Chapter Twenty One
Benedict stared at entrance to the Hartletts’ garden. He had not spoken with El in eight days.
Clenching his jaw, he willed her to walk through that entrance.
He knew she was to come to this garden party, as Amanda only yesterday had casually mentioned she had taken tea with Lady Eleanor and she had asked Amanda if she were to attend the Hartletts’ garden party and if so, she would see her there.
Amanda, as it happened, had not attended the party but he bloody well had.
He would force El to bloody acknowledge him, even if he had to do in front of all of bloody society.
He had tried other ways. Six days ago, her butler had said she was not at home.
He had thought little of it at the time, certain he would see her at the dinner they were both to attend that evening.
When he had been the only one to attend, he had started to believe something amiss.
Then, the following day, she had been out and her butler would not tell him where she had gone.
Three evenings ago, at the theatre, he had spied her in through the throng packed into the Symonds’ box, but she had disappeared by the time he had made his way through the stalls to the entrance.
Last night, he’d spent the entirety of the Swanson ball chasing her about, only to have her disappear mere moments before his arrival.
He ground his teeth. She was behaving ridiculously.
When they were both in town, they had never gone more than two days without seeing each other, and since they had become lovers, it was even less than that.
She had been distressed by the Earl’s invasion of Caraney House, the closest they had come to being discovered, but he had stupidly thought perhaps after she’d had a day or two to deal with that upset, they would discuss it as the rational adults they allegedly were.
Instead, she had avoided and ignored him, and he was just about ready to explode.
So he’d brought himself to this garden party, even though he fucking despised the Hartletts and their garden parties, because El hadn’t spoken to him for eight fucking days and she was going to be at this bloody party and she was not going to avoid him this fucking time.
“Lord Benedict, do not say you are here on your own?”
He whipped his head around. A woman a little older than Lady C blanched at his fierce scowl. “We shall remedy that for you,” she said, recovering with a pretty smile. “You remember my daughter, Miss Cynthia Sutherland?”
Christ, now he had to be polite. Forcing the scowl from his face as best he was able, he said, “Of course. Delighted to see you again, Miss Sutherland.”
The girl gave him a pained smile. Clearly, she had no more wish to speak with him than he did her.
“We saw you here by yourself and Cynthia remarked we should not leave you lonely. She is quite solicitous, and always thinking of others. Very desirable qualities, are they not?” her mother said.
Miss Sutherland’s smile turned even more pained.
Ah. So this was an attempt by the mother to present her daughter as a candidate for his bride.
His bloody brother and his bloody decree had filtered through to the matchmaking mamas.
Such a delight. The only true surprise was it had taken so long.
“I am quite well by myself. I await my party, who are of a certain to be moments away.”
“Mama, we should leave Lord Benedict be,” Miss Sutherland said. “He has said he is soon to have companions.”
“Nonsense! He should not be left alone. Who knows what mischief he will embroil himself in? We will leave him to his companions once they arrive.”
“Yes, Mama.” Miss Sutherland shot him an apologetic look.
Her mother launched into a one-sided conversation while Benedict allowed his gaze to again slide to the garden gate. His gaze sharpened.
Finally, El was here.
She entered alone, her expression subdued. She looked separate and alone, small and lost in a sea of revellers.
She looked unhappy.
Bloody hell, she could have come with him. They could have come together. At the very least, they could have met each other mere moments after arriving and neither of them would have had to endure being alone.
“My apologies, I must go,” he said, interrupting Lady Sutherland mid-sentence. The lady looked to protest but he paid her no mind, executing the fastest of bows before striding for EL.
As he made his way to her, she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened and then her gaze darted about before settling on a group of ladies he knew she was acquainted with. She beelined for them, clearly seeking the safety of numbers.
Bloody hell. He bloody knew it. She was deliberately avoiding him.
He changed direction and headed for the group. She tensed, and he smiled grimly. She could not avoid him without making a scene.
Reaching them, he bowed a greeting. Mid-discussion, the ladies acknowledged him but El watched him with wide eyes. “Lady Eleanor, I must speak with you,” he said in a low voice.
“I have only just arrived, Lord Benedict, and should offer my greetings to—"
“It is of great importance.”
He could see her try to conjure a reason to refuse. Her shoulders slumped. “Very well,” she said lamely.
Smiling without humour, he offered his arm. “Shall we,” he stated flatly.
With no other option, she placed her hand on his arm.
They spoke not a word as he led her from the crowd. Others had taken to stroll around the grounds and he set them the same until he found a relatively secluded spot under a weeping willow, hidden from others by the graceful fall of the boughs and leaves.
Turning, he confronted her. “You have been avoiding me.”
She would not meet his eyes. “I have not.”
Frustration coursed through him at her denial. “I tried to see you at home four times in the last eight days.”
“I have not been home.”
“You ran from me at the theatre.”
“I did not.”
Bloody hell, she might as well have stomped her foot and stuck her tongue out. “You are acting the child.”
“No, I am not.”
He shoved a hand in his hair. “You’ve run off and now you won’t see me. You won’t tell me what’s wrong. What would you call that?”
“I have been busy, Benedict.”
“Fine. Let us say you have been busy. I have not seen you in eight days, El.”
“We have not seen each other for longer before.”
“Because I was out of the country,” he exploded. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled steadily. Christ, he needed to calm down.
He studied her. She stared down, her fingers worrying the folds of her gown. His heart squeezed. He hated seeing her so wretched. “What is wrong, El? Is this because of the Earl and Caraney House?”
Her gaze flew to his. Finally.
“Because he knows nothing. He has said nothing. Not in the eight days since.” Fine, perhaps he couldn’t prevent himself from being a tad petty.
She stared at him. “He almost caught us, Benedict,” she burst out.
“But he didn’t,” he countered. “And what’s more, he does not know who I was with.”
“We were almost caught, Benedict,” she hissed. “By your brother.”
“That only means we should be more careful—” She was shaking her head. His breath exploded. “What, El? What is the bloody problem?”
“Of course you do not understand. It is not you who will suffer.
That was bloody unfair. “You said you did not much care what society thought. Or was that only when it was Malvern. Are you ashamed of us?”
“Do not try to twist it. You know what it would mean should we be discovered. You know.”
“The worst that would happen is we would marry.” For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine it. El as his bride. El as his wife. El heavy with their child. A son with her eyes. A daughter with her spirit. Christ. He wanted it so much he could barely breathe.
She had frozen, her face pale. “El? Are you ill?”
“I cannot be married,” she said in an almost inaudible voice.
Bloody hell. Her mother and father. The screaming. “El…”
She lifted her chin and met his eyes. A chill ran down his spine. “This was only ever meant to be temporary.”
“You do not mean that.” There was nothing temporary about what he felt. What’s more, he would wager there was nothing temporary for her either.
“Perhaps this is a sign it has run its course.” She was pale. So fucking pale.
Panic jittered through him. They could not end like this. Not because of his fucking brother.
“It has not run its course.” Wrapping his arm about her waist, he hauled her to him. Her hands flew to his shoulders as he took her mouth in a fierce kiss. She opened to him, her moan setting him aflame, her hands sliding into his hair to hold him to her.
“It has not run its course,” he rasped again against her mouth.
She kissed him, her mouth moving against him desperately, her hands tightening in his hair. This. This is what they had. Passion and lust and golden afternoons with her hair tangled around him, talking about everything and nothing and just being.
He growled when she wrenched her mouth from his. Pushing against his shoulders, she hissed, “People could see.”
He let her go, returning her stare, his chest bellowing. Christ. He had forgotten where they were. “It has not run its course,” he said intensely.
Her shoulders slumped. “We always knew it would end.”
He opened his mouth to further protest only to shut it with a snap. What was he doing? This was El. His El. “Fine,” he bit off.
Surprise lit her face, and maybe a hint of disappointment? What did she have to be disappointed about? She was ending them. “You do not look fine.”
“What can I possibly say? You do not wish to continue and instead wish to go back as we were. There is nothing I can do. I cannot force you against what you wish.”
She watched him warily. “You do not seem pleased.”
Was she insane? “Of course I am not bloody pleased!” His outburst sounded too loud in the air between them. Lowering his voice, he said intensely, “I am not the one who wishes this to end.”
“I have what I wanted,” she said, her voice high. “I’ve taken a lover and it was more than I could ever have imagined, but now it is done.” Hysteria entered her tone. “You promised, Benedict. You promised we would still be friends when it was over.”
He worked his jaw. Christ, he had, hadn’t he? It was only… He didn’t wish it to ever end.
“I will give you what you want, El. I will give you time and distance. Turns out I require both as well. Perhaps you were right that we should not see each other for a time.” Perhaps, if he had time and distance, he would forget the taste of her, the feel of her skin, the shocked gasp she made every time he entered her.
Perhaps, with time and distance, he would forget what it was like to love her.
“But we are friends,” she said helplessly.
A mirthless smile tugged at him. “It appears I require some time to remember that.”