The Match of the Century (18 page)

However, Ben was not about to give in. He went to his room.

George had tidied it up nicely while Ben was gone. The valet was humming to himself as he closed the wardrobe doors. He started when Ben entered the room as if he hadn’t expected him.

“My lord, you are returned early.”

“Is that a surprise, George?”

The servant appeared discomforted before admitting, “They told me you were one for late nights. That I should not be alarmed if you don’t return for days.”

“That might have been true,” Ben conceded. “But it is no longer. My evening clothes, George. I’m going out.”

“To anywhere of importance, my lord?”

“I understand Lord Caldwell is having a ball.”

George had the audacity to blink. “I did not know you were included on the invitation, my lord, or had planned to go. I would have laid out your evening dress.”

Ben remembered when Gavin had literally ordered him to have evening clothes made. It had been a huge row between them. One of many in those days.

“I’m not invited, George. I doubt if Lord and Lady Caldwell know I’m in Town.”

“So you will be going with His Grace and Her Grace?”

Ben laughed. “No, I make my own plans.”

Elin had not wanted to go to dinner with Lord and Lady Caldwell this evening.

Her father had insisted. She knew what he was doing. He wanted her to be seen in Baynton’s company as much as possible.

That Ben had saved her life didn’t matter to him.

He’d even insisted, when Baynton politely came to call to see how Elin was faring, that they take a ride through the park in the open landau. He wanted anyone who was in town this time of year to see her with the duke. Thankfully, the day had not been too cold.

The duke and his mother rode with them in the Morris coach to Lord and Lady Caldwell’s.

To her surprise, Gavin sensed her unhappiness. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t press her either with references to the wedding as he’d done earlier that afternoon.

And she didn’t find herself in his company a great deal. At the Caldwells’, the duke’s attention was quickly claimed by many among their company who wished to discuss politics. Her father fell in with that group as well.

The women at the table were all Marcella’s age. They doted on Elin as a soon-to-be bride, but there their interests ended. They had their own social set, and Elin was not part of it. She contributed where she could to be polite but was vastly relieved when the ball started.

Lady Caldwell insisted that the duke and Elin lead the dancing. The role took Elin back to that fateful night when her mother died. She tried not to think of it.

At the end of the set, Gavin bowed over her hand. “Thank you, Miss Morris.” She could feel the warmth of his body even through his gloves and knew every eye in the overcrowded ballroom was on them. Fans fluttered as ladies murmured their approval to each other, or their jealousy.

Elin could only nod. She had a strong desire to run for the doorway and never stop until she reached Heartwood. As she smiled and pretended to be serene, she feared this was her life—constant formalities while waiting for her husband. She would die of boredom. She’d wither.

Her father had to see reason. He must.

“Keep a brave face,” Gavin whispered in her ear as he led her back to where his mother sat with her father. “Don’t think about the last time we danced together.”

Ah, so he had realized . . . and yet, his considerate comment left her dissatisfied, and she couldn’t quite decide exactly why. Perhaps because Gavin was always too considerate.

People milled around them, fawning over both the duke and her father. Fyclan was in his element. He was pale but appeared to be enjoying himself and Marcella, the Dowager, had a great deal to do with that.

“They seem to enjoy each other’s company,” Gavin observed.

“Yes,” Elin had to agree. “Have they been like this before?”

“They have always been good friends, but I sense tonight there is a spark of something perhaps more familiar. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” The question caught her off guard, then she realized, she wasn’t bothered that something more than friendship might be growing between her father and the Dowager, or indeed, any other woman.

She didn’t understand why . . . until she remembered the dream with her mother bathed in gold. Here in the middle of the glittering company her mother had so adored, Elin could sense her presence and her approval.

“Of course, I don’t mind,” Elin said. “It might ease his—” She broke off, realizing she was speaking to the air. A group of men had claimed Baynton’s attention. They’d just stepped right between her and the duke, and something said was so interesting to Gavin that his attention was immediately caught by it.

Theresa and Robbie had joined their group, and her cousin’s wife quickly included Elin with her friends. They were closer to Elin’s age but young matrons with children. Theresa complained of having nothing but daughters. Her oldest was seventeen.

“I’m doing what I must to see she is launched properly, but her ideas and mine are very different,” Theresa said. Her friends immediately commiserated. They offered suggestions of how to bring daughters out properly, especially when one must economize.

Or, at least, that is what Elin gleaned from Theresa’s complaints. She knew that both Robbie and his wife could be spendthrifts. She’d overheard her father offering Robbie advice on the subject of curbing his loose ways with money more than once.

Several gentlemen asked her to dance.

However, their true goal was to gain admittance to the group of powerful, important men gathered around Gavin. Elin found herself on guard against saying anything she shouldn’t.

And in the back of her mind, she remembered Ben’s warnings. He had predicted that life as a duchess would be a lonely one.

She was lonely already . . . but lonely for him.

With a smile that was beginning to feel plastered to her face, she excused herself to no one who was paying attention to her and went in search of the Necessary Room set aside for the ladies. She knew few of the women whose paths she crossed. London had never held any attraction for her.

Inside the room for the ladies, a woman with a bright yellow feathers in her hair and green dress caught Elin in passing and carried on for a good ten minutes about what a good friend she’d been of her mother. Elin nodded, kept her smile, and couldn’t recall her mother
ever
speaking this lady’s name. As soon as Elin could, she escaped, but she didn’t return to the ballroom.

No, she wandered down the hall, enjoying a moment to think, to breathe . . . to miss Ben—

A footstep sounded behind her. The hair on the nape of her neck tickled with awareness. She knew who was behind her even before Ben whispered, “Elin.”

Joy surged through her soul.

Yes,
he
was what she’d been looking for, why she was wandering aimlessly, not just in this hall but all evening.

All day.

Ben took her arm. He opened the nearest door. The room was dark. There was not even a fire in the hearth.

They didn’t need one.

She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her body close, and kissed him with the promise that she would never let him go.

Ben closed the door.

Chapter Eighteen

N
othing had ever felt so reassuring to Elin as Ben’s presence. She was stunned by how much she needed him. The very fiber of her being wanted to hold him and never let him go . . . while other parts of her, those demanding, delicate, sensitive places he had so recently woken, sprang to life.

His hand was at her waist. It slid down to cup her buttock while she let her hand smooth over the fine weave of his jacket to slip between the line of his breeches and his shirt. She could feel him, insistent, bold, hungry.

Deep inside her was a need that only Ben knew how to appease. She was certain of that fact.

They shared the same soul.

And the same desire.

He broke the kiss. His lips brushed her ear. “You’ll unman me, Elin.”

“It is the man in you I want,” she answered, her own voice breathless. She went for his lips, but he pulled back.

“If we keep this up, I’ll take you against the wall.”

“Would you?”

His answer was to brace his arms on either side of her head, his body leaning in to her. She caressed his hardness beneath the material of his breeches.

He breathed as if she challenged him in ways he’d not known. She liked feeling as if she had a bit of power over him. He certainly held power over her—

Ben kissed her again. His kiss demanded everything of her, and of him. When he could speak, he whispered hoarsely, “We mustn’t do this here. Someone could walk in—”

“And then everyone would know I love you,” she replied, hooking her hand in his arm and pulling it down. She pressed his gloved hand against her breast. His touch felt good. Her breasts were full and tight against his palm. “I want them to know,” she said. “I want the world to know.”

“You say that, but you didn’t recognize me earlier on the street—”

“I did,” she answered, her lips so close to his she could almost taste them. “I saw you walking. I’d know your swagger anywhere, and you looked so handsome, so completely fashionable that I wanted to laugh.”

“But you walked by me.”

“I had talked to Father earlier. He is unreasonable. I told him I love you.”

“He is set against me.”

“Is that what he was saying to you? I don’t know if Baynton realized it was you, but Father seemed to sense your presence at the same time I did.”

He started to move his hand from her breast. She caught it, held it in place.

“I want to do this right, Elin. So far, we’ve only done it wrong.”

“Make love to me,” she whispered. “Right here. Anywhere. I miss having your arms around me. I miss laughing with you and arguing with you and having you inside me.”

His response was a low, deep groan. She had him. He wanted her as much as she ached for him. The longing, the need, it threatened to consume her.

“Elin—” he said, attempting to protest again, but she silenced him with a kiss as insistent as the one he’d just given her. She wasn’t about to let him leave, not yet. He pulled off his gloves, letting them drop to the floor.

His hands began lifting her skirts. She smiled against his lips in anticipation. His hand touched her intimately.

She started to reach for the buttons of his breeches, to free him so that he could give her what she sought. Instead, he surprised her. He grabbed her wandering hand and pinned it to the wall. “Let me,” he growled against her mouth.

A jolt of lightning could not have had a stronger effect than when his finger slipped inside her. Her whole being centered on his delicious play.

Elin came undone. Her legs opened to him. Out in the hall, she heard voices. Whoever they were, they could have walked through the doorway, and she wouldn’t have cared. She wouldn’t have moved, either.

The sleeve of her finely woven gauze dress slipped down her shoulder. Or had Ben pushed it? Because her breast seemed to easily pop out of her bodice—and then his lips were on it. The wet heat of his mouth combined with the magic of his touch overwhelmed. He knew what she liked. He’d learned about her during their sojourn in the forest, just as she had so ardently studied him.

Elin wanted to cry out. She wanted to laugh with joy. Ben was doing the most marvelous things, and part of the delight was in knowing they must be quiet.
Don’t draw attention.

He knew when she’d had too much, when she was ready. He gave one hard pull on her breast, then quickly covered her mouth so that her cry of completion wouldn’t sound an alarm.

Her legs no longer supported her. His strength did. And then he held her as if he’d never let her go.

Finally, she was able to lift her arms, to wrap them around him. “That was the most astonishing thing that’s ever happened to me in my life,” she said into his neck. He smelled good. Ben had always smelled good to her, but she liked the clean scent of sandalwood.

Standing over her, he chuckled his answer, very pleased with himself. Her skirts were caught between them. She shifted, and they fell to the floor. Ben picked his gloves off the floor.

“I can’t go back out there,” she said. “Everyone will know what has happened.”

“No one will know. This will be our secret.”

She placed her hand against his face. His skin felt good beneath her palm. “I can’t decide if I like you clean-shaven. I’d grown accustomed to your whiskers.”

He pressed his lips against her forehead, his clever, clever hands at her waist. “You must return.”

“I don’t know why. No one notices me. They are more interested in pleasing Baynton, as you predicted. And he easily becomes completely entrapped in duties and responsibilities—not to say his work is unimportant.”

“I know.”

“But I want to be important to the man I marry.” Something her father had thrown at her when she’d tried to talk to him about Ben haunted her. “Or do you want marriage?”

“I want you for my wife, for my lover, and to be my helpmate and the mother of my children. Your father has warned me to stay away from you. I don’t wish his animosity, Elin. I know how important he is to you.”

“You may never win him over. He is set on his belief that his grandson will be a duke. It all sounds so silly now. He was deaf to my explanations about how, if it hadn’t been for you, I would be dead. Ben, let us not wait. Let us run away.” She gripped the lapel of his coat. “Please. There is nothing wrong with your brother—”

“He is a good man.”

“But I love
you
. I can never be the wife he deserves. And if I have to spend every evening of my life at affairs like this, talking circles around politics, I shall die of boredom. Or worse, return to Heartwood and live apart from my husband. That is not the married life I want.”

“Will you trust me, Elin?”

“Of course.”

“This may take time.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“I told you I want to do this right. I didn’t garner goodwill when I was last in London. I need to make some amends, but I hope to change that. I don’t want us to be a scandal. I love you too much to let you be food for the gossips. I want our love for each other to be noted and praised.”

“I want you to make love to me again,” Elin answered candidly. “This is all your fault. You’ve turned me into a wanton woman. Ben, I miss you.”

His answer was a kiss, one that framed better than words his devotion to her.

“Don’t take too long saving us,” she said, leaning into the haven of his arms. “Please, don’t take too long.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“And you will tell me what you are doing? My curiosity can only be held at bay for so long.”

“I will. I’ll send a note or something.” He took her face in his hands. “However, trust that I’ll never be far from you, Elin. I want to keep you safe.”

“Father is convinced that Darby and his men really wanted to kidnap me for ransom.”

Ben was quiet a moment, then he said, “Tell me again what the Frenchwoman said to Darby?”

“That he was not supposed to approach the coach until it reached a certain place.”

“And what else? What did Darby say before he shot her?”

“That ‘he’ had told Darby to kill Madame Odette. I suppose to not have any connections leading to him.”

“Possibly.” He gave Elin a quick kiss. “Come, you need to return.”

She groaned. “I’m really not ready.”

“I’m not either.” He gave her a kiss. “But you’ve been gone for some time.”

“I wonder if anyone will notice?”

“Your father might.”

His words reminded Elin of something that should interest him. “My father is flirting with your mother.”

“
What?
”

Elin stifled a laugh and nodded. “Do you mind?”

Ben released his breath. “I suppose not. Has Gavin noticed?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Mother,” Ben said under his breath as if she exasperated and pleased him at the same time. “You need to go. One moment.” He opened the door a crack and checked the hallway. “It is clear. Go. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

“Don’t make it too long,” she whispered, gave him another quick kiss, and slipped out the door.

New people were gathered at the hall near the ballroom, but they were involved in their own flirtations. No one paid attention to Elin.

She had been gone close to an hour. She hoped that what she’d been doing didn’t show on her face. She was glad Ben had been clean-shaven.

More guests must have arrived because the ballroom was an absolute crush. Elin made her way over to her father. Theresa and Robbie were still talking to their friends. Baynton was standing even farther away, and there was a heated discussion taking place with him in the center. Elin recognized the prime minister and several prominent leaders gathered there. Her father was also in their midst.

Gavin caught sight of her and smiled. In that moment, he appeared charmingly boyish. He was a handsome man. Uncommonly so.

But her heart belonged to his unruly brother.

And then she was dismissed from Gavin’s thoughts as a gentleman must have said something so audacious, he had to be challenged. The politicians were a nucleus of opinion and argument in the middle of guests sharing gossip and stories of their children, and flirtations, and the swirling of dancers—and Elin felt quite apart from it all, even as she stood in their number. This was not where she belonged.

“Did you see Benedict?”

Marcella’s question startled Elin. She glanced to her left, where the Dowager had slipped beside her. Elin tried to be calm. “Is Lord Ben here?”

The duchess’s expression said she was not fooled. “Be careful, my girl. Be very careful.” Not waiting for a protestation or an answer, she walked over to the politicians, pulled Elin’s father from their group, and the two of them walked toward the supper room.

And Elin was alone.

Ben stole a look into the ballroom. He couldn’t help himself. He saw Elin standing by herself, vibrant, unique, and ignored.

He longed to cross the room to her, to take her hand, and lead her onto the dance floor. He’d never been much of a dancer, but he would do anything to be close to her.

Instead, he backed away from the guests. He didn’t recognize anyone, and few knew him—

A man pushed his way through the guests and walked past Ben. He moved gingerly and groaned with every other step, the sound like the lowing of a bull. That is when Ben recognized him. He followed.

“Roger? Roger Cooper?”

The man stopped, shifting his weight from the ball of one foot to the other and peered through thick spectacles to see who was speaking. “Whitridge?”

“It is I,” Ben said, genuinely happy to see Roger. Coop had been one of his first friends in the military. They’d been ensigns together. Coop was one of the worst soldiers imaginable. He was portly in size and abhorred giving orders. Many a time, Ben had either backed him up or taken the task over for him.

In truth, Ben admired the talents Coop did have. Not only did he have a brilliant mind, he also had the ability to locate and procure needed supplies everyone thought impossible to find.

He was also a cousin of the Duke of Marlborough. A heady connection.

“It is good to see you, Whit,” Roger said, taking Ben’s offered hand. “Especially on an evening like this.”

“You don’t want to be here?” Ben asked innocently, knowing full well the answer. Coop was a notorious hermit. He could have happily lived out his life in a library.

“Dancing is not one of my passions. However, I have a wife now. Demanding creatures. When I received the invitation, there was nothing for it save we come. She has talked about this one evening for weeks. And she will probably go on about it for weeks after. Here, follow me.” Without waiting for Ben’s agreement, he hastily went on his way, again with the strange mincing step as if his shoes were too small.

He pushed open the door to the room set aside for the gentlemen. Ben followed. The room was empty save for a footman there to service any needs.

Coop threw his considerable bulk onto a tufted settee and pulled off his shoes. He began scratching his feet, sighing happily as he did so.

“That is such a relief. The itch was about to drive me half-mad.”

“So, what are you doing nowadays?” Ben asked. The footman had poured fresh water in the bowl of one of two washbasins, and Ben took advantage of it. Lord Caldwell had set out a lemon-scented soap. Ben rather liked the fragrance. He must tell George to purchase some.

“Working in the War Office.” Coop stopped his furious itching. “They have me responsible for fielding supplies. It is a frustrating business. There isn’t a politician worth his salt, save for Liverpool.” He spoke of Lord Liverpool, the Minister for the War Office and the man responsible for seeing Wellesley placed in charge of the Peninsula army.

“You like him?”

“I admire him.”

“That is high praise from Roger Cooper.”

Coop grinned, pleased. And then his expression changed as if he was struck by an idea. “What are you doing?”

Ben leaned a hip against the washbasin. “I’m at loose ends.”

“Would you like to do something of service?”

He had Ben’s attention. “What do you have in mind?”