A Most Scandalous Proposal (14 page)

She recoiled from his words. They repulsed her even more than his touch. “You may rest assured you are quite safe from its sentiment.” She drew herself up and took a step in the direction of the drawing room.

His hand snaked out and latched onto her wrist. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly what makes you the ideal bride for a man like me.”

She fixed him with a glare. “Unhand me, sir. I no more invite your touch than I do your suit.”

“But—”

“You heard the lady. Remove your hand from her person.”

Julia let out a breath, as, shoulders set, Benedict
stepped between them. He’d adopted the officious tone he’d perfected in the cavalry.

Ludlowe took the hint immediately. “I hope you’ll give due thought to what I’ve said tonight.”

She inclined her head. “Rest assured. I’ve already given your proposal all the consideration it merits. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling quite unwell.”

She backed away. Ludlowe lurched in her direction, but immediately stepped back, as, jaw set hard as granite, Benedict advanced. She headed for the staircase, intending to take herself off for the evening. Halfway up, the thud of booted feet met her ears, descending the flight toward the ground floor. Then from the foyer, rose the echo of Ludlowe’s voice grumbling for a footman to call his carriage.

“Miss Julia, wait.”

At the sound of Benedict’s voice, she turned. He stood at the foot of the staircase, one hand on the newel post, his expression inscrutable.

“Of course,” she breathed. “I did not mean to be so rude, but Ludlowe is completely insufferable. I owe you my thanks.”

Below them, the front door cracked shut. Her heart lightened.

“Nonsense.” He didn’t move a muscle—he simply held her gaze captive—but she felt as if he were commanding her without words. Commanding her to come back down the stairs and stand before him.

She clutched at the polished mahogany railing, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her bedchamber and forget every vile word Ludlowe had said. He’d just offered her the sort of match she’d always wanted, but stated in the terms Ludlowe had used—it turned her stomach.

And now Benedict compelled her to stay.

After another moment’s hesitation, he mounted two
steps. Julia slanted a glance toward the drawing room. If her mother were to see …

“What is it?” she asked, her voice low.

He climbed a few more stairs, far enough to bring his face on a level with hers. “I heard part of what he said.”

Her grip on the railing became painful. “I prefer not to discuss it.”

He ascended to her riser, forcing her to look up at him. “I want to know everything.”

He’d never addressed her in that tone, the one he’d most recently used to get rid of Ludlowe. His captain’s tone, brimming with authority.

She swallowed to relieve the dryness in her throat. “I cannot bear to repeat it. It was vile enough having to listen to it the first time.”

He reached out, his hand pausing for a moment in midair before settling over hers. Her breath hitched at the contact. He’d touched her any number of times in the past. Why must she be so aware of it now? “That’s exactly why I want to know what he said. If he dishonors you, by God, I shall call him out.”

Her heart tripped over itself. “Oh, please don’t.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but shrill voices ringing from the drawing room cut him off.

“I shall be quite relieved when this entire mess is over.” Lady Wexford’s stentorian tones echoed through the hall. Heavy footfalls announced her imminent appearance.

Mama burst out a reply that Julia didn’t catch. Benedict chose that moment to take her hand and pull her noiselessly the rest of the way up the stairs. Reaching the upper corridor, he led her into the first doorway on the left.

Papa’s study lay shrouded in darkness. Benedict pushed the door closed until no illumination remained but a tiny wedge of light from the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Julia whispered.

“Making sure we have a chance at a little uninterrupted conversation.” The direction of his voice told her he’d come to stand before her. The thick Axminster carpeting muffled the thud of his shoes. She could not see him, but his presence hovered inches away, a tangible force.

“Do you wish us to be discovered?”

“Little chance there. I’ve already taken my leave with your father. I thought it prudent not to brave the drawing room.”

But Julia could think of nothing beyond her sister’s situation. Mama might disapprove of Revelstoke, but she’d play the situation into an excuse to push her at Ludlowe. “What will my mother make of this if she finds us here?”

“One can only hope.”

She stiffened. The words had floated from his lips lightly enough, but their long-term friendship had familiarized her with every nuance of his speech. His tone reminded her of their waltz, when she accused him of practicing his flirting. Now she wondered. Had he indeed been practicing or in earnest?

With her.

“Come,” he added, when she didn’t respond. “You’d be happier with me than Ludlowe.”

“Mama will find a way to let you off the hook. She favors Ludlowe’s suit.”

“The devil you say!”

She didn’t even flinch at his language. Long acquaintance had inured her to it. At times like this, she envied him the freedom to express himself in such terms. “He’s going to be an earl, you see.”

“Whereas I’m a mere second son of little enough means.” The level of bitterness in his tone shook her far
more than his profanity. She’d never before heard him express acrimony for being born the spare.

“There’s no need to sacrifice yourself for my sake. I’m perfectly capable of refusing Ludlowe until he gives up. I’ve had plenty of practice. Although …” She chewed her lip for a moment. “Perhaps if I’d had less practice …”

He drew breath in an audible hiss. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing, really. Just a remark Ludlowe made.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Strong fingers wrapped about her elbow. “What remark?”

His tone brooked no argument. Drat it all. She wanted to forget the things Ludlowe had said to her, not open them up to Benedict’s scrutiny. “Apparently, I have something of a reputation.”

His fingers tightened their grip. “How dare he impugn you when your reputation is impeccable?”

“Except when you drag me to a darkened room for a
tête-à-tête
.”

He dropped his hand. Cool air wafted over her as he strode away. His shoes thumped toward the far end of the room. “That is a different matter. By God, I
shall
call him out.”

“You shall do no such thing. I care nothing for Ludlowe, but this simply isn’t important enough for you to risk your life over the truth.”

The merest whisper of dull thuds told her he’d marched back. His presence loomed over her. “What exactly did he say to you?”

“He only noted that I’ve turned down every man who’s offered for me. You cannot call him out over such a thing.”

“Then what did he say to make you so upset?”

“It seems I’ve refused so many suitors I’m considered a bit of a cold fish.”

“He said that to you?” Fabric rustled. She imagined his tailcoat shifting as he dragged a hand through his hair. No, more thuds. He was marching away—toward the door. “I must contact Upperton. He’ll agree to be my second.”

A memory surged into her mind. Her nine-year-old self slipping on a stone. That momentary sensation of weightlessness followed by a heavy splash. A white-faced Benedict hesitating only a moment before jumping in after her. His head had disappeared twice under the murky water before she pulled him out. How little he’d changed, flying off half-cocked over a trifle.

“Benedict!”

At the sound of his given name, his footfalls came to an abrupt halt. She felt it in the change of his energy, from movement to complete stillness. Apparently, she also possessed a captain’s tone.

“He did not say such a thing to me, not in so many words. I took his meaning well enough. At any rate, it seems he’s decided this makes me his ideal bride.”

“Ideal bride?” Distaste echoed through his words. “Who would want such a marriage?”

Julia took a deep breath. She’d never imagined making this admission to a man, even if she had known him most of her life. “I do.”

A second or two of silenced ensued. “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious. I’ve watched my sister languish for years over a sentiment that is supposed to render a person happy. It’s brought her nothing but pain. Why should I open my heart to something like that?”

An image, long suppressed, surfaced in her brain, and she shuddered.
No
. She squeezed her eyes shut and thrust it aside. She would
not
think about that day, even if it had more to do with her refusal of love than anything Sophia had ever done.

“Don’t you believe the risk might be worth something?” Stealthily, he’d worked his way closer. His voice rumbled within inches of her ear, the captain’s tone completely gone, replaced by something low and velvet and beguiling, something that turned her insides—oh God—to liquid heat. “If your sentiments were returned—”

“I have none to return.” She let out a little twitter of laughter.

For a moment, his breathing, shallow, harsh, and agitated, broke the room’s silence. “You? Have none to return? I do not believe that for a moment. I recall you climbing trees to put baby birds back in their nests.”

She ought to have laughed at that memory. Instead, a shiver passed down her spine at the utter conviction in his tone. “Believe what you will. Only I know the truth of what lies inside me.”

“I’m not certain you do.” Trembling fingertips fluttered along her neck. Her pulse leaped in response, and she sucked in a breath, the hiss loud in the dark. “You cannot stand there and tell me you feel nothing.”

Oh, she felt, certainly—too much and the sensation was altogether too enticing.

“You cannot convince me you’d be willing to enter a marriage with no tender feelings at all.”

She reached out, hoping to placate him, but immediately balled her fingers into a fist. Best not to touch him, not while he was in this mood. “I would not be the first to do so.” Mama, for one, had entered into just such an arrangement. “Nor would I be the last.”

“Then you’d be missing the best life has to offer.”

“And I’d save myself a great deal of pain when it all came crashing down.”

“Some things are worth the pain. They’re most definitely worth the risk.”

In the dark, she missed the movement, but the emotion
pulsing from him had heightened the rest of her senses. The only warning she received was the whisper of fabric. Before her brain had a chance to process the meaning of that sound, he took her roughly by the shoulders and crushed his lips to hers.

T
HE MOMENT
their lips made contact, Julia stiffened, and Benedict braced himself for a slap. A slap or a knee to the groin. He deserved both the way he was assaulting her.

Neither came.

Instead, she whimpered into his mouth, the plaintive sound more resonant than a stinging smack. He eased her into a gentler kiss, intended to coax her into softening. He wanted her response.

No, he needed it.

His body screamed for her surrender the way his lungs screamed for air. Over and over, he slanted his mouth against hers, teasing, cajoling, until her breath expelled on a long sigh. He took advantage of her parted lips to sample their lush softness with his tongue.

“Ah!”

That whisper of surprise sent a bolt of heat coursing to his groin, and he caught the back of her head in his palm to hold her in place. He pressed his lips to hers once more and felt a tentative push back. Her hands drifted to his shoulders; her fingers burrowed into the wool of his coat.

Clinging.

Yes
.

He wrapped his other arm around her waist to savor the length of her body flush against his. Her lovely breasts,
the cradle of her hips, her lithe thighs. She swayed into his embrace, and he pushed their kiss further. Deeper.

Triumph poured through him as her tongue rose to twine with his. A growl surged into his throat, and he pressed his advantage. Her unschooled response, fueled by her awakening passion, aroused him more than a courtesan’s practiced caress.

Because this was Julia, his Julia, and he could no longer deny what he felt for her. He pulled her closer, urged even more of a response. He needed more, her taste, her jasmine perfume surrounding them both. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her mouth responsive against his.

Then without warning, she tore her lips from his, planted her palms against his chest and shoved. Benedict froze, and for a long moment, only the sound of their ragged breathing filled the room.

“That cannot happen again.” Her words rung with such finality, she might have screamed them.

For an instant, shock held him in an icy grip. Then he stepped forward, intending to capture her once more to put the lie to those words. Now that he’d kissed her once, he couldn’t fathom it being a singular occurrence. He quite imagined she’d just ruined every other woman for him.