Page 46 of Love in the Time of Scandal
This was not helping. She prowled about the room, straining for any other inspiration. She needed an idea that did not rely on a husband who adored her, because Benedict did not. She needed a plan that also didn’t require complete disclosure, because she’d given her word to keep Olivia’s secret. Perhaps if she could get him drunk... and in a good mood... and distracted... Slowly her restless feet came to a stop. That might not be such a bad idea. It had worked out rather well the previous night, and if she had time to plan and scheme... Once again she thought of the red ribbon issue. Yes, that might suit her very well indeed.
Chapter 16
It was late when Benedict reached Mivart’s. He took his weary horse to the stables and trudged up the stairs, hoping Penelope was still awake. He hadn’t meant to be this late, although he also hadn’t rushed back. It had proven harder than expected to leave his mother and Stratford Court, knowing explicitly that he was no longer welcome to return. For all the bad memories he had of the place, it was still his childhood home, where he’d been born and raised. And he could only hope he hadn’t caused a dangerous rift between his parents. His mother didn’t deserve to suffer for his actions.
He let himself into the suite and unbuttoned his coat, wondering how long it would take to have some supper sent up and if he could stay awake that long. A shower of dust drifted out of the folds of his coat; his valet would have a real job, cleaning his clothing and boots. He had shrugged off his jacket and begun untying his cravat when he realized he was not alone.
His bride was curled up on the small settee, her hair down around her shoulders and her bare feet peeking from the folds of her white dressing gown. One arm was draped over the side of the settee as she watched him.
“You’re awake,” he said in surprise. Almost at once he shook his head. “Obviously. It was a long ride, forgive me.”
“I waited up.” She shifted, and some of her dressing gown slid off the cushions to pool on the floor, baring her ankles.
Benedict tried, and failed, to look away. She had very finely shaped ankles, and legs, and breasts, all of which he’d seen the previous night. He undid his waistcoat and pulled off the cravat, feeling much less tired all of a sudden. “I’m glad.”
“Really?” She put her head to one side. “Why?”
“It’s a pleasure to come home to a beautiful woman.”
Her lips pursed up in that tempting, kissable way. “Flattery, sir.”
“But true,” he countered.
She lowered her eyelashes, though not before he saw her roll her eyes, and a small smile curved her lips. “Thank you.” He almost blinked in astonishment at the peaceful exchange, and then she added, “May I pour you a drink? You must want one after your journey.”
Wordlessly he waved one hand in assent. She got up and went to the sideboard, where she poured a generous glass of wine. “How was your ride?” she asked as he took a long sip.
“Long.”
“And how did your parents take the news?”
Benedict took another drink. It was hardly fair to tell her his father’s reaction. Someday he would have to explain about his family, but tonight... It was too long and grim a story, especially when there were much more promising possibilities at hand. “With some surprise.” Penelope waited expectantly, but he led her back to the settee. “It’s not an interesting tale. I hope I didn’t wake you when I left.”
She laughed, sitting on the settee like a child, with her feet tucked under her legs. “Oh no. My ability to sleep in the morning is unrivaled. Abigail used to swear it would take a cannon shot outside the window to wake me.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” He was still holding her hand. She had lovely hands, exactly how a lady’s hands should be. He stroked his thumb over the gold ring on her third finger. His ring; his bride. His beautiful, wealthy, suddenly friendly bride. “You deserved to sleep.”
Her glance was sly. “After all that brandy, who would not?”
Benedict shifted, turning more to face her. “Yes, after all that brandy... among other things.”
She widened her eyes. “Other things? I don’t remember aught after the brandy.”
“Truly?” He leaned forward until their noses almost bumped. “You don’t remember this?” He touched his lips to hers.
“Why, no!” she said in affected surprise. “Did you kiss me last night?”
“More than once.”
“Oh my.” She tipped her head to one side. “It must not have been as bad as you expected.”
His brow wrinkled. “What?”
“You used to look at me as though you’d like to strangle me.”
His gaze drifted down to her neck. The pulse at the base of her throat was quick. He brushed one finger over that point, then let it slip down her breastbone. “If I ever thought that, it was so long ago I can’t remember it.” His finger met the edge of her dressing gown, which he nudged aside. “No, I don’t think I ever wanted to do that.”
“Then what were you thinking when you glared at me?” For all her challenging questions, Penelope wasn’t doing a thing to hinder his exploration; she even leaned back into the arm of the settee.
