Once Upon a Scandal (25 page)

“Please,” she whispered, hardly recognizing her own voice. When he lifted his head, she reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them in haste, until finally, they gave way, and she stilled, drawing a deep breath. She’d seen sculptures of men in the British Museum, captured for posterity. But they’d been marble, cold and white, while Benjamin was honey-toned flesh, hard ridges and indentations. Captivating. She trailed her hands along his shoulders, smoothing them down over his chest, fascinated by his hiss when her fingers touched the beaded nubs there. Could they be as sensitive as her own? With his eyes on her, seemingly spellbound, was she bold enough to find out?

She warmed two fingers in her mouth and then traced them over each nub, as he’d done, marveling when he shuddered. Everything about him was tense and hard, his breath sawing in and out of his throat. The veins in his arms raised, as if he were straining against something, though he was utterly still. She could feel his heart beneath her hands, every pulsing beat, as she continued her slow exploration. Flesh and bone and sinew. All so different from her own. She wanted to touch every inch of him, though it wouldn’t be enough. When her fingers dipped inside the waistband of his trousers, drawn to the intense warmth there, he groaned, catching her hands in a tight grip.

“That is not a safe path for you, Jane.”

“Then kiss me again.”

And he did, letting her feel the weight of him now, flush against her body. His mouth against her lips, driving into her with his tongue. His chest against hers, teasing her breasts, skin on skin. His legs nestled between hers, something heavy and hot against the apex of her thighs, that place cloaked in mystery, separated only by her filmy gown and his own clothes. She reacted instinctively, urging her hips against his, shocked by the sensation they sparked, moaning with the pleasure of it. Suddenly desperate to feel more of the same, she moved her hips again, pushing herself against the hard length of him.

“God, Jane. The feel of you … ” He tried to lift himself off her, but she was lost in a haze of desire. She opened her legs, sensing the movement would bring him still closer, holding his hips with her hands so he could not pull back. Could he feel it, this thing so powerful between them? Surely he must. Something melted inside her when she saw the strain on his shadowed face. The tension along his brow. Eyes hooded, he was staring down between them, to the point where their bodies pressed against each other through their clothes. “This is what I was so afraid of,” he said, his voice pained.

But then he arched his hips, rubbing against her, driving the fabric of her gown against her core. Friction, sensation, a sudden clawing need centered there. He pushed against her again and again, the rhythmic movement making her writhe as he captured her mouth with his, his kiss fanning her need. Her body pulsed, the place between her legs now swollen and mysteriously wet. She felt as if she were running towards something. Did he feel the same way? His skin was slick now, his movements increasingly unsteady, his breath coming in pants, just like hers. The heat and the awareness all around them was almost too much, like the air before a summer storm. And then suddenly, an incredible cresting of sensation sped through her limbs, making her tremble with the power of it. Nothing had ever felt so exquisite.

Had he felt the same? She didn’t think so. He was staring down at her, his mouth still etched with need, his eyes glossy. But she didn’t know what to do. She would give anything to have him feel that same, intense pleasure. Already, though, he’d pulled away, as if desperate to put distance between their bodies, his hands unsteady as they buttoned his shirt and yanked on his jacket.

“Benjamin?” She didn’t understand this unexpected change in him, this haste.

“I didn’t come here to do this,” he said, grabbing his cravat from the chair, tying it so tightly against his neck it must be hard to breathe. “I only meant to give comfort.”

“I know.” Sudden and unbidden, the guilt, the knowledge she’d all but begged him to seduce her. How many times had he tried to push away? None of this was new to him. Even today, she’d seen him whispering into the ear of another woman. Was it wrong to want to hunt that woman down, to make her swear on her life she would stay far away, so Jane alone could be his temptation?

Because he wanted her, that she knew. But it didn’t mean he loved her.

She’d promised not to hold him to any expectations, only pleasure given and received, with no demands. But would she be able to say goodbye when the time came? Or was it already here? Because he’d quietly slipped from the room, leaving only the memory of his touch.

One thing is certain, that witty men for the most part have few friends, though many admirers.—
Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women

Benjamin stabbed his hands into his pockets, nearly groaning at his throbbing discomfort, disgusted by his lack of self-control as he sped through the darkened stairwell of Marchmain House. He was far over his head in this. How had he so forgotten his sense of self-preservation?

She would be the death of him. He’d awoken just as she slipped behind the dressing screen. Was he dreaming, caught up in yet another erotic fantasy? Her figure outlined by the moonlight, a gloriously curved shadow, bending and twisting, the outline of her breasts pressing against the screen when she’d reached for her robe. If only she hadn’t needed that cloth, he might have stayed firmly rooted in his chair, as his mouth went dry and blood rushed to his loins.

But she’d clearly been struggling to find it, hands reaching about blindly. He could hardly have ignored that. When she’d opened her eyes to find him standing there, he’d sensed her surprise. But there had also been curiosity and innocent invitation. Or so it had seemed to a man desperate to believe it.

He’d never had a problem in the past keeping his focus on the job to be done. But she was dear to him. She had the unique ability to tempt him out of the darkness, the place where his regrets and remorse held sway. How had he believed he could put himself into such a situation, the two of them alone, when his thoughts could not help but turn to how very much he wanted to kiss her? So many long weeks had passed since he’d last touched his lips to hers.

He’d meant it when he said he wanted to adore her. To give her any pleasure he could, while taking none for himself. How far he’d fallen from that goal. She’d been caught up in something she did not understand, but he’d willingly stoked it, driving her to the point of culmination. It had taken every bit of his willpower not to lift her skirts and drive into her. To revel in her warmth, when she’d been so ready.

At least he’d not gone that far, though God knew, he’d gone far enough. So far that he wondered if he’d ever find his way back to his true purpose. How it melted away when she was in his arms!

When the morning dawned, she’d no doubt be horrified.

Grabbing his coat, hat, and walking stick, he slipped out the main door, closing it behind him, crossing out into the warm night air.

He sensed rather than saw the danger lurking. It was never safe, after all, to be alone on the streets of London at night, even here in Mayfair. But he welcomed it. He was almost desperate to hit something, to lash out and punish, even if he, too, was punished and bloodied. It was no less than he deserved.

Hand tightening on the tip of his walking stick, he took note of the narrow gaps between the mansions fronting the street, the tight passageways leading to back entrances for staff. They were perfect hiding places for anyone lying in wait. He looked across at the manicured gardens centering the square. Like many in London, they were only open to the surrounding residents, each holding a key to unlock the high iron fence surrounding it.

There, at the farthest corner, a figure quickly slunk back out of sight. Benjamin set off at a sprint, heading directly for the corner, but when he rounded it, the man was gone. Obscured at first glance by shrubbery, there was a small gap in the fence railings, but not one he’d ever fit through. Damn it, he could hear the stranger’s footsteps trailing through the brush on the other side. Quietly as he could, he followed the sounds until they stopped completely. The stranger was hiding behind a copse of trees just visible through the growth. Which meant he had no other means of escape. Unless the man had a key, which was unlikely, he’d need to come back out the way he’d gone in.

And Benjamin, blood surging, would be there when he did. He had all the time in the world.

An hour, perhaps two, passed before there was a rustling once more, the man slipping back through the fence, only to be collared and forced to the ground, held fast by Benjamin’s forearm. For several moments, the stranger fought the hold, flailing his arms and fists ineffectually. Not a cutthroat, then, who would never have ventured out without a knife in hand. Nor did he have the size of a street fighter, sent in ambush to exact revenge.

“I didn’t mean no harm. Out for walk, ’tis all,” he gasped. “Let go of me neck. You’re like to snap it!” Slight, with dark eyes and pale skin, he was dressed in black, his clothes far from the first stare of fashion. Or even the tenth, though his chin jutted out in defiance.

Benjamin slackened his pressure but only just. “Rather far from home, aren’t you?”

“What of it? Air’s not so rank on this end ’o town.”

“Is that why you were standing here, eyes fixed on a very specific house?”

“It’s no crime to dream. Me and the missus be moving up in the world.”

“Are you now? What’s your profession, then, and your name?”

“Dobbins. And me business is me own. No need to answer to a toff like you.”

“Who paid you to watch that house tonight?”

“Nobody. I don’t know nothing.” And yet his eyes had gone wary at the accusation. Caught out. Benjamin redoubled his pressure on the man’s neck.

“I’m in no mood for lies, Dobbins. It has been a trying day, one’s that left me bereft of patience. And you wouldn’t be the first man I’ve left to die on a street corner.” If it weren’t precisely true, Dobbins needn’t know it. Not when he was being starved of air.

“Enough,” he wheezed at last. “I done nothing wrong!”

Benjamin pinned the man’s arms beneath him, waiting for a violent fit of coughing to abate. “Who paid you to watch that house? What does he look like?”

“Another toff like yourself,” he panted. “Covered up, though. Didn’t give ’is name.”

“Why that house?”

“’E wants to know the doings of that pretty French piece wots there. Gave me five quid to keep me peepers on ’er. Been at it for days, too. Seen you plenty … ” His lips curled into a sneer. Quite a bit of pride he had, this Dobbins.

“How did he find you?”

“Come now, me fine lord. There always be men about, available for a price. I be at Sharpe’s mostly.”

“How do you get your information to him?”

“I bring it to that fancy spot on St. James. The place without a color.” White’s Gentleman’s Club. “Leave it at the servant’s door, folded. No marks. Someone always gets it straight away.”

Not a bad place, in truth, to leave information. The servants at White’s were remarkably circumspect. If they’d been paid to pass a note to someone, they’d not give up any names. Lord knows he’d tried in the past.

“I’d like you to send a message to your employer for me.”

“Wot’s that?”

“Tell him I will find him out. And soon.”

• • •

Hailing the first available hackney as the sun crested over the rooftops of Mayfair, Benjamin returned home to clean up as best he could. Withers, his valet, nearly fainted at the sight of him—grass stains on his trousers, scuff marks on his jacket, his cravat in complete disarray. But he had time only for the most cursory ablutions and a quick change of clothes. He meant to be at White’s the moment it opened.

Leaving Withers bemoaning the loss of his reputation, Benjamin called on his footman to bring the carriage and set out for the men’s club on St. James. Stepping out in front of its Portland stone façade, with its tall, ionic pilasters and scrollwork balcony, he made short work of the stairs, the door sweeping open as he was welcomed inside by the head butler.

“I’m sorry to be uncertain of your breakfast preferences, Lord Marworth. Should you like to enjoy a full repast in the dining area or something lighter served in the morning room?”

“Nothing for now, Bates. Has anyone else yet arrived?”

“We’re very quiet at the moment. Most of our members prefer an afternoon respite.” And that was a good thing. Benjamin wanted to see everyone’s comings and goings. Dobbins would deliver his note at the first opportunity, if it wasn’t here already. “Though both Sir Aldus and Lord Winchester are engaged in the morning room.”

What could the two of them be discussing at this early hour? “I’ll make my way there. No need to escort me.”

“As you wish,” Bates said, bowing before he slipped back into his windowed closet, tucked behind the paneling, where he kept watch for members approaching on the street.

The door to the morning room lay at the end of the hall, on the left-hand side. With it shut tight, their conversation was obviously meant to be a private one. Not that he had any qualms about eavesdropping.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help your cause.” It was Winchester, his voice muted through the door. “Lord Liverpool’s decision has already been finalized.”

“But I’ve done nothing wrong!” Sir Aldus was clearly agitated. “I’ve told you all along it was Fitzsimmons, stealing them to embarrass me or worse.”

“Perhaps. But now, it is also an embarrassment to Lord Liverpool. Someone has been leaking information to the press. He’s been asked about the mishandling of war communiques.”

“It must be Brougham. We both know he’s in Queen Caroline’s pocket. Liverpool wasn’t the regent’s first choice for prime minister, but he still serves at the request of the crown. She’d be eager to shame him. It’s meddling and nothing more.”

“Either way, you can see a scapegoat is needed.”

Behind him, the butler’s closet was reopening. Another early riser at the club’s door, when it wouldn’t do to be found lingering in the hall. With a quick rap of his knuckles, Benjamin entered the room. “Winchester. Sir Aldus. Good morning to you both.”