Chapter One #2
She had long held no desire for marriage—she had no wish to hand ownership of her wealth, her possessions, her person to a gentleman with no real guarantee he would not strip her of all three.
To marry would not guarantee passion—indeed, to her observation, it seemed the direct opposite—and from the talk and whispers of both the salon and the ton, only a skilled lover provided what she sought.
It would be better instead to remain unwed and take a temporary lover.
That way, when it was done, she and her lover could shake hands and part ways, remaining unbeholden to the other in any way.
“Of course your plan derived from the salon,” Benedict continued. “I have never heard of a group of ladies more raucous.”
“Then I feel very sad for you indeed. You have two sisters. How do you not know ladies are just as raucous as gentlemen?”
“I am the youngest, El, by a fair margin,” he said, “and there are two brothers between us. Margaret and Catherine do not discuss such things with me. I would wager they do not discuss such things with anyone at all.”
“Perhaps then not your sisters, but you know me,” she said. “We talk of such things all the time.”
“Not all the time. And I said group of ladies. Last I checked, you are in the singular.”
He looked so pleased with himself at his pedantry. “Be that as it may, as a consequence I have decided a lover is what I wished to pursue. I have already determined I do not wish to frequent a brothel or engage a professional to visit my home.”
Benedict choked. “Good God, El, warn a man before you say such things. How do you even know of…of…” Cheeks again ruddy—or perhaps still—he frowned at her. “You should know nothing about any of that.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am thirty years old and, I remind you, older than you. It would be truly pathetic of me if I knew nothing of the world at my age.”
“You are barely four weeks older than me.”
“It still counts.”
Working his jaw, he stared at her. Ha. Not so pedantic now, was he? “We have meandered off track,” he said. “Have you decided on whom should occupy the position of your lover?”
Lifting her chin, she braced for his reaction. “The Earl of Malvern.”
Again, he choked.
“He is the perfect choice, do you not agree?”
“No. No, I do not agree. He is…” Floundering, he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
“Yes?” she prompted “What is he?”
“You do not occupy the same sphere,” he finally said
Was it poor of her that she was quite enjoying his reaction? “Is that your polite way of saying he is a rake and a degenerate?”
He did not reply, his full lips pressed into a thin line.
“He has recently begun attending society events,” she continued. “Have you not noticed him at the Smyth-Winston ball? Or the Richardson’s musicale? He has even started attending the theatre.”
“This does not suddenly change his character, El.”
“No, but it is curious, is it not?” If anyone knew of pleasure, surely it was the Earl of Malvern.
A rake and a roue, the earl was spoken of in shocked, breathless whispers, notorious for his debauchery and dissolution.
It did not hurt he was a handsome man, with black hair and blue eyes, a strong jaw and broad shoulders.
His eyes perhaps were colder than she preferred, and he did not often smile, but such things were not her concern.
She wished him for his experience and his expertise and she had no expectation of tender emotion.
There only remained the little matter of procuring his agreement.
“The earl’s sudden appearance at society events will make it easier to approach him, but the matter remains of how,” she continued.
“My entire experience has been focussed on repelling suitors. Then I hit upon the idea of engaging an expert to assist me with attracting the earl. A tutor, if you will.”
“You seek a lover and a tutor? You do love to complicate things, El.” He rubbed his brow. “I cannot conceive of why you require a tutor. You have only to smile, and any gentleman would count himself fortunate to have gained your notice.”
She blinked. He had said it as if it were a matter of fact. How could he believe that? The whole of her life demonstrated his assertion incorrect. “As I most likely will require more than a smile, I intend to write the madam of La Belle Jeune Fille Pieuse to engage her services.”
This time, he did not choke. Instead, deathly silence shrouded her sitting room.
Benedict stared at her, his expression unreadable. “You intend to write the madam of a brothel to teach you how to seduce the Earl of Malvern?” he asked carefully. “The man rumoured to be her lover?”
“There is no need for her to know it is the earl I mean to attract.”
“Because that is the only thing wrong with what you propose.” Launching to his feet, he started to pace. “Christ, El. Bloody hell.”
His vehemence took her aback. Benedict rarely swore in her presence, and he did not seem even now to realise he had.
She had not thought this would be the thing that would disturb him the most—he had taken the news she sought a lover calmer than he had her contacting Mrs Morcom.
She hadn’t even told him yet she had yet to send the letter to the madam.
Each time she thought to do it, something stayed her hand, and even when she did finally send it, there was no guarantee this course of action would succeed. Mrs Morcom could refuse to assist her.
Halting before her, Benedict ran his hand through his heir, disrupting the dark curls, “How do you even know of Mrs Morcom, let alone her relationship to the Earl of Malvern?”
Eleanor bit her lip. “I learnt of her at—”
“Lady Burfield’s salon,” he finished. “What will this tutelage consist of?”
“I am certain Mrs Morcom will educate me.”
“You cannot proceed without a plan. That is a fool’s errand.”
“Are you calling me a fool?”
“Of course not.” Exhaling, he sat himself again on the chaise. “I am not certain this is the best course of action.”
“I know this is unconventional, Benedict. I understand the risks inherent with this action, and even those that are not. I am neither a fool nor a child, and I have determined on this course of action as the best for me. I will take every precaution, but this is something I wish and I will pursue it in the best way I see fit.”
“Oh, good,” Benedict said tartly. “You have thought this through, then.”
Something in her snapped. “Tell me, then, Benedict, what options do I have? We are not the same, you and I. You have no idea how it is to be a woman in this world. I am cognisant I cannot carelessly lay with a man without a ring and have society welcome me with open arms. I will not be praised for my conquests, or showered in accolades if I seduce a gentlemen. I know what it means for me to take a lover, and I know discretion must be employed. I am speaking of these things with you only. Do you really think I would be this open with anyone but you? Of course I have thought this through. Why are you so strange about this?” she demanded.
“Surely this cannot be that much of a shock.”
His shoulders dropped. “No. No, it is not. I don’t know why I am even surprised. I’ve known you all my life and this is precisely something you would do.”
As abruptly as it had started, her anger dissipated, fatigue taking its place. “I do not undertake this lightly, Benedict.”
“I know, El.” He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaled, and looked her direct. “I do know. You never undertake anything of this magnitude lightly. Are you truly set on this path?”
She lifted her chin. “I am.”
Setting his jaw, he considered her. “I do not fully understand why you wish this, but it is important to you and that is all that matters,” he finally said. “Should you wish my help, you have it. Unreservedly.”
Tension she hadn’t even realised she held released. “I was so afraid to tell you,” she confessed.
“Never be afraid, El.” His intense gaze burned into hers. “You never need to be afraid to tell me anything.”
Everything around them faded. Her breath caught in her chest, her skin tingling, as a strange awareness spread thought her, one she had felt when they were like this, when he was all she saw.
“Do you have any other shocking reveals?” he rasped.
The room returned in a rush. Good lord, what on earth had that been? How ridiculous. Benedict was her friend. Her dearest friend. “No. Only that one.”
“Good. Good.” He cleared his throat. “Did you know Lady C is planning a ball?”
She blinked at the sudden change of subject. “No. Really? For Amanda?”
He nodded. “She is determined you are to come, but you already know you are invited to anything Lady C hosts. She might write you for ideas and assistance.”
And with that, all returned to normal. Benedict told her more of Lady C’s proposed ball, she commented, and it was as it ever had been between them.
If she occasionally recalled how affected she was by the intensity of his cobalt-blue eyes, no one needed to know but her.