Page 45 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
“And what of your life, Benedict? Have you lost sight of the threat that has pursued you from Egypt? Rooney mentioned you by name. The brute was rather graphic regarding the fate he foresees for you.”
“I don’t give a damn about what that bastard says. He was trying to frighten you. And to sow distrust.”
“Think about it, Benedict—what reason would he have to do that?” she asked. “A date with the hangman seems highly likely in his dismal future.”
“I would not waste my time speculating as to that rotter’s motives.”
“But it is important to question his motives. If money alone had spurred him to come after me, I’d think he’d be willing to talk in exchange for a more lenient sentence.”
“Who is to say what drives a man like him?” Benedict asked. “We are dealing with a threat that so far has no name and no face. I intend to make clear to Colton that I am not satisfied with the security he’s arranged for you. His agents cannot protect you against a danger they cannot identify.”
She met his eyes. The intensity in his gaze nearly stunned her, and she pulled in a breath. The move was a colossal mistake, as it only served to fill her senses with that far-too-appealing aroma of shaving soap blended with his natural essence.
Collecting her thoughts, she steadied her voice. “Benedict, I must admit—I find you an enigma.”
His dark brows hiked. “In what way?”
“I am puzzled as to why you believe you have any right to speak to Colton on my behalf.”
He considered her words, seeming to mull his answer before he spoke. “I gave my word to Stockwell that I would see you safe.”
“Fair enough. But what makes you think I will agree to leave London? I have a life here and responsibilities I must meet. Even a short time away will interfere with my research.”
He turned to her. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. “You must see that this is a matter of life and death. Everything else can wait. Nothing else can take precedence over your safety.”
“And what of yours? I gather thatyouare not planning to leave the city.”
He shook his head, slowly and deliberately. “It appears that this threat is somehow tied to me. The best course of action is to…put distance between us.”
His words cut through her with a dull misery. After all this time apart, being near him felt so right. Seemed so very natural. But she was not a girl of nineteen grieving the loss of a love.
The prospect of separation should not affect her so. She could not develop a taste for his nearness again.
“I see.” Turning away, she strolled to the window, peered into the night, and collected her thoughts. It would not do to put her emotions on display.
Beyond the house, Agent Harker stood beside the coach, tending the horses with a bit of oats. At this hour of the night, it seemed unlikely that anyone would take notice of his presence. Even if someone did, she could not muster a care.
She felt Benedict’s body heat as he came to her. Standing behind her, far too close to be proper, he coiled an arm around her waist. If she’d had more strength, she might have insisted he move away. But as it was, weary and frightened and craving the comfort his presence afforded, she stood very still and let his warmth wash over her.
“I don’t know how I would endure it…endure life…if something happened to you.” His voice was low and husky as his breath brushed the cup of her ear.
A shiver that had nothing to do with fear danced over her skin. Her heart stuttered as his words crashed into her, stunning her with the raw pain shading each syllable.
She breathed in, inhaling more of his essence. More of him. “You’ve no cause for guilt. You did not bring this menace to my doorstep,” she said. “You prevented that foul man from harming me. You’ve honored your vow to Stockwell.”
“This has nothing to do with Stockwell,” he said. “I would have killed Rooney if he’d harmed you…if I’d been too late.”
“But you weren’t, Benedict.” She turned to him, meeting his dark gaze. “There’s nothing to regret.”
He cocked a brow. “The hell there isn’t. There isn’t a day gone by that I don’t regret leaving London—and you.”
She considered his words. Why was he speaking of that crushing decision now? Far too much time had passed to change the course they’d each set.
“I was a fool, Alex,” he said, his voice raw, a near whisper.
“Was?” she said, forcing a small smile. Perhaps a spot of humor would lighten his mood.
His mouth curved at the corners. “I regret I did not have the courage to take a different path.”
