Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
His feet seemed to recognize the end of the song before his head did—fortunately before they became the subject of ridicule.
Eliza’s lips parted, and the desire to taste them nearly overwhelmed Benedict. Someone knocked into his back in the rush to leave the floor, jolting sense back into him.
He cleared his throat as he glanced around. “Come, I should deliver you to your mother”
“She’ll be near Rose, with my aunt and uncle,” Eliza explained.
Benedict nodded and guided her through the crush when he glimpsed her uncle over the milling heads. He was grateful for the man’s height, and his own. He’d never have located the diminutive Miss Grayson in the crowd, and Eliza’s mother, though taller, was not overly so.
Finally, he reached Eliza’s relations. Forced by propriety to loosen his hold on her hand and then ignore the chill of her absence. Respectfully, he deposited her at her mother’s side—a gentleman in this moment alone.
He greeted Lady Juliet and Grayson before receiving an introduction to Rose’s mother—even shorter than her daughter, but quite as pretty.
Her husband’s hand settled possessively at her back, and he gazed at her with a soft expression, unmistakably love.
It seemed Bella was correct in that regard—a love match.
“Is anyone in need of refreshment?” he asked, primarily to ward off something daft, like kissing Eliza as he so desperately wanted to. “I ought to ensure that my sister is still keeping the gentlemen at bay with the force of her scowl.”
The comment earned him a chuckle, and Grayson offered himself as a second set of hands.
“I’m given to understand that you’ve reserved a space on my daughter’s dance card,” the man said.
“She has agreed to honor me with a dance, yes.”
“I expect your hands to remain much higher on her waist than they were on my niece’s.”
Benedict forced his eyes to remain forward, instead of tipping toward the sky as he wished. “My arms are not long enough to place them anywhere inappropriate on your daughter.”
Grayson huffed a chuckle. “Yes, Rose is certainly her mother’s daughter. And the world is better for it. Fortunately, my son takes after me with respect to height.”
“I’ve not had the privilege.”
“He is around somewhere. I’ll be sure to make the introduction.”
Benedict nodded.
“And I’ll be certain to mention to my brother just how familiar you were when dancing with his daughter,” he added as they reached the refreshment tables, piled high with pastries
“By all means,” Benedict replied, primarily interested in the eclairs. “With a rake such as I, Wayland would question my interest if I did not take a few liberties.”
Grayson chuckled, an earnest, warm sound. The selection of pastries and the procurement of beverages occupied them before they returned to their ladies.
Benedict caught Bella’s gaze from beside the quartet. There she chatted with some lady or other. She offered him an approving nod, and his stomach soured.
The ugliness hadn’t abated by the time he found Eliza’s side, but he eagerly handed over the entire selection of sweets.
One of the Ainsley girls joined them. The fiery hair marked her so. Benedict couldn’t recall if it was the one he’d met at the club or not. She nodded her thanks for the desserts while he prayed he could avoid addressing her directly.
Pastries were met with cheer, though everyone agreed that the ones at Hudson’s Bakery were much better.
Benedict learned that Ainsley’s wife was the owner of the beloved establishment.
The intelligence allowed him to assess the Ainsley girls with fresh eyes—no wonder they received such sought-after invitations, even with parents of no notable breeding.
Between the club and the bakery, the Ainsleys were nearly as wealthy as Wayland himself.
Three entire conversations swirled around him, one entirely without words, only gestures. The merriment surrounding him was so unlike the stern, silent table of his youth. What would it have been like to be raised with such a raucous company, filled with laughter and smiles?
The noise threatened to overwhelm him. But when Eliza tipped her head up to meet his gaze with a shy smile, the roar dimmed.
She started to speak but was interrupted by a new arrival.
Benedict turned to find two men, younger than himself by some years.
The first was clearly the future Viscount Grayson, with his father’s stern brow set against dark blue eyes like his mother.
The other received the lion’s share of excitement.
That man was shorter, with dark hair and eyes.
Benedict quickly gathered that this man’s name was Leo—presumably for Leopold.
The informal greeting, even from Eliza, left Benedict slightly on edge.
That, and the man’s expression when his eyes landed on Eliza.
They trailed down her frame, lingering briefly on her delicate curves.
The perusal was quick. Benedict wouldn’t have caught it had he not been so singularly focused on Eliza. But he was, and he did.
Benedict bit his lip through an introduction to the younger Grayson and his friend—everyone’s friend—Leopold Bennet, Viscount Bellemere.
Of course he was a damned viscount. They were growing on the trees outside, apparently.
He shook the man’s hand with too much force and was irritated to receive a perfectly respectful, firm but not too firm, shake in return.
Christ, the man had to leave him to be petty on his own.
The interloper’s attire was expensive and well-tailored.
Benedict watched in annoyance as a lock of Leo’s hair flopped in front of his eye, and he flicked it away with a head tip.
It was precisely the same gesture Benedict had employed in his youth when he wanted to appear rakishly handsome to the ladies.
If that man leaned against something, Benedict would be forced to call him out.
Before that could happen, the next set was called. Benedict wasn’t keen to leave Eliza in her friend’s clutches, but she’d never forgive him for disappointing Miss Grayson.
“Miss Grayson, shall we?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied with a pleased smile, then placed her hand on his elbow.
“Miss Eliza, if you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honor of a dance?” Bellemere asked.
Eliza agreed with a pretty flush. Benedict’s teeth caught the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. That was his pretty flush.
Miss Grayson tugged gently on his arm, leading him to the floor as they announced the mazurka.
He found a position near enough to Eliza that he might overhear anything untoward that Bellemere said. It was a foolish hope. He couldn’t hear them before the music started; it would be impossible once the quartet began.
“He’s asking after her health,” Miss Grayson said suddenly and entirely without explanation.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Leo. He’s asking after Lizzie’s health, and the rest of her family.”
“How the devil did you know that?”
“The same way I know what you’re saying now. I read their lips.”
“How…”
“The mouth forms certain movements with each word. Paired with context, I can usually gather most of a conversation. Some people are more difficult to read than others.”
The music began, and Benedict pressed her forward with the hand on her waist—at a perfectly respectable equidistant between bosom and bottom. With only the slightest urging, she found the tempo.
“Have you always been able to…”
“No, in fact, my hearing was perfect until I was six. I contracted the measles. I was quite unwell, you see, lucky to be alive. While I recovered, my hearing never did. Once we determined it was permanent, I attended a special school where I learned to sign.”
“Yes, I’ve seen you speaking with Eliza. Is speaking the proper term?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s as good as any other. One of my tutors encouraged me to practice reading lips as well. It’s not my preference—I can miss important pieces. But I get by. And I collect all the best gossip,” she added, whispering—a touch too loud. The effect was rather charming.
“And what have you learned tonight?” he whispered back.
“That you and Lizzie spoke of almost nothing proper at all. But that’s not what you wish to know.”
“Oh, good Lord,” he muttered, a sense of dread sliding through his veins. “Please do not tell your father; he’ll tell her father and then—”
“I won’t. Not as long as you continue to make her happy.”
“I make her happy?” he asked, absurdly pleased with the notion.
“You do. But that is not what you wish to know. You wish to know what she and Leo are speaking of.”
“Yes, please,” he asked, ignoring the sense of shame that tapped on his shoulder.
“He’s telling her about the improvements being made to the gardens at Bennet Hall.”
“He’s not.”
She pressed her lips together in a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid so. They were already quite nice. And now he’s inviting her to stargaze using his father’s telescope the next time she travels through.”
“He has a damn telescope?”
Her nod was sympathetic.
“Where is his estate?”
“Bennet Hall? It’s in Kent. On the way to my family’s country estate. And Lizzie’s. Now he’s—”
“Don’t, please. I can take no more. My pride will not survive it.”
Miss Grayson giggled at his expense. From the corner of his eye, he caught Eliza turning his way.
When her gaze returned to her partner, he turned back to his. “Please, you must help me. I… How can I— I want to…”
“Continue to delight her?”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh.
“You’ve done well, all on your own. Be careful when you dance with Sophie, though. Eliza’s had a few dance partners who used her to gather intelligence or gain an introduction to Sophie.”
Benedict’s stomach sank. “As I’ve now done to you… I apologize most—”
“Oh, it’s not at all the same. You’ve not feigned interest in me. It is plain you only have eyes for Lizzie.”
“Still, I feel—”
“Truly, I am not injured. I am only pleased to have seen the floor from atop it at least once this season. But you must remember yourself with Sophie.”
“Miss Eliza would have cause to doubt my intentions, even now?”
“The lessons learned over many years are not forgotten in mere days.”
Benedict sighed, “How am I ever to prove myself?”
“Do as I said,” she retorted with a determined nod.
The severity of the gesture left him chuckling quietly. “Any other advice for the evening?”
“Ask Emma to dance after Sophie. She spends too much time on the wall as well.”
Benedict winced. “Which one is Emma? I know the Ainsley girls have red hair, but…”
“Emma has blue eyes. She’s the elder who prefers the bakery. Georgiana has brown, and she works at the club.”
“Thank you.” He caught her gaze to ensure she understood the depth of his gratitude. “Alright, I’ve braced myself again. What have they been saying?”
The corner of Miss Grayson’s lip turned up. “She’s been talking about you, mostly.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. The flowers, the club—where you defended her honor…”
Benedict made little effort to hide his pleasure, and Miss Grayson giggled at whatever absurdity she read across his face.
Before he could delight her still further, the song came to a close.
“Thank you for the dance.”
“Thank you,” he replied as he escorted her back to her mother. There, Eliza and a few others awaited them.
He found himself trapped in Eliza’s orbit once more.
Her smile was warm and welcoming. Slowly, deliberately, with her eyes still on his, she allowed the back of her glove-covered wrist to brush against his.
The touch soothed something inside him. The jealous beast lowered his hackles, quieting in his cage, and once more, Benedict could breathe.
Across from him, where she was speaking with Eliza’s mother, Bella caught his gaze and tipped her glass toward him in a silent toast. The untethered, giddy delight that had been bubbling up inside him at Eliza’s bold gesture soured.
Benedict swallowed past the knot in his throat—the one that felt oddly like guilt—before turning back to Eliza with a smile. The expression seemed foreign, an odd facsimile of the genuine delight on her face.
And he hated himself all the more for it.