Chapter Seventeen #2
The clarity should have been a comfort. But the hollowness was back—washed away only for a moment before the cynical reality closed back in on him. Nothing was given for free. Everyone had an angle. Charlotte’s was better than most: to rescue her family. But it was there all the same.
Still, she did not play the game well. She had thrown away a coveted advantage as if it were nothing.
Society traded virtue above all else. She could have demanded anything from him—even marriage.
She could have—and should have—demanded he absolve the debt and never speak to her again.
And she had not even tried to use such leverage; she had let him think her the sum of a few suppressed rumours. It was baffling.
In the pavilion, she had said he was not the type to take advantage, but he had. He had withheld his secrets, and she had paid the price; and for the first time in his life, that did not sit well with him.
But there she was.
She was standing in the same place she had been when she came to offer him payment. The night all this nonsense began. It had only been a few days, but Benjamin felt like his world had somersaulted again. Everything was different.
Tonight, she did not have the sickly spectre of death hanging over her shoulder. She was resplendent.
Her hair was pulled back in the sensible coronet she seemed to favour, but she had allowed a few curls to hang down, framing her beautiful elfin face.
Her gown was a dusky lavender that, while clearly a few seasons behind la mode, suited her so perfectly, she outshone even the most fashionable ladies in attendance.
Her soft colour in the middle of the rolling den of rich-hued vice was like a breath of spring air. Looking at her, Benjamin felt an acute yearning for the quiet of the country. He wanted to enjoy the quiet of the country with her.
More striking than anything, though, was the healthy rose flush of her cheeks when she caught Benjamin’s eye and held it.
He could not help the grin that split his face.
Who cared about that blasted contract? In that moment, there was nothing between them again.
Benjamin felt his lungs expanding in a way he was not sure they ever had. He had never breathed before today.
Then reality came crashing back in. Was she mad? What was she doing here in his hell again? She was the unwed sister of an earl. She could not just appear on the floor of a gaming club and not send the gossips aflutter.
He snapped one of the footmen over, quickly dispatching instructions to lead Charlotte off the floor immediately.
Benjamin made his own way to a concealed exit and traversed the twining back corridors to the spot he knew the footman was leading her.
“Lady Charlotte.” He offered a courtly bow when she appeared around the corner, letting his lips brush her ungloved knuckles with a featherlight touch. “You are looking well. I am glad to see you so recovered from your illness.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, and he bit back a smile. Her scepticism was delightful. “Small talk? Really?”
Benjamin realised he still held her hand in his and forced himself to release it.
“As you wish. I see you have no interest in my manners and charm.” He gave a mocking smile and then grew serious again.
“Charlotte, have you no care for your reputation? Being seen unmasked in my establishment once was already courting disaster. Doing so a second time makes me wonder if you care about ruin at all?” He knew he sounded imposing, possibly patronising, but the thought of her tossing away her good name for him had his gut churning.
He knew the arrangement they had struck risked all this and more, but he could be careful.
He could be circumspect and protect her.
But not if she did not take care, herself.
Charlotte only shrugged.
That shocked a disbelieving laugh from his chest. “You do not care for yourself or your reputation?”
“Wise of you to differentiate the two, Mr. Scarsdale. I am less and less convinced that what benefits my reputation lends any benefit at all to my person.” She spoke low enough that only he could only just make out her words, and though she used his formal address, the intimacy of it made his pulse thrum.
In the dim corridor, even with staff bustling by them, it was as if they were completely alone.
“Besides, I am a spinster with very little stake in the ton. I doubt anyone will care much what I do. And I am not sure I care what they think. I find my recent brush with death has vastly changed my perspective on all this nonsense.”
She was pensive for a moment, and he wanted to do anything, offer anything to have a glimpse inside that mind.
“As to your manners and charm—and I am sorry to belabour the point—I have found that being shot by someone greatly diminishes the effect of their vacant flattering.”
She spoke so sternly. Benjamin thought wryly that she might have missed her calling as a governess. Though considering her family’s status, that might very well still be an option. The thought doused his humour, but when he glanced toward her, he found her eyes sparkling with it.
“Dear me, Mr. Scarsdale. Have you finally felt the pang of remorse for shooting a defenceless lady?”
“Lady, yes. Defenceless, no. I beg you to recall, Lady Charlotte, you were as armed as I.” Her lips quirked at his response, and he desperately wanted to kiss her.
“Touche. But I beg you to recall that I aimed clearly for the sky. Not your person.”
“True. A very noble move. Nobler than many a gentleman in your place.”
“Nobler than you, in my place.” Though she gave him a sly smile, she unconsciously rolled her shoulders back, wincing ever so slightly, as if her body could not forget the wound he had inflicted.
“I do.”
She looked up at that. “You do what?”
“I do feel the pang of remorse.” He spoke earnestly, and he watched as she furrowed her brow, clearly taken aback by the change of tone.
“While I appreciate your contrition, I hope it is not on account of my sex. Someone was bound to be injured in that foolish duel, as they are in any foolish duel. It is of no consequence that it was me.”
“It is of every consequence.” Benjamin was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his pleasant facade. He wanted to grab this woman and haul her away from here. His rooms were only a few floors away.
“Not in the slightest,” she said. “Playing with guns is irresponsible, and you cannot possibly be surprised or truly remorseful for the course of events. In fact, I would say any injury caused in a duel is the product of deliberate intent.”
Benjamin heard the true message in her voice. You intended to hurt me—my brother. She could not forgive that so easily.
She glanced away and Benjamin wanted to take her hand in his. “I believe one can feel remorse about something they intended to do.” Charlotte sighed, and Benjamin wished she would lean further into him—rest her head on his shoulder as they dodged a passing serving tray full of champagne flutes.
“If I am being completely honest,” she said. “I would be tempted to shoot him too, if I had the chance.” That was it. He caught the eye of a footman and nodded him over.
“Marks, please escort Lady Charlotte to the back. I will be there in a few moments.”
Charlotte looked surprised. “The back?” For a moment, he regretted his impulsiveness and considered staying here, loitering in the liminal space of the corridor for the remainder of the night just to talk with her.
“Yes, m’lady.” Marks gestured towards the intersecting passageway, politely forcing Charlotte to follow without further question.
Benjamin gave her a brisk nod and turned, making a show of passing back through the gaming floor alone and generously topping up patrons’ drinks. If they had caught a glimpse of Charlotte, they were unlikely to remember the next morning.
∞∞∞
This was why he thought she had come. Charlotte pressed her hands to her cheeks to cool her blush.
Marks had discreetly led her down a dark corridor and around to a small flight of servants' stairs, depositing her in a dimly lit room with nothing more than a by-your-leave.
She realised immediately what the well-rehearsed process was once her eyes adjusted to the low candlelight in the room.
Really, she felt like a na?ve schoolgirl for not realising sooner.
Of course, he assumed she had come there to consummate their agreement.
Why would he not? He could not have known that she had stomped up to the front steps to confront him and tear up that contract.
Especially when she had decided against that before she even entered.
Why had she come in here, anyway? She had wanted to set her terms. To put them on an equal footing.
But how had she thought she would manage that? The idea of seeing Benjamin Scarsdale, of talking with him, of touching him, had been too alluring to resist. Then, once she was inside, she had been so swept up in the glory of his kingdom that she had lost her wits.
What must it feel like to have such power? Such wealth and influence? Even if it was from the outskirts of society.
She had lived on the outskirts long enough to know they were no less valuable than the centre of the haute ton. If anything, they were more important, connected to the real world, where one could see the truth of it all. And Benjamin had the power to change it, bend it to his will.
This man had far more power than she ever dreamed. And she was out of her depth. Worse, she was being sucked in deeper with each look, each touch. The ghost of a smile had her heart hammering and her skin flushing. She would need to steel herself to match his control.
She wanted to be here, she admitted to herself. She wanted to be nowhere but here, standing in the middle of Benjamin Scarsdale’s bed chamber, staring at his silk-draped bed—funny that she had lain there just days earlier under such different conditions.
Charlotte wanted nothing more than to be a part of his world, even just for a moment. But she was not sure she was sophisticated enough to pull this off.