Chapter 12 #2
Benedict knew precisely how to speak to a woman like Annabel.
How to make her believe that she was taking on a true adventure by going to that awful place.
Solomon swore he tried to talk her out of it.
At one point, he even barricaded her inside the carriage.
She broke the window to get out, and it was Benedict she ran to. ”
Laurence stopped talking. He worked his jaw left to right as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Did Benedict hurt her?” Ellen asked, unable to wait for him to explain further. “Did he hurt her like he hurt me? Or worse?”
“No,” Laurence rasped, his deep voice full of ache as his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “But the man who purchased her that night did. He killed her.”
The reality of Annabel’s death hit Ellen like a second slap to the face. That could have been her, she realized. If Laurence had not been there. If he had not won her bid. She could have met the same fate as Annabel.
Without a thought, she reached toward and grabbed his hand. As usual, warmth and sparks slid into her palm the moment they touched, but Laurence went still. It was only then that she worried she might have gone too far with her attempt at comfort.
Blushing, she loosened her fingers, ready to pull away—but to her surprise, Laurence’s grip on hers tightened in a silent plea to stay precisely where she was.
“I am so…so sorry, Laurence,” she breathed, moving her thumb in soothing circles over the top of his hand.
Laurence cleared his throat, and he seemed to struggle to will his expression into its usual calm and aloof facade.
“Thank you,” he said, his deep voice raw as his piercing gaze held her own.
“Has this happened to others?” Ellen asked.
“That is what we want to find out. Just how many women have been hurt or sold against their will,” Laurence explained, his grip still firm on her hand.
“Whoever is in charge of the auction is powerful enough to make even noblewomen disappear. There are no reports, no charges. Ever. Every man that goes there seems to fall under this blanket of protection, which we believe is why the auction stays in such good business.”
He circled the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, and she noticed only then that there were fresh callouses on his hands.
They felt rough yet lovely along her soft flesh, but she did wonder what he had done in the last few hours to gain them.
She was certain she had not felt any when he’d taken her hand and led her out of the cottage.
“This is where your assistance may help us,” Laurence said, drawing her from her thoughts.
Ellen’s brow furrowed.
“I do not understand,” she confessed.
“You are Benedict’s cousin, and the betrothed that got away,” Laurence explained. “Your presence can get Solomon and me into parties that we’ve been excluded from, even if you are not on the guest list. The gossip your presence would fuel would be enough alone to get us where we need to go.”
Ellen’s nose wrinkled as she balked at the idea.
“Solomon and I would protect you. I swear,” Laurene insisted, moving a little closer to her. “You would never be left alone.”
“I am not afraid of that,” she clarified. “I believe you.”
“And yet?” Laurence asked.
Ellen sighed.
“I do not…I do not do well at parties. I have never, even before this debacle with Benedict. I suppose I was hoping that being married to you would protect me from having to attend them, as well as protecting me from Benedict,” she confessed.
“What do you mean you do not do well?” he asked, lifting a curious brow.
Ellen shook her head.
“I become a different person in our society. Meek. Quiet. Unsure of myself.”
To her surprise, Laurence chuckled. Even his lips lifted toward a smile that had butterflies taking flight in her stomach.
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “I have seen you at a party, and you were certainly none of those things.”
This time, it was Ellen who smiled as she cocked her head and looked at him more closely.
“This is twice now that you have alluded to the fact that we have met before,” she pointed out. “The first time you denied it, but you certainly cannot now after that statement.”
Laurence snagged the left bottom corner of his lip between his teeth as a flush crept up his corded neck.
“You truly do not recognize me?” he asked, the light in his eyes now dancing with amusement.
Ellen shook her head as her smile widened.
Laurence cocked an amused brow, then slid closer until their bodies were brushing up against each other.
Heat spiked along Ellen’s veins and pooled in her lower belly as she felt the solid warmth of his chest against the side of her arm, and as he reached his free hand toward her, she found she could not breathe.
“I suspect true beauty hidden beneath this layer of paint,” Laurence said, his tone husky as he slid his thumb gently over her mole and down to her lips. His eyes lingered on her lips a moment longer, then snapped up to hers, so quick and so full of heat that she gasped. “I was right.”
Those words. The way he touched her. The way he looked at her, as if she was the only person that mattered. The night of the masquerade came rushing back with vivid detail, and suddenly she understood.
“It was you,” she breathed, as Laurence caressed her cheek. She then let out a soft laugh as she reached up and placed her hand over his. “I cannot believe it! The man I gave my first kiss to is now my husband?”
Laurence’s chuckle was deep and genuine as he nodded.
“You were not meek that night,” he said. “You were not quiet. You stated proudly who you were and what you did not like.”
“You scolded me for my boldness,” she giggled.
“True,” Laurence agreed, smirking as a soft playfulness settled into his gaze, “but only because it seemed your friend…What was her name? Judith? Had to all but force you into the situation. My point is, you impressed me because you were not trying to impress me. It was you having a moment of understanding. Not just with me but with yourself, and it was beautiful.”
Ellen’s pulse spiked at the word.
“Beautiful?” she asked. “Even in that garish dress and mask?”
Laurence chuckled, the sound brushing lovingly against her mind.
“I lost sight of what you were wearing the moment you lost your fear and became yourself,” he explained, softly dragging his thumb over her bottom lip. “I think you could do that again.”
Boldly, Ellen slid her tongue between her lips, letting just the tip brush across the pad of Laurence’s thumb. She reveled in the way his breath caught the moment he felt it.
“You mean the kiss?” she teased, “or being myself?”
Laurence’s smile was wicked, but instead of frightening her as Benedict’s had, it caused that warmth in her lower belly to ebb and grow hotter.
“Would you like to be kissed again?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as his gaze dropped once more to her lips. “This time by your husband?”
Ellen nodded, not even sparing a second to give the decision any thought.
The last time he’d kissed he’d rendered her mind utterly blank, and she needed that now after everything that had happened.
Before what was about to come. She wanted to feel nothing but that addictive kiss she’d been clinging to in her dreams.