Chapter 8 Muddied Intentions
Chapter Eight
Muddied Intentions
A knock cut across the room and Benjamin jolted awake, panicked while glancing around in confusion. “Wh-who’s there?” he croaked.
There came a pause, then he heard a soft, “It’s Clara, Philip. Might I come in?”
Clara?
Squinting through the dying firelight, he sniffed and blinked the sleep from his eyes, suddenly remembering a very important fact: He was completely naked. If she came in, there would be far worse to deal with than her exasperating quips.
“Go away!” he hissed. “It’s too late for a visit.”
Silence followed, then the door clicked open. A faint spill of candlelight bloomed within the doorway, and Clara poked her head around the corner. “What was that?”
Benjamin lurched onto his elbows, shocked and spluttering. “I…I-I told you to leave,” he snapped, scandalized. “Miss Boyd, this is—”
“Clara,” she corrected.
Primary thought derailed, he flushed and curled underneath his blankets. “Whatever address you prefer, this isn’t appropriate. Were your father to hear…”
“He won’t,” she assured him, her voice hushed as she shut the door. “My parents sleep like the dead, and they hardly concern themselves with the goings-on of my life.”
Her tone was a little saddened, a rare moment of vulnerability on her part, and Benjamin hesitated, moved by her briefly exposed soul. Was she not nearly as indifferent as he’d always believed?
Swallowing, he amended, “Be that as it may, I am engaged to your sister. You shouldn’t be here.”
A look of guilt flashed across Clara’s eyes, and gripping the small tray between her hands, she softly agreed, “I know this, yes… And I apologize greatly for my offense. But I cannot sleep, and you are still awake, so I thought…w-well, perhaps you needed your bandages changed?”
Benjamin balked. He wasn’t quite sure how to safely explain that he was indecent underneath his quilt, and most especially when her eyes were so soft and pleading, and she was…God, she was coming right toward him.
He held up a hand, hoping to ward her off, but Clara ignored the feeble rebuff and set her tray onto his nightstand.
“Have you had any discomfort?” she asked.
With a barb of sarcasm, Benjamin asked, “What, you mean from being stabbed? Yes, I’d say a fair amount.”
She speared him with a withering look, then picked up several linen strips and nodded to him with purpose. “Show me your wound.”
“What?”
Exasperated, Clara commanded, “Show me your wound, Philip. I need to see if it’s putrid. If it is, I am afraid I must call for a surgeon.”
Hesitant, Benjamin slowly rolled into a sitting position, careful to keep his quilt up to his chin.
Clara noticed and laughed. “Why are you being so modest? I’ve already seen you without a shirt—congratulations, by the way—so what could you possibly have to be so shy about?”
He scowled at her, then lowered the quilt to just beneath his wound. As long as she didn’t pull away the bedding, he knew he’d be safe.
Clara sat on the mattress and reached for his bandages.
“I know all men are babies, but you are being quite difficult,” she complained.
Despite her sharp tone, she was very careful with him as she unrolled his wrappings.
Benjamin flinched once or twice, but otherwise remained silent as the cloth fell away from his skin.
After the final strip was removed, Clara observed her stitchwork within the candlelight and frowned. “It…doesn’t appear infected,” she said. “There is a little bit of pink, but from what I’ve gathered, that is relatively normal for the first day or so. Has it been hot to the touch?”
Benjamin shook his head, regarding her in amazement. “I thought you claimed very little knowledge of medical science.”
“Nothing professional,” Clara murmured. “I read whatever I can…and perhaps too much.” Rolling her eyes, she applied a fresh coat of honey to his injury.
“Or at least, I read ‘too much’ according to my family. You’re the first to seem impressed by my initiative.
Don’t you believe a woman’s place is to keep quiet and produce children? ”
Benjamin winced, shaking his head. “No, of course not…education is important. Whenever I speak to the fairer sex, I prefer stimulation.”
She smirked. “You mean, stimulation from more than just your gingambobs?”
“Yes.” He offered a soft smile. “Much more.”
“That makes two of us,” Clara agreed. Regarding him with a sly smile, she coiled the fresh bandages around his lower torso. “You know, this is the first time you haven’t blushed during our chats. I suppose you’ve grown accustomed to my ways.”
“Whether I wish it or not,” Benjamin agreed, chuckling. She tied a knot on his bandages, and he laid a hand over her wrist, gently squeezing. “You don’t have to keep helping me, you know. I was wrong to involve you.”
Pulling herself free of his grasp, Clara lifted her shoulders, feigning indifference.
“Yes, but I am involved, so that’s a moot point, don’t you think?
” Amused, her lips quirked and her eyes glittered.
“I rather like it. It’s exciting being involved in something of which my parents would disapprove. ”
“With all due respect, isn’t that everything you do?”
“There’s no need for such impudence!” Laughing, the sound was light and warm as she fixed him with another grin. It was dazzling within the candlelight, and Benjamin shrank back, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to touch her, to capture that radiant flame.
Sighing, she tapped his knee. “I suppose I should retire. Are you in need of anything else?”
Benjamin quickly shook his head, far too afraid to speak, lest he voice his befuddling thoughts aloud.
“Very well.” Glancing at the discarded bandages, she decided, “I’ll take these with me…
unless you’d prefer to keep them as a token of remembrance?
” Despite the sneer in her tone, her eyes were warm as she gathered the strips and placed them onto her tray.
Though once she spotted a few dark, haphazard drips of blood on his quilt, she offered, “Let me take your bedding, as well. I don’t want anyone questioning how you’ve soiled my great-grandmother’s hard work.
” She tapped his knee again. “I’ll be out of your way momentarily. ”
“No!” Benjamin rushed up to stop her. “Please…” Cheeks burning, his mouth opened and closed soundlessly, unsure of how to explain his indecency.
And although he expected scorn or laughter toward his over-the-top display, Clara surprised him once her gaze softened and she brushed the hair from his eyes.
“Oh, Philip,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize you were lonely, too.”
Lonely? Clearly, she had misinterpreted his desperation.
Although his initial response was to say that no, of course he wasn’t, the moment her fingertips traced the strong curve of his jaw, his chin, and then over the soft, parted slope of his mouth, something deep inside of him fractured from the realization that yes, he was lonely—devastatingly so.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been spared a kind, gentle touch.
Help me, he thought. Need me, touch me.
Benjamin caught her wrist and Clara gasped. A tightness formed inside his chest. Don’t turn me away, don’t, don’t, don’t. And then his hand slid over top of hers, halting the path of her fingers. They remained pressed over his lips, firm and gentle as they locked eyes.
“Philip…” All at once, shame bled across Clara’s face, and with a shuddery breath, she rolled off the bed in a rush, jerking once Benjamin’s hand came around her elbow.
“Wait,” he pleaded. When she looked back at him, her eyes were wild and verdant, much like a burning forest of evergreen.
“I must go,” she told him, yet her tone shook and lacked conviction. “Good night, Philip.”
Benjamin gaped at her, stunned. “Clara, if I have offended you—”
“You were wrong,” she cut in, her body trembling. “I really am a trollop.” A soft sob caught in her throat, and she tore from his grasp before rushing out into the hallway.
For the first time in ages, sleep did not come kindly.
As a woman who was accustomed to the safety, comfort, and inevitable security that wealth tended to bring, Clara didn’t often find herself weighed down with the troubles of most colonials.
In fact, she usually slept much like a babe, dreamless and content.
But on this particular night, with the memory of Philip’s hand on her arm, and him beholding her with his deep, penetrating blue eyes akin to a midnight bonfire, she was spiraled into such a state that she could scarcely rest. At around three a.m., the first moment she blinked, she slipped away, and then it was suddenly morning.
Groggy and restless, Clara rose with her handmaiden’s knock, and from there, allowed herself to be primped, preened, and dressed for the day.
For once, Angélique was chatty and spoke of the town gossip, all of which involved Charlotte’s upcoming nuptials.
While Angélique inserted each hairpin into her curly locks, Clara hardly heard a word.
She didn’t wish to. Not when she found herself increasingly ensnared by a man she should not want.
“Won’t that be wonderful, mademoiselle?” Angélique gleefully asked. “I’ve always loved babies. Perhaps with your sister’s marriage, we shall soon have a lively home!”
With her heart dropping akin to a tree being felled, Clara’s chin ducked and she swallowed back a low, shuddery breath. “I would rather focus on the present, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, but—”
“This is suitable, thank you.” Shying away from Angélique’s outstretched hands, Clara didn’t dare assess her reflection as she stalked for the door.