Chapter Nineteen
Vauxhall Gardens was alight. Lantern flickered, strung in lines between the trees and casting their flame on the thick foliage. Crowds bustled beneath the lanterns, flooding into the gardens to purchase a meal, enjoy the automaton displays, or just lose themselves in the pleasures Vauxhall provided
Drumming his fingers against the table he’d managed to secure, Benedict examined every new arrival for El.
She was to come after the opera, she had said, however the night was dragging on and she was still not here.
He’d left the same opera more than an hour ago, but he’d not waited for the end before departing.
He did not much enjoy the opera and really only went because El liked it.
Tonight, she’d been invited to watch from an acquaintance’s box and, unable to sit at her side, he’d spent the opera watching her watch the players, spellbound and mouthing along with the singers, her expression filled with delight.
He rubbed his chest. She’d been achingly beautiful, and he could think of nothing he’d rather do than watch her in her joy.
“What are you doing here, Stapleton?” Daughtry slid into the seat opposite, a wide smirk on his handsome face. “Apart from your birthday the other night, it’s been an age since I’ve seen you. Been busy searching for a bride, I hear.”
Benedict made a non-committal noise. His brother was becoming more demanding about marriage. The season wore on, and Benedict had done next to nothing to secure a bride. How could he, when he only ever wanted to spend time with El?
Daughtry raised a brow. “What does that mean? Do you not search for a bride?”
“Don’t be an arse, Daughtry.”
“Well, how should I know what you intend? Perhaps your feelings have changed in the literal weeks it has been since we last spoke. Perhaps now all you desire is to find a delightful young lady, settle down, and produce some more heirs to secure the Colgrove legacy. After all, there’s only what?
Twenty or so young running around Stapleton House at Christmas time. ”
“You are an arse,” Benedict said sourly.
His friend grinned. “So no marriage?”
“Of course not.”
“Ah, well. Maybe next year.” He stretched his arm on the back of his chair.
“I have been meaning to catch up on Lady Eleanor’s quest. She must be quite put out Malvern got himself affianced.
” He shook his head. “Still cannot wrap my brainbox around that one. Surprise of the millennium, that’s for damn sure. ”
He would not react. Keeping his expression impassive, he said, “She has changed tack. I believe she has set her sights on someone else.”
Daughtry’s gaze sharpened. “Really. And who has Lady Eleanor chosen?”
“She has yet to share that with me.” Benedict held his friend’s gaze and gave nothing away.
His friend studied him. “I find it hard to believe Lady Eleanor has not shared that with you,” Daughtry finally said.
Benedict shrugged. “Believe what you want.”
“So you remain her friend only?”
“What else would I be?”
Daughtry shook his head. “What else indeed.” His gaze slid past Benedict. “Speak of her and the lady herself appears.”
“Where?” He fairly wrenched himself out of his chair turning around.
As if magic, the crowd parted and he saw her.
El searched the crowd with her gaze and he watched her, just as he had at the opera.
His heart sped, his hands clenching. He wanted to go to her side.
He wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss those pink lips he’d kissed a hundred times.
He wanted her hands in his hair and her smile all for him as the world faded around him.
She met his gaze and a luminous smile lit her face. Christ. That got him in the chest every time.
“Yes. Friends only,” Daughtry murmured. Rising, he clapped Benedict on the shoulder. “I shall leave you to your friend, Stapleton.”
He barely noticed Daughtry’s departure. Christ. She was so beautiful, so much he ached. Then he remembered how long he’d had to wait for her and scowled.
Her smile brightened as she joined him, taking the seat Daughtry had vacated. “Why do you glower so?” she teased.
“Because you have taken forever. Did you wait until the opera was over before leaving? Only you do that, you know.”
“I like to watch the players take their bows,” she said. “Besides, Vauxhall is ridiculously popular this evening. It took an age to make my way through the crowd.” She glanced about them. “Is there anything of true interest that I simply must not miss?”
“Only me, El,” he said grandly.
“We are not apart long enough for me to miss you,” she retorted. Then she frowned. “Although that is a lie. I do miss you when you are not with me, Benedict.”
Christ. That stabbed straight in his heart. He missed her when she was not with him, too.
He drifted his gaze over her. Her low-cut gown displayed her breasts, the soft globes rising and falling with every breath.
Her necklace nestled into the valley made by her breasts, and his mouth watered as he recalled the taste, the little hitch of her breath when he captured her nipple with his teeth. “Is that dress new?”
“Do you like it?” Curls brushed her neck as she arched slightly, displaying herself for him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, and even though he knew the taste of her skin, had kissed and licked that spot, he wanted to reacquaint himself with her flavour.
He lowered his voice. “It makes me think of what you look like without it,” he said, a rasp to his words.
Her breath caught. “I only bought it so you could take it off,” she confided.
He went instantly, painfully hard. Christ. He wanted her. Now. “El, do you wish a lesson?” he ground out.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
She looked about them. “Here.”
“Yes.”
Her lips curved. “I should not. A lady does not walk the dark paths at Vauxhall.”
He wanted to wreck that wicked smile with his tongue, and then he wanted to wreck her. “You will be safe with me.”
She cocked her head. “Will I?”
“Always.” Desire thrummed through his blood. “Come into the shadows with me.”
Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his.
He led her into the shadows, already knowing where he would take her. He had not been lying when he’d said he would always keep her safe—he’d picked the place he led her to for this tryst and made sure it was both secluded and unvisited.
Desire was now a need as they reached their destination, and hunger had him wrap his arm about her waist to pull her into him.
She gasped, her hands flying to his chest, and her gasp turn to a moan as he kissed her.
She tasted of heat and desire and El, and he wanted to devour her whole.
He wanted to show her with his kiss that he had waited for her, wanted her, that it had been interminable without her.
That the conversing and the food and the automatons would have been much better if she had been with him.
If he had shared them with her. If he shared everything with her.
Trailing his lips down her neck, he sucked on her soft skin. Her fingers threaded through his hair and pulled. He growled, loving the slight sting of her touch. “I want you, El.”
Her hand jerked in his hair.
He licked her thundering pulse. “Do you like it when I say that?”
She nodded. “It makes me want you.”
His vision went black. He took her mouth again, his blood like wildfire. She moaned, her fingers digging into his scalp, her tongue tangling with his as the hunger inside her ratcheted.
Walking her backwards until her back met the trunk of a tree, he gathered her skirts in his fist and shoved them up. “Yes,” she panted as he found her hot and wet, stroking his finger deep inside her. “Oh, Benedict. That feels… It feels…”
“How?” he growled. “How does it feel?”
“Good. You feel so good inside me.” She arched against his hand, and he curled his finger and stroked that spot that made her legs shake.
He chuckled darkly when she keened. “Quiet, El. You do not want anyone to hear us.”
She nodded, putting the back of her hand to her mouth and biting. Christ. He wanted those teeth in him.
Using his thumb, he parted her folds as he thrust his finger inside her against that rough patch of flesh, finding her clitoris and drawing a figure eight around him.
She muffled her scream, her eyes blank as her head thanked against the tree.
She was drawn tight and beautiful, on the cusp of coming.
He removed his hand.
“No,” she wailed, her fingers curling around his wrist to try to hold him to her.
“Now, El, be a good girl and take what I give”
“More,” she demanded.” I need more. Benedict. Please.”
“Perhaps. If you are good for me.”
“I’m being good. I am so good,” she sobbed.
He brushed his fingers over her dampness. “I think you could be better.”
Her throat worked. “Benedict.”
Dazed brown eyes met his. “Benedict, please. Please. Come inside me.”
He broke. She broke him.
Flipping her around, he lay his forearm against the trunk for El to brace her forehead.
He kissed the nape of her neck, bit her ear, licked her shoulder.
He fumbled at the closure of his breeches, desperate to be in her, wanting that wet heat wrapped around him.
She pushed back against him and he bit off a curse as he struggled to free himself, finally notching himself against her.
He growled as he shoved himself in, her core hot and drenched and clenching around him so tight.
She gasped, her neck arched as she took him to the hilt.
Gripping her hips, he held her still as he pulled himself from her core only to push roughly back inside.
Her hands scrabbled over the bank, finding a hold as he thrust inside her, his rhythm rough and desperate.
The sight of himself disappearing into her, coming out shiny with her want, made him wild.
“You feel so good around me, El,” he rasped.
“So tight and hot. How did I live without this? How did I live without you?”
“Benedict,” she whimpered. She jerked, her core clenching around him. “Benedict,” she moaned as she came.
He moaned, his rhythm jerking as he lost control, pounding into her over and again as he sought his own release. His spine tingled, the orgasm rushing through him and he ripped himself from her, his breath hissing out of him as he came.
Wrapping his arm around her middle, he buried his face in her neck as he recovered, his legs weak and his chest heaving. “El, El, El,” he murmured, his lips rubbing over her neck, her shoulders.
Her back pressed into him with each of her harsh breaths, her fingers digging into the bark and her head heavy against his forearm. Exhaling roughly, she turned her head to rub her lips against his hand.
Finally, he separated from her. She stood docile as he cleaned her with his handkerchief before smoothing her skirts back down. She looked a wreck, her hair askew and her expression well-loved. He no doubt looked the same, his very core rocked by their passion.
Wrapping her arms about his neck, she buried herself into him, her open mouth brushing his neck. Christ, when had he loosened his cravat? He must look a wreck. His own arms about her, he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent and the scent of them together.
He could have stayed like this forever, locked in embrace with her as their skin cooled and their breath calmed, languid and content and at peace, but he knew he could not. “We should return,” he murmured.
Her arms tightened. “Not just yet.”
“Not just yet,” he agreed, and they stood there in each other’s arms, the sounds of revelry a distant accompaniment.