Page 22 of Chasing Benedict
“I fail to see why you would tell me all of this rather than expose it to the world. When last we met, I asked you what you wanted, and you weren’t ready to tell me then. But, I don’t think I need you to. You want to repay me for tossing you over.”
They came to a stop as the music’s final notes dispersed through the room and stood facing one another, shoulders squared.
Cynthia never looked away from him, her mouth twisted into a grotesque sneer. “There is something I want more than your public downfall, and if you want me to keep my mouth closed about what I know, you will give it to me.”
For the sake of the eyes watching, Benedict offered his arm. She took it, and a current of heated malice flowed between them as they made their way off the dance floor.
“I’m waiting,” he grumbled, knowing she currently had him over a barrel and hating her even more for it.
“Your refusal to marry me after ruining me—”
“After you ruined yourself by taking advantage of my drugged state,” he interjected with a sharp glare from the corner of his eye.
“Semantics are unimportant. The fact is, my ineligibility for marriage has left me dependent upon my father—a circumstance I am sure you understand. Your invention of the Gentleman Courtesans freed you from the viscount, and I want the same.”
“And you think I can offer you that?”
“I know you can. With the money you’ve earned with your indecent activities, you are more than capable of ensuring I can live the rest of my life as I please.”
Realization dawned on Benedict, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “Name your price.”
“Fifty-thousand pounds. It is far less than I could have asked for, but I’m not entirely unreasonable. Consider it restitution for what you did to me.”
Benedict could hardly believe her gall. She had aided his father in violating him, yet could stand here and so smugly make demands of him? Jerking his arm out of her hold, he turned to face her. They now stood on the edge of the bulk of the crowd, going unnoticed by those reveling around them.
“And if I refuse?”
“You can expect an issue ofThe London Gossipdedicated solely to exposing the truth about you and the Gentleman Courtesans—including the involvement of Madame Hershaw, Lady Browning, and Lady Dane. Fifty thousand pounds is nothing in the face of ruination for everyone you hold dear. The mention of yourmaleclients is sure to be included as well.”
Benedict was rapidly losing the battle with his body, his nape prickling with sweat. His stomach threatened to embarrass him at any moment.
“I am a patient woman,” she added. “I’m willing to give you three weeks to produce the funds before I print my story. I understand you need time to fully grapple with the implications of all this. You see? I can be generous.”
Benedict glowered at her, not trusting himself to speak. He swayed on his feet, suddenly mortified to realize he might swoon. His mind clouded with too many thoughts to sift through, and he was drowning.
A lifeline appeared in the form of Celeste, who materialized at his side like an angel. She took Benedict’s arm, but kept her fiery gaze on Cynthia.
“Begone, you foul creature,” Celeste commanded. “Or I will scratch your eyes out in the middle of this ballroom and damn the ensuing gossip.”
Cynthia offered her chilling smile, snapping her fan open and wafting it before her face. “Mr. Sterling, you know where to find me.”
Benedict choked down bile, craning his neck to search for an avenue of escape.
Sensing his crisis, Celeste gently steered him toward one of the ballroom’s side doors.
“Come with me,” she said. “The duchess is a thoughtful woman who always makes drawing rooms available for a reprieve from the crush. Steady now … we’re almost there.”
Benedict breathed easier once they were free of the bright lighting and cloying heat of the ballroom, and he numbly allowed Celeste to guide him through an open door. Once safely inside, he paced away from her, jerking at his cravat—which seemed to have formed a noose about his neck. Fumbling with the nearest window, he jerked it open and sucked in deep pulls of fresh, cold air.
“Ben?” Celeste called from the doorway. “What can I do? What did that witch say to you?”
Benedict bowed his head and slowed his greedy breaths to a steadier rhythm. “I cannot speak of it just now, Celeste. I need time … I need …”
What did he need? His entire life was disintegrating, after years of building a fortress of wealth and independence around himself. He had thought himself so clever, outfoxing Cynthia in their little game. Benedict had never expected her to uncover his closely held and most dangerous secret.
“Ben?” Celeste prodded.
“Go,” he murmured, slumping into the nearest armchair and squeezing his eyes shut. “I will be all right. I just need a moment. Return to the ball, and I will send for you when I’m ready to leave.”
