Chapter Eight #2
She could not stop thinking of his offhand proposal.
When they had been children, he’d often declared he would marry her when they were grown and he’d said it again and again, for years, until finally she’d broken down into a blubbering mess, crying that she would never marry, she couldn’t marry, she couldn’t do that, and he’d been aghast and confused and not known how to comfort her.
He’d promised he’d never speak of it again, if only she would stop crying, please El, do not cry.
I did not mean it. I did not, and she had finally managed to collect herself and embarrassment had burned her cheeks as she’d stammered through an apology.
He, pale-faced and sunken-eyed, had only assured her he would never speak of it again and he hadn’t. Until now.
She had never allowed herself to truly consider Benedict marrying.
On occasion, the thought would cross her mind, but it was just as simple to not think of it.
He would not marry this season, would he?
This was simply a fancy of his brother’s.
The Earl could not force him to wed, and Benedict was not reliant on the Earl for funds.
Besides, the Earl would never be so cruel.
One day, Benedict would marry. She knew that, and what’s more, he should.
She rubbed at her chest. He loved his nieces and nephews, and they him.
He should have children and a woman who loved him.
It was only… She knew vaguely he should have those things, but she’d not thought on it too closely.
What it would mean. If he were wed. There would be no more weekly visits.
No more lessons. No more Benedict, not as she had him now.
Sucking in a breath, she squared her shoulders. He had said he would not cow to his brother’s wishes and so there was nothing to be concerned about. They would continue as they were, the closest of friends. He would still be her tutor, she would take her lover, and nothing had need to change.
She stared at the hole he’d made that the crowd now filled. No need at all.
Chapter Nine
Arm outstretched along the back of the settee, Benedict drummed his fingers against the wooden frame.
He’d been shown to El’s drawing room upon his arrival, Simmons advising El was momentarily disposed and had asked he forgive her for the wait.
He’d managed to keep a straight face at the butler’s serious pronouncement.
He highly doubted El had said anything of the sort.
No doubt she had lost track of the time, panicked, and would come running in her red-faced and flustered.
A commotion sounded outside the drawing room and then El rushed in, her hair haphazardly pinned and her gown simple. A luminous smile burst upon her face when her gaze found him. “Benedict. You are come.”
For a moment, he forgot to breathe. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, she was glorious. Recovering his voice, he said, “I am.” Bloody hell, that was asinine. That couldn’t be all he said. “And you? You are come as well?” Christ, what was he saying? “Apologies, I meant you are well?”
“Of course,” she said. “I am extremely well. I cannot even describe to you how well I am.”
A smile tugged at him. “So you are well, then?”
“Yes! And you, you are well?”
“As well as can be expected after the Earl’s ultimatum.” Damnation, he was not going to speak of it.
Her smile dimmed. “Yes. That. Has he said anything further?”
He shook his head. He’d managed to avoid the earl this morning and thus a repeat of any further demand. Perhaps he could spend the rest of the season avoiding his brother and that could solve the issue?
“He cannot actually force you to marry.”
“No, but he could make my life difficult, should he choose.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Her gaze imploring, she said, “If you require funds, you know I have oodles upon oodles. I do not require it all, and I would rest easy knowing I have helped ease your life.”
This. This was why he held her in such great affection.
That she would offer him such, and that he held no surprise she had.
“I am not wholly reliant on Colgrove, or even slightly. I have invested some of my allowance as your financial managers have suggested and have quite the tidy sum Colgrove has no claim too.”
Her brows creased. “You have? On the advice of my mangers?”
“You are the cleverest person I know, El. If you trust them with your wealth, then so do I.”
Her brows drew further. “I am?”
“Do not pretend you do not know I think so.” She made to protest again, but he said quickly, “We are not here for us to discuss my brother or my finances. Do you wish your next lesson?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth before jerking back up. “What am I to learn this day?”
“We should discuss how you plan to attract Malvern’s attention. Formulate a plan.”
She blinked, disappointment drawing the lines of her face. “That is what we are to discuss today?”
“What else shall we discuss?”
“Well, I thought…” She wet her lips. “Maybe something that was more…demonstrative in nature.”
His own gaze dropped. Her mouth was lush, delicious, and he should not want it again beneath his own.
He should not want to dig his hands into her hips, to pull her into his body, to feel the softness of her curves melting into him.
He should not want her moans, her gasps, the breathy way she said his name.
He should not want her to whisper in his ear, More, Benedict.
Harder. He should not want those things, and so much more.
“Perhaps we might practice something else.”
Her eyes lit up. “What shall we practice?”
Something that did not involve them touching. Something where he could delude himself that he did not want to taste every part of her. “How you would draw him to your side.”
“Have we not already explored that, with the fan?”
“That is one way. There are others.”
When he did not continue, she scowled. “Well? What are they?”
He fought a smile. “Well, there is anticipation.”
“What do you— Oh.” She’d spotted his grin. “Do not think you are clever, Benedict. What else is there?”
He thought he was quite clever indeed. “Your gaze,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Bring him to your side with your gaze.”
Her brows drew. “How?”
“Lock eyes with him and hold them.” He couldn’t resist putting his thumb on her bottom lip, her flesh dewy under his thumb.
“Would you bite this as you held his gaze?” Absently, he stroked the soft flesh.
“Would you watch as he made certain of your invitation with a quirk of a brow, and the follow his progress as he crossed the room for you?” Where her shoulder met her neck, her skin was creamy and tinged with the faintest hint of gold.
A freckle sat on her shoulder above the faint curve of her collarbone, the light colour tempting a man to discover its taste.
“And then what?” she asked breathlessly.
“Perhaps he will come behind you.” He put action to words, standing behind her so they almost touched.
She bent her neck, her nape vulnerable. “Is this what I should do?”
“It is one option.” His own voice sounded like gravel.
He could not look from where her neck joined her shoulder.
She drew in her breath as his fingers met her skin and then held it as he allowed his touch to linger.
Her pulse beat frantically, a thrum against his fingers.
From his vantage, her breasts plumped against the neckline of her gown with each breath.
His cock stirred at the sight. He had noticed her breasts before, but he hadn’t let himself notice them. They were soft and full and he wanted them in his hands. He could not have that, so instead he trailed his fingers over her collarbone.
She shivered, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she tilted her head. Unable to resist such an invitation, he brushed his lips behind her ear. A small gasp parted her lips and he wanted to hear it again. And then he wanted to make her moan.
Splaying his hand over her ribcage, he drew her closer into him so her back moulded to his chest. Lifting her arm, she wound it around his neck, her fingers spearing through his hair and scratching his scalp.
Pleasure bolted through him, arrowing straight to his rapidly hardening cock.
Cupping her jaw, he nipped at the cord in her neck, where her shoulder joined.
She moaned, and Christ, the sounds she made.
Threading his hand through her hair dislodged the pins and chestnut curls fell about her, kissing her soft skin and tumbling over her gown.
He’d hadn’t seen her hair down since they were children, and he couldn’t help but imagine the same locks spread over pillows and sheets, and then over his skin.
His cock ached, thick and heavy against his breeches.
Gathering the locks in his fist, he gave a tug.
“Benedict,” she whimpered, her neck arching.
Over the years, he’d told himself he had never noticed the curve of her breasts, had never imagined their weight in his hands, how they would feel if he shaped them, how they would taste against his tongue.
He’d told himself he’d never noticed the elegant dip of her waist, or the curve of her thighs, and had never imagined what lay between them.
He hadn’t stared at the freckle below her ear and imagined the sounds she would make if he licked it.
But now he stared down at her breasts plumping against the neckline with each ragged breath and he knew that he’d lied—he’d imagined all these things and more.
Christ, she made him hard, harder than he’d ever been in his life. Fuck. This was El.
Suddenly, she turned in his arms. Taken off guard, he let her, his body thrumming with desire. An agonising moment stretched between them before she lifted her hand. He stayed completely still as her fingers traced his check, his jaw, coming to rest on his chin.