Page 9 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
She shook her head. “It may seem to be about despair, but I think there is hope at the end. Don’t you agree?”
Benedict nodded. “There is always hope, I think, even in the darkest of times.”
He was standing very close to her now, under the tree that she had been leaning against. He knew that he should go inside, that they should not be out here alone in the darkness, and yet, he could not tear himself away.
***
Alice looked through the gloom at the gentleman standing next to her. She still could not make out the features of his face clearly, even though he had moved much closer to her throughout their conversation.
She reflected that she had never felt so comfortable talking with a gentleman before. She wanted to ask his name, who he was, where he was from, but she also did not want to break the spell between them. She felt a sense of enchantment, as if they were the only two people in the world.
He reached up to adjust his cravat slightly, and as his hand dropped down, it brushed against hers. Alice felt a jolt coursing through her whole body at the feeling of his skin against hers, even though they only touched for a second. Her skin became hot, and she was sure that he would be able to see, to sense her reaction to their touch.
She glanced up at him, to see that his gaze was fixed upon hers. She could feel her own heart pounding in her chest, so hard that she wondered if he could hear it, or sense it somehow.
In a flash, a passage from the romantic novel she had been reading a few days ago came into her mind. The hero took the maiden into his arms, pulled her into a tight embrace and pressed his lips against hers. Alice allowed her mind to conjure up an image, in that moment, of this nameless gentleman doing just the same—taking her in his arms, pushing her back against the tree, and putting his mouth against hers.
She imagined what it would feel like to be that close to him, to have his body pressed against hers. The feeling of the hard bark of the tree against her back. The sensation of his lips meeting hers. Perhaps his hands roaming across her body.
She felt herself becoming hot, and her already pounding heart raced even harder. Between her legs she felt a tingling sensation that she had never felt before; she did not know how to name the feelings that were taking her over.
She sensed a blush rushing up her cheeks as she looked at him and dragged herself back into the present moment.
She took a step back, away from him. How could she have allowed her thoughts to go in such a direction? How could she have allowed herself to be out here with him, alone? The consequences, if anyone discovered them, would be grave indeed, and Alice realized that she must go back to the ballroom, even though in her heart she would have much preferred to spend the rest of the evening out there with the mysterious gentleman.
“Are you quite well, Madam?” he asked her, his voice low and sonorous.
She nodded quickly, hoping that he could not see her blush. She glanced behind her, praying that there was no one nearby. “I must return to the ballroom. I am—I—someone will notice that I am gone.”
He nodded. “I quite understand.” He paused and held her gaze with those smoky grey eyes, and she could not look away. “I will wait here a while, before I go inside.”
She realized that he understood how compromising their situation was, and she was grateful for it. “I… I thank you, Sir,” she replied, then turned, and began to walk away.
She felt an irresistible urge to turn back and look at him, but she tried to fight it. Why did he feel so familiar? Why was his company so easy, so comfortable? And why had her mind gone to such a dangerous place when he brushed her hand? She realized she was breathing hard, almost panting, and she tried to slow her breath. But she could not resist looking behind her.
And there he stood, watching her, his gaze utterly focused on her. That earlier sensation of heat returned to her as she saw him standing in the darkness, watching her. She wanted to run back to him, but she made herself turn away and return to the ballroom.
A shiver of delight shot through her body at the thought that he might be thinking of her too, but as she climbed the steps to the terrace, she tried to push the thoughts away. No one could know where she had been; neither her actual trip to the garden, nor where she had allowed herself to go in her mind.
***
Benedict stood in the garden and watched as she walked away. Why had he not even asked her name? He worried for a moment that perhaps she would think he was rude. But the truth was that their encounter had almost felt unreal, as if they were in a different place, far away from the bustle of the ballroom, and it did not matter who they were. They were simply two people, forming a connection, out there in the darkness.
He blinked and tried to pull himself back into reality. But he found that he could not stop thinking about her, even when she was out of sight. She was not like any other young lady he had ever met before. Her confidence in voicing her opinions was refreshing and he felt that he had barely scratched the surface; there was so much about her that he wanted to know.
He shook his head and began to walk back towards the house. Now was not the time to get distracted by a woman, even one as beautiful and intriguing as she had been. He had to focus on his plan, his revenge. That was all that mattered. But all the same, as he paused briefly on the terrace for a moment, he wished he could have spoken to her for longer.
The heat of the ballroom hit him as soon as he entered the room. The noise levels had increased in the time that he had been absent, and now the dance floor was full of couples whirling around in each other’s arms. There were groups of people gathered all around the room, drinking champagne and gossiping.
He felt a sudden urge to retreat back out into the cool of the garden, but he forced himself to stay. He would find Cecil, engineer an introduction to the baron, and then he could leave.
And yet, as he scanned the room looking for his friend, his mind kept returning to the mysterious young lady in the garden. He could not help it, no matter how hard he tried not to think of her.
He strode purposefully towards Cecil, who was standing chatting with a group of men that Benedict did not know. He thought nothing of doing so—he had been away for such a long time that it was natural that he was out of touch with who was who in society.
He nodded and smiled appropriately throughout the introductions, and joined in the conversation as naturally as he could, but he was relieved when the other gentlemen left them to go and get more champagne.
“Well, you are returned,” Cecil said, once they were alone.
