Page 19 of Chasing Benedict
“It is no coincidence that your father and Alex have turned up in London at the exact same time,” Aubrey said. “Call it fate if you like, but I only know that the past has a way of forcing a reckoning, and yours is overdue.”
Benedict clenched his fingers around the brim of his hat. “My father wants to arrange a marriage for me under threat of commitment to an asylum. Should I capitulate to such areckoning?”
Aubrey’s expression melted into one of empathy and sadness. “Of course not. I only meant that you will have to settle matters with him eventually. Running away or rebelling will only make him more determined. As for Alex—”
“He has been made to understand that nothing more will happen between us. I’m finished with him.”
Aubrey slowly shook his head, eyes lowered as he rifled through a ledger sitting open on his desk. “I don’t think you are. I cannot tell you what you ought to do, but if our friendship means anything to you, you will listen. There is more to what happened between you and Alex than you understand. I realize he hurt you, and you have every right to be angry with him. But, the two of you were inseparable for years. He loved you, Benedict, you know he did. Has it never occurred to you to find out his reasons for calling off your plans and marrying Katherine?”
“He did it because he’s a coward,” Benedict growled. There was a wall behind him in danger of having a fist-sized hole smashed into it. “And apparently, he didn’t love me as much as we thought, because he never bothered to explain himself. Why should I hear him out now?”
Aubrey didn’t meet Benedict’s heated gaze, casually flipping through his ledger book and making notes here and there with a pen. “Why, indeed?”
As Aubrey seemed inclined to remain silent, Benedict didn’t bother offering a farewell. He stormed from the office, ignoring the questioning stares of Lucy and Kit. His carriage waited where he had left it, allowing for a swift escape.
He didn’t have the time or the strength to expend on these matters of Alex and his father—not when Cynthia Milbank had the ammunition to destroy his life and the lives of those he held most dear. He was in control, always, and he would not be made to feel guilty for shunning Alex’s ridiculous notions of reconciliation.
The future spread before him, a path that was his to forge and shape as he saw fit.
Nothing and no one would dictate that path to him.
LADYCELESTEBROWNING,dowager Countess of Langford, had been Benedict’s saving grace the past several years, and continued to be so this evening as she walked into the ballroom of the Duke and Duchess of Avonleah on his arm. As a pair, they attracted quite a bit of notice, almost every eye in the room following their progress into the throng of guests. Benedict had timed their arrival with precision, wanting to be seen by as many people as possible—including Cynthia Milbank.
Petite and ethereally lovely, with inky black hair and startling blue eyes, Celeste was used to being the center of attention. Of course, the rumors that she had murdered her husband to gain his fortune only made her a more polarizing figure amongst theton—her association with Benedict adding fuel to the fire. She handled it all with grace and aplomb, head held high as she clung to his arm and smiled at those who gaped at her like an exotic bird in a menagerie.
She had been posing as his mistress to mask the truth of his predilections, with no care for what it would do to her reputation. Her state of widowhood had freed her to act as she pleased, and being one of the few friends who knew the truth about him made Celeste the perfect ally. When he visited her townhouse three nights a week, it wasn’t to go to her bed, but to use one of her spare bedrooms for his own purposes. The various men who had paid to keep him came there for their pleasure, ensuring both their secrets were kept safe.
Thankfully, he had been without a client for the past two months and was in no mood to take another. The commission he earned from the arrangements of the other courtesans kept him comfortable, and Aubrey had been right about his savings. After losing everything to speculation once, he had become smarter about managing his funds. He had enough to live on for years to come if he was careful.
“My God,” Celeste murmured as Benedict halted a passing footman and procured a flute of champagne for her. “One would think they’d never seen a courtesan and her cull before.”
Benedict’s cheek twitched with a smile that never came. “If only they knew the truth.”
Celeste sipped her champagne, scanning the room with eyes that missed nothing. “If it didn’t mean the ruin of us all, I would dearly wish for them to know the truth. Can you imagine the delicious scandal it would cause?”
“I do and I have … every day for the past three years or so.”
Releasing his arm, she gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. Of course I don’t want you and your friends to be exposed.”
He waved her off. “Think nothing of it. Now go … mingle and dance and make every woman in this room green with envy. I will find you later.”
Flicking open a painted fan, she wafted it before her face while sauntering through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with those shamelessly slavering over her.
Benedict moved in the opposite direction, scanning the crowd for his unwitting prey. She had only ever presented herself to him wearing veiled hats to conceal her identity, but could do no such thing tonight. Try as he might, he’d never forgotten her face—mottled red and soaked with tears as it had been the last time he saw her. Her false innocence and wiles hadn’t been enough to trick him then, and they wouldn’t sway him now. Benedict knew Cynthia Milbank for the viper she was, and intended to make that clear at the first opportunity.
As he weaved through the occupants of the room, pausing to greet acquaintances, a sudden foreboding trickled down his spine. He was being watched, quite intently. He took his time seeking the source of the prickle on the back of his neck, expecting to be confronted by Cynthia. Instead, it was Alex who locked eyes with him from a short distance away.
He stood near a potted plant on the periphery of the crowded ballroom, lifting a half-empty champagne flute to his lips while staring unflinchingly at Benedict. Despite wanting to present Alex his middle finger and storm off, Benedict was held in the other man’s thrall, powerless to resist the siren’s call of those striking brown eyes.
Gritting his teeth, Benedict reminded himself all the reasons his attraction to Alex didn’t have to mean anything. He’d fucked at least six of the men in this room—though he hadn’t made his way through enough of the guests to be certain there weren’t more. He liked his men tall and broad in the shoulders, firm but not too bulky, dark-haired. He had a weakness for full, plush lips, much like the ones Alex pressed against the rim of his glass.
This was a matter of primal instinct, nothing more. That Benedict could admire the cut of a dark blue coat that hugged Alex’s shoulders and arms to perfection, or the way his silk breeches clung lovingly to powerful thighs only meant he’d gone too long without a man in his bed. His mind had been occupied with other matters, but he could rectify that whenever he wanted. Aside from a long list of past clients who would leap at the chance to spend a night with him, there were places a man of his tastes could go in London to have his needs met.
Alex approached him now, not bothering to mask the determined set to his face. Short of turning tail to flee, Benedict had no other recourse. Everyone in the room knew he and Alex to be old school friends. To give him the cut in front of the majority of thetonwas to invite speculation and gossip—something he didn’t need at the moment.
So, as Alex came to stand beside him, Benedict turned his attention to the couples on the dance floor. Celeste was among them, engaging in a minuet with a man busy ogling the low cut of her bodice.
Alex’s sugary scent wrapped around him. He stood so close their shoulders brushed, his hand briefly coming against the back of Benedict’s. Alex had been eating sweets again—a pastry coated in sugar and cinnamon if Benedict’s nose hadn’t missed its guess. He would forever wonder how Alex managed to keep such a trim figure while shoving sweets down his gullet.
