Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Turmoil left Benedict unable to sleep a wink the previous two nights.
In truth, he hadn’t slept well in over a week.
Benedict flopped into the chair in the drawing room, careful to keep his back from the broken spring.
He slumped forward, elbows on his knees.
Exhaustion threatened to take him. Every time his eyes drifted shut, they found Eliza’s, wide and devastated.
That afternoon, he had accompanied West and Bella to Wayland’s. There, Benedict had spent the afternoon with Wayland and his men. They had formulated a plan—one Benedict still loathed. Now, in the quiet of their house, the weight pressed into his chest, threatening to suffocate him.
Bella settled primly on the settee beside him. Benedict had been surprised when she agreed to go to Wayland’s with him—to warn the man. But Bella had one singular line in the sand, and that was rape. And now, after their conversation with Wayland, he knew why—and hated himself for it.
West passed Bella a glass of her gin before handing Benedict a scotch.
“West, could you give us a moment?” Benedict asked. The other man nodded with a final, lingering look at Bella.
She took a heavy sip, studying the glass when she pulled it from her lips. “Go on then,” she said.
“I knew there had been an incident with Draycott while I was at university. That he’d made advances, and you banished him from the house. But I didn’t… Did Father offer your—you—to pay his debts?”
“Don’t be naive, Benedict. It doesn’t suit.”
The ache under Benedict’s breastbone burned—pain for the girl his sister once was, before the world taught her to be invulnerable. “Did you— Did you not feel safe to come to me?”
“What was I to say? How was I to write such a thing? ‘Dearest brother, our beloved father found himself in high water with a stodgy baron, and rather than own that debt, he assured the man he could help himself to my virginity.’ You would have left immediately and returned home. And for what?”
“To protect you!”
“I can protect myself! The danger was over well before you could have arrived.”
“You shouldn’t have had to!”
“Someone had to. Do you suppose he was the first of Father’s friends to touch me improperly? No, he was merely the boldest, the most determined, and the one with Father’s explicit blessing. And the one he could threaten me with forevermore.”
The sharp, angular, spiteful person his sister had become now made horrifying sense. Their father had needed only to threaten Benedict with a wretched marriage for Bella to ensure his cooperation. He had understood implicitly that to threaten Bella bodily was Benedict’s line.
This new, hateful understanding snapped something inside Benedict irrevocably.
Whatever meager sentiment for his father had remained in his heart—this intelligence had crushed it into a gnarled, mottled hatred.
Benedict now felt he could beat the man fair to death.
Hour after hour his fists would know flesh until Ambrose Sinclair’s body matched his wretched soul.
He had spent his whole life trying to earn a father’s love that had never existed in the first place.
“Did he… Did you?”
“He did not claim my virginity. I struck him the way West taught me, then I kneed him in the bawbels and slashed at him with my hairpin.” She demonstrated by tugging at the silver pin she religiously wore.
Her hair fell around her shoulders. In her fist was no delicate, carved hairpin but a dagger.
The little edge that jutted out allowed her to brace her thumb while her fingers wrapped around the shaft.
The decorative end tapered to a sharp point that he’d somehow never noticed, and the other side remained long, thin, and incredibly sharp.
“You’ve been wandering about with that in your hair all this time?”
“Yes, I’ve shown great restraint in not using it on you. You should be grateful.”
“Bella, I don’t even… Are there other weapons hidden on your person?”
“Not at present.”
Benedict opened his mouth to retort before the comment penetrated his mind. He was left to flap his jaw for a moment before closing it with a headshake
“Quite right,” Bella chirped.
“The hairpin was… sufficient?”
“Yes, I suspect the slice along his cheek was enough humiliation for one evening. I escaped and he was gone before dawn.”
Benedict nodded, contemplating his scotch for a moment. Bella took another sip of her gin.
“I need to thank you,” he said after a moment.
“For my sparkling wit and delightful housekeeping skills?”
A smile teased at the corners of his lips. “For writing to me. Telling me of Father’s plan. I knew it was difficult for you. But I had no idea how much it cost you.”
“Indeed. The express post is pure robbery. You owe me a guinea, by the way.”
“I’ll add it to your bill at the modiste.
Listen, I know sincerity disagrees with your constitution.
But you could have allowed Father’s plan to go forward unchallenged.
Instead, you wrote to me, enlisted West’s assistance, and voluntarily sat in a room with Wayland for more than an hour without unsheathing your hairpin.
All that to say, I recognize at least some of the sacrifices you’ve made today. And I am truly grateful.”
“Yes, well—” She cleared her throat before taking another sip. “Your Eliza isn’t so… That is, she seems a rather sweet girl, and I quite enjoyed my conversation with the mother as well. And Wayland was… not what I expected.”
“Yes, he’s…”
“A loving father,” she supplied, something weary in her tone.
Benedict understood the sentiment well. It shouldn’t hurt the way it did, deep in his chest, to see a man love his children so fiercely, so unconditionally. Both Sinclair siblings knew such paternal love was an impossibility for them. “Precisely.”
“I know. It’s disgusting, really. No wonder your Eliza is so… earnest.” Bella added the last word with a hint of distaste, but there was no force behind it. “Benedict?”
“Yes?”
She inhaled slowly, deliberately, before exhaling with just as much purpose. “What Eliza said last night… about not believing you capable of love?”
Benedict swallowed.
“She was wrong. She knows it too. I suspect she was trying to hurt you because she was frightened. I’ve heard you say something similar before.
And I wanted to— You’re wrong. You’re capable of so much love.
But we’ve had to crush such sentiments. I imagine it’s rather like a muscle.
Once you exercise it, you may find it stronger than you think. ”
Tears welled in Benedict’s eyes. He risked the irritation of the settee on his back to move beside her.
“I do love you, Bell,” he whispered. “I know our plan hinges on being able to identify Draycott, but West has seen him. He can identify the man tomorrow. It would be safer for you to stay here.”
“Do be serious, Ben. That masquerade is the event of the season every single year. Securing an invitation was at least half of the reason I agreed to meet with Wayland tonight. I’ve had my dress for weeks.”
A laugh escaped Benedict’s chest. “Fair enough. I know better than to forbid you anything. But please stay close to me or West?”
She rolled her eyes. “I suppose.” And then, to Benedict’s astonishment, she leaned to the side and rested her head against Benedict’s shoulder.
“You be careful as well.” Bella could only abide a moment of sincerity before she added, “I’ve had your outfit selected for months. It wouldn’t do to ruin it.”
“Understood,” he said with a touch of mock solemnity.
Bella pulled away, then ventured over to the drink cart and refilled her gin. Benedict used the opportunity to slouch forward on the settee again, ignoring the pull of the scabs along his back.
“Do you think it will work?” she asked.
Benedict sighed. “I’m with Wayland. I hate it—the thought of using Eliza as bait…
But Ainsley is right. Draycott will see the chaos of the masquerade as the perfect opportunity to take one of the girls.
It will be pure bedlam—unfamiliar faces, disguised faces, music, drinking, dancing, gaming, laughter.
It is the ideal event for him to get in and out with hours to spare before anyone notices Eliza missing.
But he no longer has the element of surprise he thinks he does. ”
“And if we stop Draycott? Father won’t give up.”
“You know what?” Benedict finally brought his gaze up to Bella’s. His own face surely mirrored the resigned devastation etched in her mouth and the corners of her eyes.
“You mean to let Wayland take care of father.”
“It’s better if I know nothing about it. Legally. But Wayland, or that dunner—he seems strangely protective of the girls.”
Bella’s teeth gnawed on her lower lip.
“He’ll never stop, Bell. I thought perhaps he would attempt to rob Wayland after I— But this—”
“I know. I know. It’s just…”
“Our father.”
“Yes. He’s the only parent I’ve ever had. I know—I’ve known for a long time—he’s not good or kind. But…” Bella’s voice broke on the unfinished sentiment.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Bella shook her head, then straightened her spine and set her glass on the drink tray. “Enough of this blubbering. I need to put the finishing touches on my mask for tomorrow. And you need to at least attempt to sleep.”
“It’s barely five o’clock,” he protested.
“I cannot stand another moment of sentiment, Ben. The very notion goes against my constitution. I will actually expire.”
Benedict chuckled, his smile genuine though it didn’t meet his eyes. “Alright. I’ll leave you to your mask. Goodnight, Bell.” He rose, clasping her on the shoulder before making for his bed—the one that, if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, still smelled like Eliza.