The Match of the Century (11 page)

He left Elin where it was dry and tried to catch the horse to hobble him with a sling made by tearing off his shirtsleeves and tying them together. The animal was not appreciative of Ben’s sacrifice. He proved uncooperative and for the next half hour, Elin was entertained by Ben’s attempt to lure the animal’s front hooves into each of the hobbles.

The animal was a wise one. He would wait, his nose to the ground grazing, until Ben was almost up on him. Then he would trot off, his ears pinned back.

Ben played the buffoon for Elin. He would stand in the rain, spreading his arms as if wondering how he would accomplish this, and Elin couldn’t help giggling.

And in this way, the horrors of what she’d just experienced, the fear and the doubts, faded from her mind.

She knew Ben could catch the horse. He was doing this for her—and at last, without regret or resentment, she accepted how deeply she loved him.

He was part of the best memories from her childhood. And it had been love that had led her to kissing him when they’d been caught together in the storm all those years ago.

She’d understood her parents’ expectations. For them, she’d tried to convince herself that Ben had only been a dear, close friend, someone she had trusted and shouldn’t have. She’d believed her mother when she’d said what Elin felt for Ben could never be the same emotion the poets praised. They spoke of love everlasting and strong. How could Elin know anything of such matters?

But in this wink of time, Elin realized that what she felt for Ben was wrapped around the core of her being. She’d not made a mistake that night in the storm. Her body had known something that her head and heart had not yet understood—
Ben Whitridge was her love.
Her only love. The man she cherished.

She also knew her love for him would grow over time. What she felt now would be this and more on the morrow because love wasn’t just one emotion but layers upon layers built through affection and respect and desire.

The duke was an admirable man. But she would never feel for him this whirlwind of passion, trust, and respect she held for Ben.

He caught the horse, hobbled it, and removed the bridle.

Triumphantly, he came walking toward her, holding the bridle like a trophy. He was a tall, lean figure with several days’ growth on his face and thick hair that unfashionably reached his collar, and she had never thought he looked handsomer.

The rain started to come down harder. It would be a torrent shortly, exactly matching the intensity of the new feelings she felt for Ben. He was her protector, her champion, her knight.

“I won,” he said. He unsaddled the horse. “There is a kit on the saddle. I don’t know which man it belonged to, but we might find a clue as to who hired them.”

Elin nodded. She watched Ben with a sense of pride in not only him, but also herself—because she was wise enough to be in love with such an amazing man.

“There, that should do the trick,” Ben said. “Go on now, you beast. Eat and be lazy.” The horse did as he recommended, dropping to the ground, rolling in spite of the cloth hobbles, then rising muddy to munch away the storm.

Ben laughed. “They all do the same thing. Happy they are as long as they have something to eat.” He set the saddle, kit, and the bridle in a heap in a corner of their dry space. He wiped off his hands. “What do you think? We are good, yes? Well, we’ll need a fire. Let me search for some dry wood—”

But Elin had been building her own fire inside her.

She cut him off by throwing her arms around him and blessed him with the biggest, most intense kiss she could muster.

There was a moment of surprise from him, then he gathered her up so that she was only standing on her toes, and kissed her back.

Chapter Eleven

B
en didn’t know what he’d done to earn this gift from Elin, but he was not going to question it, especially since he liked kissing her so much.

And he was charmed that Elin kissed him with her lips closed, just as she’d done years ago. Of course, back then, he’d not known how to kiss either.

But he’d learned a thing or two over the years and was eager to teach her.

The kiss broke. Their lips barely left each other. Elin whispered, “The horse is running away.” The truth of her words could be heard in the pounding of hooves on the ground. The hobble had apparently been too loose.

“I don’t care,” he answered.

“I don’t either.”

They found each other again . . . only this time, Ben encouraged her lips to part. He tickled her with his tongue, stroked her. She started to laugh, and he took full advantage.

With a soft sigh, she was willing to follow his lead, and that was his undoing. Ben leaned her against the stone wall, wanting to cover every inch of her body with his, wanting to be in her body, wanting, wanting her.

And Elin was answering with a woman’s desire.

His kisses moved to her cheek, her throat, her ear. She gave a small start and actually hummed her desire, the sound low in her throat and enough to send Ben over the edge.

The rain pounded around them. It hit the ground with enough force to splash against Ben’s boots. It ran in rivulets down the wall, tickling the back of her neck. Elin laughed at the feeling of it, but Ben was not about to let anything, including Nature, intrude on this moment for them. He swept her up in his arms to carry into the main part of the abbey. Only two and a half walls stood, but the space was more protected and should keep them dry.

“Wait.” Elin pointed to the ground. “The food bag.”

He dipped her low enough to pick up the canvas bag. She cradled it in her lap as he carried her to shelter.

Under the shelter of an overhang, Ben placed Elin on the ground and would have resumed kissing her except that her attention was on something else.

“Look,” she said, pointing to the first room.

The horse was back. The beast had followed them through the door. Apparently, he didn’t like the rain either. He took a look at them, then wandered over to the other side of the long, narrow chamber that was open to the sky.

“All that work trying to lure him in,” Ben observed, “and he is smart enough to stay close to us.”

“He likes you. I like you.” She ran the back of her fingers against his jaw. “Even if you are scratchy.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He would pull his whiskers out one at time with his bare hands if it would please her.

She shook her head, her eyes loving. Her hand slid around to the nape of his neck. “Your hair is curling,” she observed. “I never knew you had curls as well.”

“You’ve never seen me with hair this long.”

She made a small sound of assent, then, to his everlasting joy, she kissed him.

And
, her free hand came to his chest to rest its palm right over his heart. Could she tell how fast it was beating? Or realize how much he wanted her? His every sense was alert, tense, and aching for her.

She swept her hand under his jacket and pushed his coat down his shoulder.

Ben had very little control left. In the back of his mind, he heard a reminder that he was a gentleman. He was no longer a lad at seventeen unable to control himself. Elin didn’t know what invitation she offered. She was too inexperienced.

But when she tugged on his shirt, pulling it from his waistband, the gentleman was in danger of losing the struggle. He reached for her hand. “Elin, we need to think this through.”

“That is what you said years ago.”

“And you have made it very clear you wished that we hadn’t.”

Her eyes searched his face. “We were young.”

“We were.”

“But we know more now, don’t we?”

“Do we? Because if we don’t, I need to stop now.”

Her chin lifted. “Mother said that when the right man came into my life, then there wouldn’t be any pain.”

Ben was certain there would not be pain. That had been seen to years ago, and now there would only be pleasure. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to make love to her, to right the wrong he did her—still, he didn’t wish to force her. He needed Elin to consider this through clearly. “Your mother was thinking of my brother as the right man.”

“I’m thinking of you.” She gave his shirt another tug.

“
Elin
,” he said with more force, “this is not a game.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” She freed her hand from his hold and rested it on his shoulder. “Ben, I love you.”

She searched his face as if afraid he would not accept her.

Such a silly notion.

He answered her with a crushing kiss because this was one of those times when words were not enough—and she replied in kind, offering all the boldness of her being.

This time her lips opened on their own, and Ben drank deeply. She could barely stand when he was done but leaned in the haven of his arms.

“Another?” she managed to suggest, and he was happy to oblige.

“I want to kiss every inch of you,” he whispered. “I want to kiss your eyes—” He demonstrated, kissing her left, then her right eye. “Your nose—” She had such a perfect, straight nose. “Your chin—”

Elin delighted him by holding her chin up to him.

“Your throat—” he whispered hoarsely, knowing he was losing any control he held over himself. Her skin was smooth and warm. He adored the taste of her. He kissed a line from under her jaw down to her shoulder.

She reached up and unhooked the fastening of her cloak so that it fell to her feet. “What are you going to kiss next?” she asked, sounding slightly breathless.

He made himself place his hands on her arms. His grip light, he held her slightly away. “One more chance, Elin. This is not a game. I’ll stop. It will be damned hard, but I’ll stop. I’m not as noble as my brother.”

“And I don’t want you to be.” She leaned forward and kissed him, and this time he was the one whose knees went weak.

She had always been a quick learner.

Furthermore, having worn men’s breeches, Elin knew her way around the buttons. She unfastened one, then another.

He felt himself rise to her. She was his north star. His sole purpose in life had become loving her. He wanted her. Needed her—
and yet she was his brother’s
.

The thought was an unwelcome intrusion.
Not now. He didn’t want to think on this now.

And yet he was no longer seventeen and ruled by his own selfish desires. He was a man, one who had battled for a sense of himself.

Elin slid her hands under the waist of his breeches and along the line of his hip as if she marveled at the feel of his skin. She was innocent in her seduction and remarkably effective.

He’d already unlaced her dress. All he had to do was slip the shoulder down her arm. He knew what waited for him. He’d spent hours imagining her. Her body was perfectly formed in her femininity.

Ben also had a debt to repay. The first time between them, he’d left her confused. He understood that now. He’d had little control over himself. In truth, he’d scared her more than loved her.

But now he had the chance to make amends. He’d botched her initiation, but he knew better now. He could love her the way she deserved to be loved.

For what?
For his brother?

Having a conscience was a heavy burden. It was also sobering.

Elin kissed the very sensitive skin beneath his jaw. However, Ben realized he loved her too much to carry on with this.

With a power of will he’d never claimed to posses, he gently, but firmly, pushed her back.

Dear God, his breeches were around his hips. His desire was in evidence for all the world to see. He’d never been this hard, or this hungry for a woman.

Elin’s eyes were dark with the daze of her own yearning. She tried to return to him, her arms reaching for him—

“No,” he said hoarsely. “We can’t.”

“We can,” she countered, and her gaze dropped to his impudent head, the bane of every male because it had a mind of its own. Her lips parted as if she was surprised. Their first time, they had been so anxious, so carried away, there had been no undressing. No chance to explore.

Elin looked up at him. Her lips curved into a smile. “It’s a bit darling.”

“It is
not
darling.” That was an affront to his manhood.

Her response was to reach out and touch.

Oh, he liked that. He grew straighter and harder if that was possible, while Elin said, in a marveling voice, “Why, it’s soft.”

Ben’s response came out in a low, shuddering groan as she dared to touch him again. Another second of this, and he’d show her there was nothing “soft” about him. Another second of this, he’d take her—and he could see everything clearly now. They stood almost naked in the woods with hard dirt for a bed. If he did this, he’d be nothing more than a rutting beast.

And a betrayer to his brother . . . and to her. Because she merited more than just him.

He saw himself even more clearly now. He had nothing to offer Elin except himself, and his self was a sorry thing. He’d allowed his own arrogance to lead him to this life, where he had nothing,
absolutely
nothing to offer her other than to tumble her as if she were a milkmaid.

Now, he walked away. He walked straight out into the rain in his sleeveless shirt, shoving that bit of himself back where he should be, and buttoning his breeches. The rain quickly soaked his shirt to the skin.

“Ben? Ben, why are you out there? What did I say, Ben? I’m sorry. Did you think I laughed? I didn’t,” she promised, frantic. “I was admiring. I love you, Ben. I
love
you.”

He turned, held up his hands to beg for a bit of space. She stood where he’d left her—her hair a riot of curls, her cheeks flushed. With a shrug of her shoulders, her dress would slide down to her feet, leaving her in what he was certain was the sheerest of petticoats. The image sparked havoc between his sense of honor and his very virile lust.

But if he walked back to her right now, then he wasn’t the man he had once thought himself to be.

Ben didn’t trust his voice to speak. He wasn’t ready for that, but he did know he’d have to answer for his sudden change of heart.

And he was not looking forward to the conversation.

Elin was confused.

He’d walked away.

She wanted to follow him, to demand an explanation, but something about the dogged set of his shoulders and the swiftness of his step told her he wished to be alone.

The rain picked up its pace, as if warning her to keep her distance from him, to let him be.

Elin reached behind her back and tightened her lacings. Her body still hummed with his kisses, but a new emotion was becoming prevalent. Deep within her was a tension, a dissatisfaction. Primal, demanding stirrings for what only he could give her were now replaced with an itchy, confused frustration.

She started pacing. Movement helped. She didn’t have a great amount of space to explore. Their shelter from the storm was barely larger than a horse stall. The ground was cold and damp, offering her few variations to her pacing.

Picking her cloak up off the ground, she wrapped it around herself. It had been covering Ben’s jacket, which lay in a heap where she’d pushed it off his shoulders. She folded it. He’d been so anxious for her to remove it.

He’d
seemed
to be willing to have her rip off all his clothing.

Frustration gave way to anger.
Had he meant to do this? It was almost as if he teased her.

And there was no answer. Until he returned, she would just have to ruminate in silence, something Elin hated to do. She liked taking action. If there was a problem, she fixed it. If there was a concern, she poked and prodded until she had an answer.

However, this question lay in another person’s inexplicable and rude behavior. A person who had abandoned her once before, except
this time
, she would not be meek.

Of course, until he returned, there wasn’t anything she could do but wait.

When he did come back, which he would—she had a few things she wanted to tell him.

She’d wandered over to the other side of the wall. Her eye fell on the saddle kit. Wrapped in her cloak, she knelt, then sat on the ground by the saddle as she went through it.

There wasn’t much of interest. She wanted to find a clue as to who had hired the men. Then, she would hold it up to Ben to show that while he was prancing around, she was doing good work.

But there wasn’t anything like a clue in the leather bag. She found a money pouch with a few shillings. There was also a tinderbox, a comb, and a bottle of oil of clove—apparently her killer suffered from a toothache. She also found a pouch. When she opened it, a locket fell into her hand. She opened the clasp, and inside was a painted miniature of a young woman.

The picture made her sad. The girl was little older than she was. Elin couldn’t fathom how a man could carry a keepsake like this around with him and murder people.

The idea was disturbing enough that she put the locket back its pouch and into the kit. Darkness was falling. The rain had let up a bit, but there was now a gloomy fog setting in, and the air grew colder.

The horse was eating away, oblivious to what was going around him.

Elin searched the woods around the ruins for Ben and didn’t see a sign of him.

“
Ben,
” she called.

The rain dampened the sound of her voice.

“He’ll return. He always does.” And when he did . . . “No more running, Ben,” she promised herself. “No more running.”

She ate half of what was left of the dried apples and drank almost all of what was left of the cider. They would refill the jug with water. Fortunately, the sky was making plenty of it.

Curling up into a ball, she rested her head on the seat of the saddle. She watched, waiting for him to return . . . and must have fallen asleep
.