Page 23 of Chasing Benedict
Benedict felt her concerned gaze on him, but was unable to open his eyes. Within the dark void there was comfort, a temporary respite from an impending storm.
The door clicked shut, and Benedict slumped in the chair, feeling as if he had been pummeled from head to toe. The urge to march back into the ballroom and tell Cynthia that he’d die before giving her a single ha’penny was potent. However, he couldn’t discount what she knew or how she’d come to know it. He and his friends might be able to combat their exposure as Gentleman Courtesans, but Benedict wouldn’t recover from being outed as a sodomite. He might have brushed it off as a libelous rumor, if not for his father’s determination to bring him to heel.
With Cynthia’s claims as ammunition, it would be appallingly easy for the viscount to have Benedict committed and disinherited. While he didn’t care a whit about the title, he did value his freedom and would slit his own throat rather than allow mad doctors to have their way with him. While being hanged for sodomy was also a possibility, it wasn’t nearly as frightening as what the viscount had in store.
Benedict was jarred out of his reverie when the door swung open. A gentleman rushed through the door, then leaned against it. Benedict scowled as Mr. Martin Lewes stared at him with wide, frantic eyes. Benedict hadn’t spoken to the man in weeks, and saw no reason Lewes would accost him publicly. He had been engaged to the wife of his friend, Dominick Burke, and made it as far as the nuptial altar before she’d jilted him. The runaway bride had eloped with Dominick immediately, snatching her enormous fortune right out from under Lewes—who was desperate for funds to supplement the crumbling estate he would soon inherit.
“Lewes,” he snapped. “What the devil do you want?”
Lewes cleared his throat and took a timid step away from the door, wringing his hands. “I … I had hoped we could talk … negotiate.”
Benedict snorted and rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Martin. You are destitute, and I am no longer willing to go on siphoning what little funds you do have. It bothers me to see you pawning your things to pay my fee. We’re done, and I will not change my mind.”
Lewes’s wide, sky-blue eyes pleaded with Benedict as he came farther into the room. He was a pretty man, not to Benedict’s taste, but that never mattered where money was concerned. Not long after Lewes’s ruined wedding, Benedict had discovered him prowling Bowling Green in Marylebone in the dead of night—a well-known and convenient place for a man to find himself a renter for the night. The discovery that Lewes hid secret sexual urges didn’t surprise Benedict, as he had suspected the man from the start. A short conversation revealed that Lewes had never carried through with his plan to pay for a companion for the night. It had been far too easy to gain him as a client, though the man’s limited funds had made it a brief one. Now that Lewes’s appetites had been awakened, he’d become a chore to deal with. This was his third time approaching Benedict about resuming their arrangement.
“I can pay you,” Lewes pleaded, going down to his knees and resting his hands on Benedict’s thighs. His soft, manicured hands stroked upward, his gaze fixed on the fall of Benedict’s breeches. “Perhaps not as much upfront, but I’ll make it up, I promise. Please …”
Benedict pushed the invading hands away from his buttons and rose to his feet. “Get up. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Only because you so skillfully introduced me to pleasures I could never have imagined, only to take them away. I’ll give you whatever you want if you only consider it.”
Benedict stepped around Lewes. “For Christ’s sake man, have some pride! You’re kneeling on the rug like a besotted fool. I will not tolerate you accosting me.”
“I can be discreet … you know I can!”
Benedict paused halfway to the door, a sudden thought occurring to him. “Are you acquainted with Miss Cynthia Milbank?”
Lewes staggered to his feet. “Miss Milbank? I wouldn’t say I’m particularly familiar with her, but we have encountered one another on occasion.”
Benedict advanced on Lewes, making the other man yelp with fright as he took hold of his lapel and jerked him closer. Lewes stood several inches shorter than Benedict, and had to crane his neck to gape up at him. Benedict stared into fearful eyes and searched for any glimmer of dishonesty or malice. The man had been upset at being cast aside. Had he then retaliated by ousting him to Cynthia?
“Did you happen to encounter one of her servants at a molly house?” he demanded.
Lewes’s mouth gaped open, unintelligible sounds of protest emitting from within. “I say! What an accusation for you to make! I’ve never stepped foot inside such an establishment!”
Benedict stared Lewes down, but aside from the terror of a man poised on the other end of his fist, there was nothing. He released Lewes, reminding himself that paranoia would only lead to irrational action. What he needed was to clear his head and think rationally.
“The London Gossip is on to me and the other courtesans, so you would do well to keep your distance,” he said.
Lewes pressed a hand over his mouth, chin trembling while he gazed about the room as if searching for an escape route. “Dear God. How?”
“You don’t need to worry about that. I intend to put a stop to her machinations. Do as I’ve said and stay away from me if you value your reputation.”
Lewes’s cheeks flushed pink as he moved toward the door with disjointed, clumsy movements. “Yes, of course … I … I’m sorry, I … I’ll go.”
Benedict sank back into his chair once Lewes was gone, bracing his head in his hands. He felt as if a sword hung over his head, but he couldn’t move from beneath it because more deadly blades surrounded him on all sides—threatening both his security and his sanity. There must be a way out; he simply needed to find it.
CHAPTER 5
“Mrs. R, the wife of London’s most adored painter, is said to be approaching her time of confinement. We await with bated breath to find out whether Baby R will be a
girl or a boy. Those who haven’t yet placed their bets at White’s ought to make haste—there isn’t much time left.”
-The London Gossip,27 January 1820
Alex paced from one side of the drawing room to the other, hands clasped behind his back. He trembled with anxiousness and anticipation, waiting for the moment Ben would appear. What he had overheard while eavesdropping outside a drawing room during the ball had shaken him to his core. He wasn’t ashamed to have spied on Ben, desperate for any hint of what his bizarre exchange with Cynthia Milbank had been all about. Before marrying Katherine and leaving London, Alex had known of Mr. Milbank’s plans to ingratiate himself into the ton, and that they included his only child—a daughter. Rumors had begun to swirl that he’d become fast friends with Viscount Sterling. It was easy enough to deduce that the two fathers had marriage on the mind, but Alex had never thought Ben might acquiesce to such a scheme. Ben was stronger than him and didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body. Yet, seeing him dance with her and watching what appeared to be an intense conversation, Alex had found himself questioning his beliefs.
After the waltz, Ben had retreated in the company of his presumed mistress, and Alex couldn’t allow such an opportunity to pass him by. He had followed them, watching from the shadows of the corridor as they entered one of the drawing rooms. Alex thought it odd for Lady Browning to leave alone, and his curiosity had been piqued when another gentleman appeared from the other end of the corridor, melting away from the darkness to be illuminated by firelight once he’d opened the door.
