Page 51 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Another squeeze of his arse and he’d erupt.
With a groan of dismay, he dropped Rosamund’s skirts and broke their kiss, taking a step backward.
She swayed, almost falling, obliging him to replace his hand upon her waist.
“Benedict, what is it?” Her eyes fluttered. “I like it. All of it. I want you to—”
“No.” Catching his breath, he knew he had to be stern. “No you don’t. We shouldn’t, and we never should have.”
“You don’t…like it?” She sounded forlorn.
“I do. I mean, you’re beautiful and I do want, very badly, to know you like that, but we can’t. You know we can’t.”
She put her hand to her forehead.
“It was just so wonderful and”—her blue eyes turned upward—“it felt right, having you touch me.”
She shivered, and it made him want to take her in his arms again; to say "to Hell with it" and make her his in the way he had no right to do.
He led her further into the folly, guiding her to one of the benches, lit by slanting moonlight across the marble floor.
“I want what my parents had.” He held her hand, his fingers finding the place where his ring would go, if she were to marry him. “And my uncle and aunt. They were happy together. I don’t think I could call anyone wife unless I felt that same way.”
“I understand. I really do.” She shuffled closer. “Your uncle wants me because I’m young and he needs an heir. He doesn’t love me.”
“But you accepted him.” Benedict felt his throat constricting. Of course, she’d accepted his uncle. No woman in her right mind would turn down a duke, however romantic the notion of being in love.
“I did, but not for the reasons you might think—at least, not wholly.” She worried at her lip. “I’m a sham. My father’s oil-rich, but I’m no heiress. Ma and I have enough money to get by for a while, but when it’s gone, there’s no place to go. She left him; ran clean away.”
She was quivering, her eyes filling with tears, but still she went on. “I came looking for a means to an end: a husband to give me security. I wasn’t expecting the duke to propose, but I hoped there would be someone. I was willing, you see, to take what I could.”
“You’ve been pretending, all along?” His mind whirled back to the beach and how she’d been right there, falling into his arms.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand from hers.
Someone must have told her who he was, and she’d played him like a fiddle. Not that he hadn’t made it easy for her. No wonder she’d moved quickly with his uncle. The man was grieving, and along had come Rosamund, the spitting image of his late duchess. She must have thought she’d struck gold.
Benedict had disapproved of how quickly his uncle had proposed, but he understood better now. Lord Studborne hadn’t stood a chance.
Had she employed the same wiles on the older man as she had on him? That night, in the long gallery, he’d caught the last moments of them together.
No wonder she’d looked shocked to see him. Had he been there a few minutes before, what would he have witnessed?
She’d been wearing only a flimsy nightgown and shawl.
The magnitude of his own foolishness struck him. Miss Rosamund Burnell was an adventuress, gambling to win.
And tonight?
Did she think she could have her cake and eat it? Marry his uncle but have a fling with the nephew? Benedict’s stomach churned.
He’d thought she might love him—but she was as cold-hearted as any cyprian, taking coin from one lover while the sheets were still warm from the last.
Had she thought to seduce him tonight? Get herself with an heir before having to sleep with his uncle? It was harder for men to father children, the older they became, and there had been no issue from those years married to his aunt Violetta.
Rosamund reached for him again, but Benedict flinched away. Perhaps she’d been forced onto this stage. Nevertheless, he needn’t play a part. “I apologise. I should never have agreed to meet you like this. The fault is mine.”
He wouldn’t stand in her way but, from henceforth, there would be nothing reproachable in his behaviour. As soon as possible, he’d remove himself from the house—away from temptation, and the cruel torture of seeing Rosamund wedded to a man for whom she cared nothing.
