce his fiancée to the gathered assembly. She assumed he had really departed so he could warn whichever of his mistresses he needed to of his change in status, and assure them that their lives wouldn’t change. Even though his behaviour was the norm for gentlemen of the ton, Clarissa didn’t approve. She suspected most women, if forced to tell the truth, would agree. No way would she be second best.

I do not share.

‘A chattel,’ she corrected her father. ‘And I won’t. It is not to be thought of. We will, of course, rescind the announcement as soon as possible.’

He’d patted her cheek. ‘Silly girl. We will not do that to him. He saved you from ridicule, ruin and more.’

There is more than that?

‘You could do a lot worse,’ her father continued. ‘Think of your mama and I. That is what I want for you.’ As her mama had been lovely, but perfectly content to let her husband take charge of everything, it was a highly unlikely scenario. Wherever Clarissa got her temperament from, it wasn’t her gentle mother.

It seemed to Clarissa that her father was an unstoppable cavalry charge, and to her chagrin her fiancé was no help whatsoever.

‘I need a wife at some point,’ he said in an indifferent tone, when Clarissa taxed him a few days later. He’d called to take her for a mandatory drive in the park.

As they were within sight and probably sound of a great number of their fellow members of the ton, she had to bite her tongue and resist the urge to slap him hard.

‘It might as well be now as later.’ What a stupid statement. And you’ll do as well as anyone, his tone inferred. ‘Plus I will not be made to look like a cad.’

That was it. There was no swerving him from that stated course. She had always suspected he had a chivalrous side, and he had. Hadn’t she once heard that every rake had a redeeming feature, if only they cared to show it? This must be his. It was a pity he didn’t let her know if there was anything more to his desire to be wed to her, other than to help her out of the hole she was in.

Her paternal grandmother came to town to help Clarissa purchase her bridal clothes, and the arrangements went ahead at dizzying speed. She sometimes felt as if she were in a bubble, and no one could hear a word she said. Indeed no one paid any attention to her pronouncements that she didn’t want to marry anyone, let alone a man with a reputation like that of Lord Theodore Bennett.

Not unless he married me because I was his sun, moon and stars. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of that. Life would be less than acceptable if he kept to usual ways.

‘He hasn’t changed one bit,’ Clarissa said one morning when the previous night he’d had one duty dance with her and spent the rest of the night squiring Lady Beaufort. A woman who, it was said, spread her favours far and wide. It was a repetition of most events they had attended together. So far Clarissa had bitten her lip and kept her mouth shut, but one moment alone with him and Clarissa feared his ears would ring. Either from her tongue as she gave vent to her feelings, or her hands when she boxed them.

‘He’s as arrogant and unfeeling as ever.’ Clarissa sat down on the chair the footman held out for her. She was conscious she had a flounce and a pout, and neither were becoming. Look what he’s reduced me to.

‘Why should he not be?’ her grandmother asked as she deliberated between two large pastries. ‘He’s a man and he’s not married yet, and your attitude would sour milk, my dear. Have you never heard that to keep a man sweet, you need to be sweet yourself? ’Tis a fact. Anyway, it’s better if your man has spirit and experience. It will make your life all the more pleasant.’ She didn’t say how, and Clarissa was in no mood to ask her to expand on her statement. ‘And you, my love, would walk all over a man with no backbone. You need a strong male to manage you. Whatever your dear papa thinks you are not made in the mould of your mama, God rest her soul.’ Her grandmother took a large bite of pastry, and ended the conversation. Perhaps it was as well. In the mood she was in Clarissa might well have flown into a paroxysm of rage that surpassed anything ever seen before.

Instead she visited her friend Belinda, ostensibly to chat about anything and nothing, and then perhaps seek advice. On arrival it was obvious Belinda had problems of her own – even if she wasn’t openly sharing them all – and Clarissa chose not to tax Belinda even more. Instead she drank herself into a stupor with Belinda’s finest whisky, and Phillip had to be called upon to assist her home.

After some thought, Clarissa appealed to her father, and begged him to let her cry off from the marriage.

‘Say I’m deranged, have consumption… oh, I don’t know, papa – say I’m dead if you like.’ He, poor man, had been appalled. An expression of dismay crossed his face and his lips turned down. Where had he gone wrong? It would have been her mother’s greatest desire to see Clarissa married to such a wealthy and eligible man.

You are wrong. Surely she would have wanted me to be happy? In truth, Clarissa had no idea. She hadn’t known her mother at the sort of age you asked that. Her godmother, Lady Lakenby, yes, but Lady L was well known for being an individual, whose views did not necessarily mirror the majority.

In her papa’s mind, Lord Theodore Bennett was everything a woman could want for in a husband. He begged her to be reasonable. ‘I feared so much you would be left alone when I die, with only Phillip to make sure you wanted for nothing.’

As Phillip was as big a rake as Lord Bennett, that was not a sensible option. His comment on her forthcoming nuptials had been brief. ‘Poor Bennett. Does he know what he is getting into?’

To Clarissa, it seemed completely wrong to say Lord Bennett was everything a woman wanted in a husband. There was a lot she didn’t want. A man who had a mistress, for instance. And although it was true she didn’t like being thwarted, she was a reasonable woman, wasn’t she? One prepared to listen and … maybe not. However, the thought of her beloved mama, and the obvious delight of her father, made her decide it was futile to protest any more. After all, unless she wanted to be an old maid, and the put-upon younger sister, always at the beck and call of her older brother – and any family he eventually had – she had to marry. It may as well be to Lord Bennett as anyone else. She chose to ignore the way her heart sped up when she was near him, and how many of her friends had admitted their envy of her altered circumstances. Apart from his one moment of chivalry, he had done nothing to show he had any regard for her whatsoever.

With a heavy heart, Lady Clarissa Macpherson resigned herself not to accept any nonsense from him or anyone else. How she intended to do that she chose not to ponder over.

The talk her with her grandmother about a woman’s duty had firmed her heart, and she vowed she wasn’t going to be a duty. Indeed it was lucky she and her friends at school had purloined some leaflets and read a little about anatomy. Even though the actual act of love, consummation, whatever you chose to call it, seemed nigh on impossible. Had the leaflet maker being playing a joke? It seemed she would not be long finding out.

Before she had a chance to say bouquets and wedding breakfasts she was married. To a man with whom she had spent no more than half an hour alone, and who, it seemed, preferred to look at the bottom of a brandy glass than at her.