Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The tale was done and Benedict was conscious and thankful that Louisa still stood in his arms, her hands upon his chest and one resting over his rapidly beating heart.
This wholesome, principled young woman knew Benedict now, for better or worse, and what she thought of him suddenly meant far, far more than any formal vows they would soon make in a church. What would she make of these horrors? What would she make of him?
“You are not a murderer,” Louisa stated vehemently. “You were a very frightened and very brave little boy whose mother had been killed in front of his eyes. Did no one ever tell you that either?”
No, no one ever had. In the aftermath of that terrible day, the servants had whispered over Benedict in hushed tones and made sure he had a new black suit for the funerals.
Family lawyers had formally notified him that they had contacted his Godfather.
His mother’s old friends were strangers who wept over him at the mausoleum where the Duchess of Northwick was laid to rest.
When Lord Wilberforce arrived back in England, he had certainly talked to Benedict, but seriously as though he were another adult, man to man. At the time, Benedict had been glad of it, preferring this kindly, practical brusqueness to useless tears and sympathies.
“My Godfather advised me never to speak of the day my parents died, and for a long time, I followed his advice. I went to school, to university and on into adult life. My good friends know enough of my past not to ask me questions. I have always found sufficient distractions that I have rarely needed to think of my parents’ deaths, never mind talk of that time. ”
“Then I am honored by all you have shared with me tonight, Benedict,” Louisa told him. “I want to know all of you, past and present.”
“You deserve a man so much better than me,” Benedict thought aloud, his heart aching strangely.
“I am flawed and broken and don’t know how to be a husband or a father, and yet I must try to be both for your sake.
You know now the disaster of my own childhood.
I hope it at least explains why I cannot be more than I am. ”
Louisa was smiling and shaking her head as she spoke.
“You are brave and kind and good, Benedict. Don’t you see?
You are everything that your father wasn’t, and all that your mother likely hoped you would become.
I see it in your friendships, in your care for little Ezra and in all you have done for me.
I was upset about our marriage at first, but I was wrong. You make everything wonderful.”
Her trust in him was naive but inspiring.
Brave and kind and good? How his sophisticated London acquaintance would laugh at such a description!
Still, what did he care for their opinions?
Louisa’s was worth more. She herself was worth more.
He had found a treasure here at Rosemere and only gradually understood her full worth.
Remembering the gold ring in his pocket, Benedict suddenly grinned at at her and then sank to his knees before her in a shaft of moonlight.
“What are you doing, Benedict?” she laughed as he took one of his hands.
“Something I should have done weeks ago,” he returned, producing the gold ring from his pocket. “Lady Louisa Ascot, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
By the light of the moon, he saw happy tears run down Louisa’s face as she smiled and nodded, allowing him also to slide the golden ring onto her finger.
If it brings Louisa this much joy, I shall propose to her every day…
“It is a wedding band, but I see no reason why I cannot give it to you now,” Benedict said. “It is yours, in any case. I had it made in Cumbria, because that is your home. Given the history, I would not burden you with any of my family jewelry.”
“It is just what I would have wanted,” Louisa responded, marveling at the sight of the gleaming gold on her finger as he rose back to his feet. “You are just what I wanted too, Benedict. I only didn’t know it at the start.”
“Isn’t it lucky that I should be so good at guessing what you want?” he teased her. “I hope it works so well in other areas of our marriage too, my beautiful wife.”
As Benedict bent his head and kissed Louisa’s lips, he felt a new lightness in his heart.
She was beautiful, she was desirable and she was his.
Louisa was giving herself into their marriage now of her own free will, and with full knowledge of Benedict’s past. It somehow made all the difference in the world and seeing the ring on Louisa’s finger incited his desire further.
“I don’t want to go back to the party yet, do you?” he put to her and she shook her head.
“I want to be with you tonight, Benedict,” she said simply.
“Do you really?” he asked, and then kissed her more deeply, her responsiveness provoking ever deeper stabs of physical need. “Even if I were to do more tonight than only kiss you?”
“You mean you would touch me again, like you did when we went riding?” Louisa asked huskily.
“More than that,” Benedict replied, very gently caressing Louisa’s shoulders, his hands glancing over the construction of her dress. “Shall I show you a little of what I have in mind?”
With Louisa’s nod, he pushed the white silk gown down so that her breasts were exposed in the moonlight. She moaned and shivered a little so that the pale flesh quivered irresistibly under the kisses that Benedict bestowed.
For Louisa’s sake, he had already looked around and made certain again that there was no one else in sight or hearing. From his own side, part of him would no longer care if they were seen, but Benedict knew he must guard them both against that instinct.
“We will be together every night from now on,” he told her, and meant it. “I do not want to be parted from you any longer, Louisa. It is wrong.”
Louisa gave a sharp little cry, her fingers in his hair as Benedict drew one stiffening nipple briefly into his mouth before returning to her lips and allowing his hands to enjoy the weight of those beautiful breasts.
He loved giving her such pleasure and knowing that there was still so much more to come.
Benedict’s loins surged as their tongues danced together and he could not help imagining the likely softening and swelling of the slick folds beneath her mount of Venus, and similar condition of the velvet passage they concealed. His hand caressed her bottom longingly through the silk of the dress.
“Are you going to take me tonight?” Louisa asked, her eyes wide and her voice low with desire.
“Are you going to give yourself to me tonight?” returned Benedict, his own tones equally roughened and his lust only spiked again by her question. “For I do intend to take you every time you give yourself up to it.”
He held Louisa closer against his body so that there could be no mistaking either the hardness of his manhood nor the meaning of their words.
“I am your wife,” she sighed with pleasure as he ran kisses again down her throat and back to the trembling mounds of her bosom that had likely never seen moonlight upon them before. “I want all of you, Benedict.”
Benedict took the hand that now held his ring and kissed the golden band on her finger.
“Yes, I shall take you tonight, my sweet Louisa. Your desire is my duty and my privilege.”
“Oh!”
Louisa almost swooned in his arms with the passion of the kiss that followed this declaration, already panting from Benedict’s previous attentions. A more experienced woman might have now swiftly and easily been bent over the fountain or laid on the grass and mounted…
But Louisa was not experienced and Benedict knew he must be slow and careful, reserving the indulgence of pure animal instincts for a later time. Just as she had deserved a romantic proposal of marriage in the moonlight, she deserved to be deflowered with full care, comfort and pleasure.
“Not here,” he said, taking a long, deep breath to get himself under control again.
“But where?"
“The bushes by the gate beyond the stables and paddock, where we stopped the day we went riding. We should have some blankets and cushions…”
As Benedict spoke, he began to return Louisa’s dress to order, her little whimpers of longing and frustration at his slight touches resonating deep in his body and necessitating another deep inhalation.
“My hair, my dress…” she murmured as her own self-control and self-consciousness returned, “Benedict, I feel in such disorder.”
“Beautiful, beautiful disorder,” he reassured her, kissing her face and hair, not really so very much in disarray yet, although Benedict fully intended that it soon would be.
“I don’t want to go back into that ballroom like this,” she added.
“You may wait for me in the conservatory,” Benedict said, kissing her lips and taking her hand in his. “I shall get all that we need.”
Leaving Louisa quiet and dreamy among the palms in the conservatory, Benedict strode away purposefully on his errands.
Avoiding the ballroom, he went to a nearby storeroom where he remembered the servants fetching out equipment for the picnic.
It was unlocked and only the work of a few minutes to fill a canvas bag with a few blankets and cushions.
The bright moonlight should make a lantern unnecessary, and there was nothing else they needed, was there? If they were hungry, they would come back to the house to eat after their lovemaking…
Lovemaking? Benedict’s own mind registered surprise at itself when this word floated into view.
It was not a term he generally used for the act of sexual intercourse, never seeming to fit what was to him an exciting, erotic and compulsive distraction that had nothing whatsoever to do with love.
But this was different. Tonight was different. Louisa was different.
Yes, tonight Benedict would make love to Lady Louisa Ascot.
Her old dreams were over but he would give her new dreams that belonged to both of them.
There was an important chapter missing from Louisa’s favorite old book in his opinion – the chapter where Sir Benedict claims Lady Elizabeth and brings her to physical ecstasy. They would write it together.
Smiling, Benedict set down the canvas bag by the conservatory door, and put a lantern next to it after all. There was one more thing he must fetch and it was likely in Louisa’s room upstairs.
“Benedict!” Damien’s voice called out as he was coming back down the stairs, book in hand. “There you are. We were beginning to think you and Louisa must have made a break for Gretna Green.”
“Not quite,” Benedict chuckled, thinking of his ring now on Louisa’s finger, and the consummation they were both eager to achieve out among the peaceful shadows of Rosemere, “but we are going for a walk in the gardens. Will you let Lady Esher know and make it sound very safe and dull, if she starts asking for Louisa?”
“A walk in the gardens on a moonlit night at your engagement party? How romantic. Still, yes, I will do my best to give the impression that the two of you are discussing the intricacies of the marriage contract, or the redecoration of Northwick Park, or what you will wear in your buttonhole at the wedding.”
“Good man.”
Slapping Damien on the shoulder, Benedict was about to hurry back to the conservatory but then remembered something.
“One more thing, Damien,” he asked, turning back. “Did Lady Huxley leave?”
The Duke of Wexford rolled his eyes with an expression of weary amusement.
“Eventually. She claimed she had somehow lost her coachman and even one of her horses, but Lady Esher was kind enough to lend her neighbor a Rosemere driver and horse for the journey home. Yes, she is gone, and there have been no sightings of Lord Ashbourne.”
“A likely story. Well, if we find a sozzled coachman in a hedge tomorrow, and an extra horse in the stable, we will know Lady Huxley spoke the truth,” Benedict reflected cheerfully. “Now, Louisa is waiting. I must go.”
Louisa was waiting for him, pink-cheeked, soft and shyly eager for his touch. Benedict breathed deeply and smiled to himself in anticipation.