Chapter 10 #2
“I have engaged Miss Eliza for the first and last set, but if either of you have an open slot on your dance card, I would be much obliged if you would help me toil away the hours between. I am certain there will be no more engaging company to be found.”
Miss Grayson gasped, a flush rising as she nodded and handed him her wrist. Benedict understood the reaction when he saw her blank dance card. He selected a slot.
Eliza’s sister’s card was nearly full, with only two spaces to be found. He selected one at random with a perfunctory signature.
He could not account for it, but Eliza’s expression was guarded when he turned back to her.
Instead, he forged ahead with his display.
“And, of course, I need to mark our dances, Miss Eliza, lest someone try to steal them from me.” He was pleased to find her card empty as well and scrawled his name across the two he’d claimed.
His hand was rather sloppy—if only to discourage someone from claiming the dance after or before his sets.
Whatever had darkened Eliza’s eyes had vanished when he met her gaze again.
Bella would roll her eyes at him were she able to read his thoughts. Hell, a week ago, he would’ve done the same. There was something soothing about seeing his name tied to Eliza’s wrist—probably the same mad instinct that left him half hard at the sight of a flower in her curls.
To Benedict’s relief, the dance was called at last. The redowa—it would do. The tempo was faster than he wished but would leave Eliza breathless in his arms. It was a fair trade.
“Shall we?” he asked, dipping his elbow for her.
In answer, Eliza placed her hand in the crook and allowed him to escort her to the floor. In the center of the polished and shined wood, he slipped his hand around Eliza Wayland’s waist for the second time. During their first dance, he’d been too on edge to appreciate the sensual line.
Eliza’s everyday gowns, and that silvery confection she’d worn the night they met, were modest, without intent to entice inherent in the cut or fabric.
This though. The softest, finest gauzy silk bloomed in layers from her waist, glittering with fine golden embroidered flowers along each hem.
Layer after layer of delicate embroidery sparkled in the candlelight.
And across the bust, thousands of tiny buds burst open along the neckline.
But worse still, when Benedict’s hand caught hers, bringing her into his chest, he was gifted with the most exquisite torture known to man.
Eliza’s were the most perfect breasts that God ever contrived to create.
And they spilled from her neckline in supple offering.
Benedict had an uninterrupted view of that flawless, creamy flesh.
“My lord?” Eliza’s soft inquiry broke through the haze crowding his mind at the sight of her curves. And curved she was. Her waist was beautifully arched under his hand, and the littlest of his fingers could sense the rounding of what was certainly a truly spectacular derriere.
The repetitive taps from the conductor had Benedict straightening his spine and meeting his partner’s gaze. “Apologies, Miss Eliza, I find myself… overcome.”
Fortunately, Benedict was familiar with this dance from his university days, and his feet knew the rhythm even if his mind was elsewhere.
“Overcome?” she asked, meeting each of his steps with one of her own.
A thousand truly rakish responses flew through his mind. At last he settled on the least scandalous option. “You’re beautiful. It’s incredibly distracting.”
“I am?” she asked, genuine astonishment written in the circle of her parted lips and widened eyes.
“Surely I’ve told you so before.”
“Well, yes. But you’ve never seemed quite so…”
“Overwrought?” he supplied.
She nodded, her curls brushing her cheeks.
“You’ve never worn this dress,” he said, allowing his gaze to dip toward her bust with a pointed expression.
Eliza flushed prettily but did not scold him. He accepted that as tacit permission to draw her the slightest bit closer.
“Bold, sir,” she retorted.
“The reward is proportional to the risk.” And it was.
Her botanical scent enveloped him, banishing the honey-sweet candles.
Benedict found himself in a spring garden.
There was honeysuckle. He recalled that from his bouquet that morning, as well as something fresh, and the luscious, sensual note of violets.
He thought he might be able to taste the sun on her skin.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she breathed him in. He couldn’t help but wonder what he smelled of to her. Was it as smooth and sensual as her floral essence? Did it comfort her? Excite her?
When her dark lashes drifted open, he met her gaze with a crooked grin. She shook her head. “We simply must discuss something proper. I’ll need to report it to my mama.”
“You said you garden. What do you grow? I must admit, I found myself entirely overwhelmed by the variety at the florist.”
“Oh, a little of everything,” she replied, eyes bright. “Roses, of course, tulips as well, but also irises, lilies of all types, lavender, gardenia, and jasmine. I have hydrangeas, camellias—like the ones you sent—and other shades, and forsythia. And more, of course.”
The excitement, the passion with which she spoke… Glittering in her golden gown, eyes gleaming, and face aglow—she was… effulgent. Benedict wanted to live forever in this moment; dancing with a beautiful woman, breathing in her scent, basking in her light. This would be the moment he returned to.
“Be— my lord?”
“Benedict,” he urged, suddenly desperate to hear it from her mouth. “Please.”
She swallowed before those impossibly full lips parted and she sighed. “Benedict.”
“Eliza,” he said, then exhaled, hiding a smile as her lashes slipped shut for a moment. “Or do you prefer Lizzie?”
“Eliza,” she said, “just Eliza, if you please. Do you prefer Benedict? Or Ben, perhaps?”
“I do, please. You may call me whatever you wish. Benedict, Ben— I’d prefer you not use Bennie as my sister does when she is seeking to vex me, but I’m sure it would sound lovely from your lips. Or any other moniker that strikes you.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” she insisted, breathless.
“Ah, but you could in my dreams.”
“Your dreams?”
“Oh yes, I expect you will be the inspiration tonight.”
“Oh…” Her lips froze in a perfect O. Benedict’s vulgar mind supplied too many unseemly scenarios in rapid succession before he shook the thoughts away.
“I’ve shocked you…”
“No, I— Well, yes, actually. But…”
Benedict’s heart skittered. “Do you like it? The thought of being in my dreams?”
He waited, breath bated, as her eyes scanned his face. “Don’t stop,” she finally murmured, and breath escaped him entirely. She couldn’t know how those two words affected him.
“I long to hear those words in a different context.”
Eliza’s blush surprised him. Perhaps she had some sense of the ways he wished for her to beg him not to stop, to never stop. Still, he could not continue such salacious conversation on the dance floor. As it was, they were assuredly causing a minor scandal.
He cleared his throat. “I apologize; that was most improper.”
Somehow, Eliza appeared both disappointed and relieved. Still, she shook away whatever thoughts were dancing through her mind.
“Perhaps we ought to return to more appropriate topics.”
“If you insist. The effort shall be yours. I am unequal to such a task.”
Her smile was indulgent but not encouraging. “I must thank you for asking Rose to dance.”
He blinked, surprised by the turn. “Of course, but why should I require thanking?”
“Oh, it’s only that she hasn’t danced all season.” At his baffled expression, she continued. “I believe the gentlemen assume she cannot—since she cannot hear the music.”
“Why on earth should that matter? A lead with any skill should be more than able to compensate.”
“Oh, I quite agree. Her brother as well. He has lamented it at every ball. The gentlemen would not hesitate if they saw how light she is on her feet. So you see, it’s a great favor.”
Benedict scoffed. “It is hardly a favor to dance with a pretty girl. She suffers only by virtue of not being my favorite partner.” He gave her a pointed look. “But, as she is a friend of yours, I hope to use the opportunity to gather intelligence.”
“Do be serious,” she giggled.
“Oh, I am entirely serious. That is my entire motivation in dancing with your sister as well.”
Eliza’s expression shuttered, but Benedict could not account for it. “What is it?” he demanded.
“Nothing.”
“No, that is twice your face has fallen tonight. Now that I’ve experienced the privilege of basking in your delight, I’ll accept nothing less. Tell me at once.”
Eliza’s teeth caught her lower lip as she assessed him. The display would have left him groaning were it not for her uneasy expression. Finally, she sighed.
“Please do not enjoy your dance with Sophie too much.”
His head tilted as the last piece slotted into place.
One corner of his mouth turned up in an assuring smile as he brushed his thumb along her waist. He doubted she could feel the gesture through layers of silk and cotton, but it was the only way he might soothe her physically without being thrown from the ball.
“I assure you, that will not be possible. When I say you will feature in my dreams tonight, it is not an exaggeration or a line. I know without a doubt you will meet me in sleep tonight. There is no room in my head for anyone else.”
Benedict’s fingers tightened on her waist, willing her to understand, to believe him. There was no danger of Benedict Sinclair noticing Sophie Wayland, not once he’d had Eliza in his arms.