Page 6 of Chasing Benedict
Deciding Ben had had more than enough privacy, Alex stood and finished his whiskey with a single swallow. Then, he weaved his way through scattered tables and staggering patrons returning to the bar for more ale, making for the stairs.
Ben was right where the barmaid had said he’d be—the last upper room on the left of the corridor. Alex didn’t bother to knock, simply letting himself in and quickly shutting the door. Ben was seated at a small table before the lit hearth, a half-empty bottle of brandy at his elbow and a plate holding the remnants of beefsteak and potatoes before him. Slumped in the chair with his head rested against its back, he made an imposing sight despite his state of undress. He wore a shirt now, but his feet remained bare, and the rest of his clothing had been strewn across the small bed in the corner. His bruises were wrapped in linen, and the scent permeating the room must be some sort of salve, which made Alex’s eyes water.
He looked as if he had washed, his damp hair pushed back to curl at his neck and ears. Unfocused, bloodshot eyes met his, and Ben scowled.
“Are you reckless, or just plain stupid?” he muttered.
Alex leaned against the door and reached into his breast pocket for the pouch of peppermint sticks stashed there. Ben watched him push one into the corner of his mouth between his cheek and his teeth, eyes narrowed.
“Neither,” Alex replied with a shrug. “Simply curious. Have you grown so bored with normal pugilism? Is that why you engage in underground brawls with drunks and rogues?”
A lopsided smile curved one corner of Ben’s lips as he raised the pint of brandy. “Iama drunk and a rogue.”
Alex couldn’t help smiling back, a burst of sugary peppermint flooding his palette. “I see. A gentleman by day, drunken brawler by night. No one can ever accuse you of being boring.”
The light humor between them dissipated as Ben sat up straight, brandy bottle raised halfway to his lips. “I thought I made myself clear last night.”
“I assumed I had as well.”
Ben’s nostrils flared, his eyes like penetrating daggers of ice as he stared at Alex over his bottle. “So you intend to become my unwanted shadow. Is that it?”
Alex swirled the peppermint stick, noting the spark of heat in Ben’s gaze as he sucked. “Unwanted … I think not. That kiss last night begs to differ.”
Ben swallowed a mouthful of brandy, then snorted. “Youkissedme.”
“And you returned that kiss,” Alex fired back, raising an eyebrow.
“A thoughtless reaction. I would have done the same with any man throwing himself at me.”
“The Ben I knew had higher standards than that.”
“Well, you were the one who taught me to lower my expectations.”
Alex’s teeth clenched around his sweet, severing it in half. He deserved that verbal jab, and they both knew it. Finishing off the peppermint stick, he retrieved a handkerchief and used it to clean his hands.
“You cannot frighten me away,” he insisted. “I came to London for you and don’t intend to leave until I’ve earned your forgiveness.”
Ben slammed the bottle onto the table, slowly rising to his feet. “On the day London is overrun with flying pigs, you may expect my undying forgiveness. Now sod off.”
“Ben—”
“I waited for you,” he said suddenly, pausing halfway to the bed and whirling to face Alex. “For hours. I was committed to our plan. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, and you left me waiting in the rain with every possession I cared about packed into trunks. I stood in the wet and cold, not caring whether I succumbed to lung fever or some other sickness … so long as you came, I would survive. As each minute passed, I kept telling myself that you were coming. Something had delayed you, but you would never abandon me.Youwere the brave one, remember? After the second hour, I began to fear you’d been hurt. I paced beside the carriage, imagining you broken and bloodied on the side of the road—waylaid by an accident or a violent highwayman or …”
Ben clamped his mouth shut and turned back to the bed, snatching up his waistcoat. Alex’s heart dropped into his belly, which twisted with an overwhelming mix of guilt and shame. He’d never known any of this, as he and Ben never had the opportunity to talk after that fateful night. He was right that Alex had been stopped from coming to him—but not by an accident or a highwayman. The force keeping them apart had been far more powerful than that.
“Things were happening that you knew nothing about,” he protested feebly. “I tried, Ben, I … I wanted nothing more than to run away with you. I wanted it so badly.”
“You never came!” Ben roared, whirling to face him with his waistcoat hanging open, face flushing red. “I waited until sunrise like some idiotic, besotted chit, convinced you would arrive! Then, to see the announcement of your engagement to Katherine in the papers only days later …” Ben pressed a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and sighed, shaking his head. “No, I do not care to hear your explanation now when you never bothered to make one back then. I learned all I needed to know the day I sat in St. George’s and watched you bind yourself to someone else. Just because her life conveniently ended doesn’t mean I’m eager or desperate enough to have you back.”
Alex watched Ben finish dressing in silence, his usual skill for words failing him. During the journey from Kent, he had ruminated over all the things he wanted to say and how he wished to express them. Just now, his mind was a jumbled mess of words unsaid, all of it fighting to slip off his tongue at once.
All he could manage was a pathetic, “I’m so sorry.”
Now fully dressed—though his open shirt and lack of cravat made him look as much a rogue as ever—Ben pinned Alex with a baleful glare. “You should be,” he spat before taking up his brandy and thundering from the room.
Alex slumped against the wall, each of Ben’s heavy footfalls on the steps resounding through him like a nail being hammered into his chest. The wound Alex inflicted had festered over time, and now there might be no healing it. By coming here, was he only tearing into a painful scar? Was it selfish of him to pursue Ben, knowing how hurt he had been by Alex’s actions?
Spotting a crumpled, abandoned cravat atop the neatly made bed, Alex went to it. Sinking onto the lumpy mattress, he took up the linen and pressed it to his nose with a deep, slow inhale. Ben still smelled of laundry starch and clean, earthy Bay Rum. No fuss, simple and compelling—like the man himself. He was such a sharp contradiction to Alex, who collected scents, colored cravats, and eclectic waistcoats, and was as fussy about his appearance as a debutante. It was a wonder they’d ever come to love one another at all. The sheer impossibility of it reminded Alex of his determination. Some things were simply meant to exist, and he could never be convinced that he and Ben as a pair weren’t among those things. It wasn’t selfish to want to make everything up to Ben, to make right what he had broken.
