Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
It felt so strange to Louisa to be sleeping in her own adult bedroom again that night. With Seraphine and Damien only along the corridor from the nursery suite, there was no need or good reason for her to sleep so close to the children any longer.
The peace and tranquillity of Louisa’s bedroom on the second floor felt like loneliness and despair tonight.
What is wrong with me?
Nothing had changed in the room and yet everything felt different.
Louisa’s favorite water-color painting of Rosemere by old Mr. Chapps, a local artist, still hung opposite her bed as it had done for years.
Now, however, the scene looked impossibly distant, as though Louisa was regarding her beloved home from a thousand miles and a thousand years away.
The same selection of brushes, combs and perfumes lay on Louisa’s familiar dressing table and yet her face looked so strange and pale in the mirror as she sat down to unpin her hair before bed.
The wind in the trees outside sounded its usual quiet rushing through the window that Louisa had bid Melissa to leave slightly open. Rather than being soothing tonight, the noise was somewhat mournful, echoing the sorrow in Louisa’s heart.
This may not be the exact dream you dreamed as a young girl, Louisa, but just think, it might be the start of something even better…
Seraphine’s well-intended words came back to Louisa again as she tossed restlessly on her pillow, and tears pricked her eyes at the hopelessness of the situation. There had been no opportunity today to speak to Benedict about her unhappiness as her cousin had recommended.
What difference could it make anyway? The Duke of Northwick might well understand, even sympathize, but he could not give back her youthful dreams. He could not write her love-poems of the kind that Sir Benedict had written to Lady Elizabeth.
“Sir Benedict,” Louisa whispered softly in the darkness, trying to conjure the image of that dashing knight on his pure white steed, as she had done on so many nights when she was young, carried into sleep by thoughts of the hero’s valiant deeds and unconquerable love for Lady Elizabeth. “Sir Benedict…”
Tonight, however, Louisa could conjure almost nothing of her old paladin. Each time she tried to visualize a man on a white horse, she saw only Benedict Hale, Duke of Northwick, his hair in disarray, a smile playing on his lips and his unique eyes twinkling at her, one blue and one green.
This will not do!
Swinging herself from bed, Louisa pulled on her dressing gown.
She did not want the all-too-human Duke of Northwick whose kisses had undone her.
She wanted the perfect Sir Benedict of the fairy tale, whose hair was always in place, whose eyes were some standard shade of blue and who never embraced young ladies in drawing rooms late at night.
She wanted children born from love, not well-scheduled duty.
Padding along the passage from her bedroom and then down the staircase, Louisa made for the library, candlestick in hand.
She could picture exactly where her favorite old book would lie on its shelf with other old novels, for no one but her would ever have reason to touch it.
Maybe tomorrow she would pack this book away forever, but tonight she wished to read it one last time.
“Sir Benedict,” Louisa murmured again as she pushed open the library door and then stopped dead in the doorway, her heart lurching in her chest. “What are you doing here?!”
The Duke of Northwick stared back at her with apparently equal surprise. Leaning against a set of shelves with book in hand, he too looked as though he had risen from his bed and come downstairs to read, his hair disordered, his collar discarded and his shirtsleeves rolled to the forearm.
“I couldn’t sleep, Louisa,” he told her. “I came down to look for a good story to distract me. Can you recommend any?”
“Not that one,” Louisa replied sharply, suddenly realizing what he held in his hand and instinctively going over to take it from him. “Give it to me."
Why on earth did he have to have picked up that book? There were easily a hundred other novels and poetry books on those shelves beside him.
What had possessed him? And why was he looking at Louisa like that..?
This vision of loveliness was the last thing he needed tonight, Benedict realized as the golden-curled figure in its nightdress advanced on him.
What in God’s name was Lady Louisa doing down here at this hour?
Had she not learned her lesson about the danger of being alone with him after their fateful encounter in the drawing room?
“Give it to me,” Louisa insisted, her eyes fixed on the book in his hands.
The White Knight of Wanderham was only some slight and well-thumbed old novel that Benedict would likely have rejected and replaced on the shelf, before continuing his search for something more interesting.
Now, however, his curiosity was piqued. Why did Louisa want it so much? Or did she not wish him to read it?
Glancing down again at the page, he read the opening lines which introduced the hero of the story, presumably the noble knight depicted on the corresponding print.
“Sir Benedict,” he mused aloud and looked up to see Louisa’s face blushing furiously. “Now, there’s a coincidence…”
“It is my book. Please give it to me.”
Compelled to continue reading after finding his own name, he scanned the first paragraphs and smiled at the naive style and scene-setting, in which this Sir Benedict was set up as the most honorable knight who ever lived and devoted to some unattainable beauty called Lady Elizabeth, whose father had sworn she should never marry until the last dragons were driven from the land…
How ridiculous! Benedict could not hold back a small laugh, the sound of which seemed to spark something like fury on Lady Louisa’s calm face.
A moment ago, he had been inclined to hand the book over without further ado, but now a dangerous fire had been lit within his veins and they were both at risk of being burned.
How beautiful Louisa looked in her nightclothes with her hair unbound about her face and her eyes flashing fire at him!
He had never before been seized with such lust for an innocent young woman.
Such sensations as currently stabbed Benedict’s belly and groin were only aroused by ladies of considerable experience, and very consciously done.
Louisa, in contrast, probably did not even realize her effect upon him.
Benedict had seen Louisa in her nightdress once before and could not now help imagining that thin white cotton garment beneath the dressing gown, pressing against all her curves.
More than that, he imagined gently removing all her clothing, kissing away all doubts and fears and then carrying Louisa over to that soft sheepskin rug before the fireplace.
Those sweet pink lips would be soft and yielding beneath his, and then animated and questing as her body responded to his caresses. His hands would cover Louisa’s shapely breasts and his lips incite her to touch him in return. Soon, lost in passion, their bodies would meld desperately and joyfully…
“Give it to me!” Louisa said again, more insistently, her eyes fixed on the book.
“Come and get it,” Benedict challenged her, hearing the dangerous roughening of his own voice. “If you want it that much.”
Stepping close to him, Louisa reached out to grab it but he held it easily out of reach.
“Why do you want it so much?” he demanded and saw her blushes and fury both increase very becomingly.
“Because it is mine,” Louisa replied, making another fruitless attempt to take it from his hand.
“It must be something very special,” he remarked. “I want to know more about it now.”
“You are impossible!” Louisa retorted angrily. “Why will you not give me my book?”
This time she stood on her toes as she attempted to grab it and when Benedict pulled it back again, she had to reach out a hand to steady herself on his shoulder. Immediately and instinctively, Benedict raised his own free hand to hold her fingers there, the warmth of her touch surging through him.
“Tell me why you want it so much, Louisa. Or is it not only the book you want tonight?”
“Your Grace! Benedict, please…”
Please? Good God, Louisa could have no idea of the effect she was having on him.
Combined with her words, the pleading of her eyes was almost irresistible.
Whether she knew it or not, she wanted to be taken in his arms and kissed, and would soon be ready for more than that.
While unworldly, Louisa was a mature woman and her body ripe for pleasure, if still untouched.
“You should not look at me like that, Louisa,” Benedict warned her, his breathing growing unsteady. “You should not be here with me at all.”
“Why?” she asked softly and Benedict released her hand only so that he could caress her face and stroke back a curl from her soft, warm cheek.
“Because I am trying very hard not to think of undressing you and doing the most delightful but improper things to your beautiful body,” he told Louisa in a low voice, holding her gaze.
Was he trying to frighten her away? This answer he gave to her question was certainly that of a rake rather than a gentleman. Still, they were betrothed, and regardless of what his conscience ordered, Benedict was already beginning to feel an unfamiliar right to possess her.
“Oh!” Louisa gasped, her lips parting and her wide eyes looking at him more in wonder than fear. “Benedict, I…”
Very slowly now, giving Louisa every chance to pull away, Benedict lowered his head and kissed her, finding her lips every bit as yielding and sweet as he had known they would be.
Once her tongue found his, the book was forgotten and tossed aside, both of his hands needed to hold and caress the young woman in his arms.