Once Upon a Scandal (24 page)

He only wanted to make sure Jane had recovered from the theft. Even though he’d seen her safely into Sophia’s carriage, she’d been terribly pale and quiet, her shoulders trembling. The merest assurance would be enough. Then he could return home and indulge in far more brandy than was wise. With any luck, it would erase the memory of his disgraceful behavior at Whitehall.

“Canby,” he said with a nod when Sophia’s butler answered his knock. “Is the countess at home? Is her guest, Madame Fauchon, well settled?”

“They are in the drawing room, Lord Marworth. Should you like me to escort you there?”

Another nod and they were on their way, down the wide hall, the floor echoing their footsteps. But when they entered the drawing room, it was obvious Jane was not at all settled. She was lying on a pinstriped settee, a hand covering her eyes, even though Sophia had dimmed the candles. He rushed forward, seeing her wince at the sound of the sudden movement.

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Sophia whispered. “It washed over her at dinner, like a fog. She could hardly stand.”

“Please … ” Jane’s voice was nearly inaudible. “It is only a megrim. It will pass.”

But he knew just how debilitating those could be. She might be in agony for hours. “We need to move her. The room is too close to the street. The clatter of the carriage wheels will be torture.”

“Canby, would you show Lord Marworth to
madame
’s room? I’m sure we can prevail upon him to carry her there.”

“I can walk … ” Jane tried to sit but swayed with the effort, wilting back against the settee. “I only need a few moments to collect myself.”

He’d already lifted her body into his arms, savoring the feel of her—a private, sinful pleasure. Every curve nestled against him, her warm breath at his neck, her head tucked carefully against it. He followed the butler up the stairs, Sophia close behind. But her bedroom came too quickly. If he could, he would slow their pace, for just a few more moments spent holding her. And how ignoble that was. To prolong what was undoubtedly awkward for her.

Oakley had seen their approach and pulled back the covers on Jane’s bed, so he laid her down gently upon it, tucking the blankets around her. When he turned back to the others, varying degrees of curiosity were writ large on their faces. “You’d make a good nursemaid, Marworth,” Sophia said. “Or do you make a habit of putting ladies into their beds?”

He didn’t answer, only ushered them towards the door. “I’ve experience with megrims,” he said, despite Oakley’s protests. “I will sit with her.”

“It’s all right, Oakley,” Sophia said, her eyes never leaving his face. “Marworth will care for her. I doubt a single breath will escape his notice.”

Your business, chiefly, is to … make yourselves agreeable and useful.—
Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women

“Do you often get such headaches?” Benjamin asked, his voice soft through the haze of her pain.

“Since my mother died,” she whispered, her eyes closed against the violent light. At least it felt violent, although only a handful of candles lit the room. How embarrassing to have him witness one of her great weaknesses. She must look dreadful, pale, with perspiration slick across her brow. Nothing at all like the luminous Miss Strawberry.

“It’s disconcerting to see you so helpless, when you are the least helpless person I know.”

She’d have laughed had she the energy to do so. “My current state gives lie to that, I think.” It was odd, that she should find his voice soothing, when normally any sound would have been all but paralyzing. Perhaps it was the cadence of it, measured and low.

“My brother used to suffer from megrims. Crippling ones.”

“I’m sorry. I’d not wish them on anyone,” she said weakly. “Well, Rempley perhaps …”

“Aiden used to find a cool cloth soothing. Shall I get you one?”

“That would help, I think.” She heard him moving carefully about the room. And in mere moments, it was there, laid across her eyes with infinite care, a rustle sounding in the chair beside her. Surely he didn’t mean to stay? “Please … don’t sit with me.” It would be mortifying. And no doubt, he was eager to be engaged elsewhere. With someone else. The realization of it felt like a sharp, driving pain in the area near her heart.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.” He took hold of her hand, and to her surprise, he continued to hold it, which should have been off-putting. When she suffered through an attack, even the clothes on her body felt heavy, like chains tethering her to a bed. But he’d removed his gloves, and the feel of his skin against hers was startling. She focused on the warmth of it. How he unclenched her hand, laying it flat against her waist, tracing concentric circles on her palm, smaller and smaller, until they ended with a dot, before he began again.

How did he know what would settle her? His brother, perhaps. What a gentle child Benjamin must have been, to have harnessed all the impatience of youth—the restless energy of it—to sit, quiet and still, with a boy who was suffering. A boy so different than he must have been. Facing every challenge when Benjamin had been gifted with every advantage and had every reason to be absorbed in himself, instead of his brother.

In that moment, perhaps because her mind and body were weak, she was very afraid she was falling in love with him. And she wanted to cry because of it. It was surely the most irresponsible and awful thing she could do to herself, when he’d never indicated he had any interest in a future with her. Not hours ago, she’d seen him with a woman who could offer the things she should not.

“
Don’t cry,” he said softly. “I know it’s painful, but you will be right soon enough.”

She would never be right again. The enormity of it was pounding in her heart, equal to the pounding in her head. She just wasn’t strong enough to face it now. In this moment, she would relish his presence beside her, offering comfort when there was so little to be had. And ridiculous creature that she was, she felt grateful. She ached, every limb filled with lead, but if she focused on the feel of his hand in hers, she would get through this, even if everything ahead seemed unsustainable. For this one night, she would lie supine on her bed in a darkened room, with Benjamin giving comfort. Just this once.

His hand brushed gently across her brow, easing back her hair, damp against her head. And she felt rather than saw him lean down, his breath a rush of air against her cheek. He touched his lips, first to hers, and then to her cheek, before settling back. “I will be here if and when you need me,” he said.

How she wished it could be true.

• • •

Sometime in the night—she could not have guessed when—she stirred. How she’d slept, when it was always so elusive during such attacks, she couldn’t say. But there was peace in the room, a certain calmness. And she could hear him beside her in the chair, his breathing steady and regular. She lifted the cloth from her eyes and turned to watch him, cloaked in shadow. What a luxury, to study him unawares, with only a shaft of light seeping in from the window.

The moonlight sculpted his lips and gilded a heavy lock of hair fallen across his brow, making him look surprisingly young. She’d once told him she liked him unbuttoned, and it was true. He was mussed and creased, his jacket and cravat long since abandoned in favor of comfort, his shirt open at the neck. Her eyes caressed the sharp lines of his face and jaw. How she wished she could trace them, edging her fingers along warm flesh and bone and sinew.

He was far too dear to her. And she knew now with a certainty how this would end. She would take her earnings and move far away, so far she’d not run the risk of being found out. She would be neither Jane nor Lillianne, but someone new all over again. After this fascinating escapade with Benjamin Alden, a society darling, a rake and a spy, she’d have her memories but little else. Which was why her feelings for him were such a terrible indulgence. They would leave behind a scar. Of that, she had no doubt.

Maybe she would find a man to love her back one day. A good, decent man who would understand the things she’d done and forgive the lies she’d told. Perhaps they’d even have a family together, with several children. It was not impossible, even if it was altogether unlikely.

But she wanted this man. Wanted him so fiercely she should be frightened, because she longed to abandon things like common sense and take whatever he might be willing to give, consequences be damned. If the greatest pleasure she’d ever felt had been in his arms, with his lips on hers, imagine how great the pain would be when he was gone and she was once more alone. He’d said he would not offer more than he could give. What if she demanded nothing more than the pleasure of his touch?

Gingerly, she sat up, slowly swinging her legs over the opposite edge of the bed. She was desperate to get out of these clothes, still sticky against her. Her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with wool, her limbs unsteady as the day-old kittens she’d once seen at her grandparents’ estate. There was a basin of water and a changing screen not far, and she used the last of the candlelight, burned low now, to make her way, hands clasped upon each piece of furniture she passed. Reaching behind her, she found the buttons securing her gown and undid them, the neck and sleeves slowly easing off. Such a relief, to feel a rush of cooler air.

Quietly, so as not to wake him, she edged behind the silk panels, stepping out of her underthings, naked to the moonlight as she reached for the nightgown hanging there. Slipping it on, she crept back around the screen and splashed water from the basin against her face, closing her eyes against the rush of it. Rivulets streamed down her neck, seeping into her white linen night rail. Blinking against the water on her lashes, she reached blindly about for a nearby cloth, until quite suddenly, it was tucked into her hands.

Benjamin stood mere inches away, very much awake, the air gone heavy all around him. “Are you feeling better?” His eyes, usually so blue, were smoky now, almost a slate in the shadowy room.

“I am,” she said, as heat crept up her cheeks. He had seen her undo her gown. She was certain of it.

“May I?” She could only nod mutely, spellbound by the intensity of his gaze as he slipped the cloth from her fingers. “Close your eyes,” he ordered, and she did, plunging into darkness. Across the sweep of her lashes, along the edge of her brow, his touch gentle, almost reverent. Soft linen, a caress down the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek, before dipping lower, past the tip of her chin, to the lace of her nightgown, several buttons still undone at the neck. A sudden hesitation and the sound of breathing gone raspy. The sound of him stepping away.

Her eyes fluttered open. He was an arm’s length from her, the cloth clenched in his hand, his eyes fixed on the skin exposed at the base of her neck, his expression caught between awe and anguish. Had he seen the beads of water slipping beneath her gown, forging a path between her breasts?

Heat pooled in her veins while he stood there, seemingly transfixed. And she swallowed, because she knew why he’d stopped. He understood what would happen if he touched her there, while she did not. But how she longed for the knowledge. She wanted to know where a kiss and a touch could lead. If the combination of them could feed this desperate hunger. Nothing else mattered. Not when he was here, alone with her.

Hands trembling, she reached up to undo first one button, then another, until the valley between her breasts was exposed to his gaze. How far she was from any version of herself she understood.

“There’s a spot still wet, Benjamin.”

• • •

“God, Jane.” His voice was raw with emotion. “You don’t know how you tempt me.”

“I only know we are alone in this room and no one is watching. I want you to kiss me. I won’t hold you to anything but the memory of it.”

The cloth fell to the floor, and he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. “Do you know I often regret that I ever came to know you?” Even as her heart dropped, something in his eyes kept her from looking away. “You make me feel things I’ve told myself not to feel, make me want things I can’t have. But I can’t fight my own longing anymore. I just can’t.”

With agonizing slowness, he lifted his hand, touching a finger to the pulse point at the base of her neck. Could he feel it? The desperate pounding of her heart? He traced the path of the water droplet, down to the valley between her breasts, catching it there. Lingering, before he tucked his hand beneath the neck of her gown, easing it off her shoulder to expose the globe of one breast as she willed herself to breathe.

When he smoothed his wet finger across the tip of it, she gasped.

“Any man would kill for the sight of you like this.” His eyes were nearly black, his voice strained as the finger traced slow circles, his touch feather-light, sending bolts of sensation through her. She wanted to moan with the pleasure of it.

Instead, Benjamin moaned, as he swept her up, carrying her to the bed. Laying her across it, he settled his body on top of her body, one leg between hers, the other to the side, his arms bearing the brunt of his weight. “Just for a short while … please let me adore you.”

His mouth claimed hers, coaxing her lips apart with the heat of his tongue, invading her mouth with devastating sweetness. So many sensations all at once. His taste, his warmth. The feel of his hand cupping her breast, his fingers gently probing. The pad of his thumb, brushing across its tip, back and forth, stoking the heat flooding her limbs. His mouth, so supple, kissing along her jawline, nuzzling the lobe of her ear, the long line of her neck. His tongue sliding down, raising goose bumps wherever it touched.

Never had she imagined this, his mouth at her breast now, pulling the tip into its heady, slick heat. Suckling until she was panting with a strange, new need. Somehow, he’d opened her gown to her waist, and he was trailing his tongue up the slope of the other breast, circling the tip as his finger had, every nerve in her body flaring.

So restless. Her fingers could not be still. She pushed them into his hair, reveling in the soft strands of it. She coursed them along his back, corded with muscle beneath his linen shirt. If she could pull him into her, melding skin with skin, she would. And it suddenly seemed a hideous crime that so little of him was exposed. She was nearly ravenous with the need to touch more. To feel more.