Chapter Ten
She looked terrible.
Now that he was seated across from her by the fire in his office, a tea tray between them, he could see her more clearly.
More wisps of hair had escaped her braided crown than could be called fashionable.
Her brother’s coat was still pulled over her shoulders, and Benjamin suspected it was because she could not actually remove it without help.
The dress she had been wearing the night before was crumpled almost beyond recognition, and the hem was damp and muddied as if she had been trekking through the London streets all day.
More concerning than anything though, was her face.
It was leeched of almost all colour besides bright spots of red high on her cheekbones that he doubted were painted rouge.
She still sat with her back straight and both hands folded in her lap—where had her sling gone? She looked miserably exhausted.
“I will not insult either of us by beating about the bush.” Her voice was steady and composed, though her gaze remained fixed on the fire. “I know you have bought up my brother’s debts, and I am here to repay you.”
Benjamin remained silent. He would not dispute her claim. He suspected she would not stand for it.
“As I am sure you are aware, we do not currently have the funds to pay back the whole sum. Or any of it, if I am being honest.” She rubbed her forehead. It seemed like a habitual gesture—something she often did to rub away the burdens that had been unfairly dumped on her shoulders.
“So, I have come to propose an alternative payment.” Benjamin’s ears perked up at that, but he did not dare respond or even move.
“I have been working as an editorial author—well, journalist really—for a newspaper over the last year. I have some samples of my work here.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her coat pocket and passed them to him, their hands touching carelessly in the exchange, sending his pulse spiking.
He took them and pretended to read over one while she continued.
“I am a diligent worker, and I can carry out any correspondence, bookkeeping, invoice drafting, receipt duplicating—any clerical work, really. I know it would take ages for me to work enough to cover the debt, but I am committed to repaying you.” She said the last in a rush as if she was worried she would not get the words out.
Benjamin was silent for a moment, assessing the woman sitting across from him, glowing in the firelight. “No.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “No?” Her nostrils flared. “What do you mean, no?”
He steepled his fingers under his nose, affecting a nonchalance he suspected would infuriate her further. “I mean, no. It is not a terribly complicated word, and yet, you seem to take issue with it on a regular basis.”
She was fuming now. He loved it.
“I take issue with your obstinate nature and heavy-handedness. You are not the King of England, sir. You have no right to meddle and control as you do.”
No one had ever spoken to him like that.
It was as if his reputation meant nothing to her in the face of her righteous indignation.
It was careless, really, and Benjamin suspected she would not usually allow herself such a slip of her control.
Which made him wonder—was her injury making her sloppy?
Or was it something about him—them—which made her feel free enough to loosen the reins?
It was an intoxicating thought that settled in his chest.
“No, I am not the King of England. Would not care to be either. No real power there.” He waved a hand lazily and fought a smile as she watched it in baffled fury. “No, Charlotte, I say no because your plan is flawed.”
She furrowed her brow at him, clearly unused to being told she was wrong. She went to cross her arms and stopped, sniffing painfully. For a moment, Benjamin lost his nerve. This is who you are. The Master of London’s Secrets. He had not gotten here by being soft. Would not have survived.
“Flawed how?” She was not going to bend. Amazing woman.
Benjamin carried on as if nothing had happened. “For one, how do you plan on supporting your family outside of your work here? Surely you do not expect to be paid a salary on top of your debt repayments.”
He saw her confidence waver, but he continued on. “More to the point, though, I do not need a secretary. I have all those tasks well in hand.” At that, he saw her deflate slightly, her mind clearly spinning to come up with a solution. “However, I have another proposition.”
She regarded him with wary eyes. He had not planned this. Liar. Ever since he had collected her secrets, he had been heading down this path.
He hated himself a little more for it every step he took, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. “I would like you to become my mistress.”
She stared at him, jaw slack, shock written all over her face.
He did not move. He did not even breathe.
And then, she laughed. She threw her head back against the seat and laughed, loud rolling laughs that sounded like spring and heaven and the green countryside of his youth.
He could not catch his breath, watching her laugh.
It was as if her face broke open and a whole new woman emerged.
A beautiful, angelic woman. He could not look away.