Page 57 of Love in the Time of Scandal
When they reached home, he undressed to his shirt and trousers, then dismissed his valet. Through the door he could hear the murmur of Penelope’s voice talking to her maid. Benedict prowled the room restlessly. He felt vital and alert, as tense as a soldier on patrol at the front lines.Ravish her, whispered the unknown woman’s voice in his ear. He paused at the writing desk by the window and opened the top on impulse. Sure enough, there lay a copy of that wicked, wonderful pamphlet. He flipped it open and began to read. Penelope must favor this one, for she’d left it close at hand.
And no wonder. God Almighty.
Lady Constance—if that’s who the lady in brown velvet had been—was right. He really needed to ravish his wife.
Chapter 19
It was only through an act of great patience that Penelope didn’t tear off her dress and run naked into the bedroom.
Lizzie chatted idly as she took away the lovely gilded gown, the one that cost the earth and which Penelope had worn in frustration tonight. She didn’t think the embroidery would dazzle Benedict, but she hoped the low, wide neckline would give him pause. For weeks now he’d retreated into an enigmatic manner that drove her mad. There was no complaint she could make about his behavior; he took her to parties, he danced with her, he made love to her, he dined with her. They even talked, about any topic but the thing that seemed to hang like a dark cloud over them. It was a small cloud, as these things went, but it was there and Penelope could never forget it. She’d called on Samantha twice now, and each time her sister-in-law had kept things determinedly cheery, as if she felt the same compunction as Benedict not to discuss their family.
For a while Penelope had tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her business if the Earl of Stratford was a terrible father, or if he never wanted to see her. She didn’t want to rip open old wounds by asking. But it remained at the back of her mind that Benedict had something he wasn’t telling her, something that had played a vital role in his upbringing, and she couldn’t ignore the hurt that he wouldn’t tell her. It didn’t help that she had an active imagination, capable of filling in a multitude of terrors and horrors that might have beset him as a boy. She was sure the truth couldn’t possibly be that bad... and yet he wouldn’t tell her and acted as if she had no need to know. Perhaps it wasn’t an actualneed, but she was dying of fearful curiosity. Sooner or later it would come out, as terrible secrets always did, and she would rather know and be prepared for it.
But by far the saddest thing was that it threw up a wall between the two of them. She sensed a watchfulness in him, a wariness, even when they were alone in bed. There was none of that warmth and closeness that had enveloped them the night after their wedding, when he held her in his arms and kissed her so affectionately. That had ended when he accused her of seducing him on the sofa for money, but for those few precious moments, she’d thought she had the true Benedict, without his guard up or any scheme in mind.
But perhaps tonight would change that. As soon as she was in her nightgown, Penelope sent Lizzie away and slipped into the bedroom.
Her husband was standing at her writing desk, something in his hand. He looked up at her entrance, and her stomach leapt at the fire in his gaze. Then she registered what he held, and a tide of heat rolled through her.
“You like this one, don’t you?”
Penelope pressed her knees together as she remembered the wicked story in sharp detail. “Yes.”
Benedict fingered the pages, then dropped it on the desk. “Take off your nightgown.”
She blinked, but raised her hands and began pushing one button after another through its hole until the garment gaped open to her belly. His eyes followed every movement of her hands; even in the dim room she could see his face was taut with want. Boldly Penelope ran her fingertips along her collarbones, flicking the nightgown from her shoulders and letting it slide to the floor. He made a choked sound, but didn’t move. “And now?” she asked when he didn’t speak.
He inhaled roughly. “Now undress me.”
She had never walked around naked before, but she sauntered across the room as wantonly as Lady Constance might have done. Her husband’s gaze was fixed on her in hungry fascination, and she’d never felt more beautiful, more powerful. Whatever had been wrong or missing in her marriage seemed to have receded from view. This was the way he’d looked when she settled herself astride him and caressed his cock with her hands before he taught her how to ride him. Penelope was ready for all that to happen again—only this time, she meant for things to end better.
He had already shed his cravat, but she took her time undoing the buttons at the neck of his shirt. His skin felt scorching hot beneath the shirt as she pushed the braces off his shoulders. When she pulled the shirt free of his trousers, she could feel the thudding of his heart. But he didn’t move, except to duck his head when she tugged the shirt over his shoulders.
She touched the fall of his trousers, strained by his obvious arousal. “All the way, my lord?” she whispered. His jaw flexed as he gave a single nod. A thrill of excitement ran through her, all the harder when he cupped one hand around her breast as she worked at the buttons.
“Were you trying to make me jealous by dancing with other men tonight?”
Penelope looked at him through her eyelashes. “Were you jealous?” She’d seen him watching her with a dark, stony look on his face, but until that last moment when he all but dragged her from the floor, her actions hadn’t seemed to affect him much.
“Yes.” His thumb and forefinger curved around her breast and gave her nipple a firm pinch. “I’m always jealous when you smile at another man.”
“Always?” The buttons were undone; she ran her hands around his hips beneath the trousers, dislodging them as she blatantly felt his arse. It brought her chest against his, and she tipped back her head to look him in the face. “What are you going to do about it?”
His eyes darkened before a seductive smile curved his mouth. “I’m going to make love to you until my touch is branded on your skin and you never want another man’s hands on you. I want you enough for ten men.”
“Really?” She pushed his trousers down, and fingered the tie of his smallclothes before pulling it loose. “Ten men?”
He kicked aside his clothing, making no effort to hide his jutting arousal. “Hold out your hands.” Intrigued, Penelope did. He reached over and plucked something from the desk behind him and wrapped it around her wrists, binding them together. Her heart stuttered as she watched him wind the scarlet ribbon around and around before looping it between her hands to hold them tight. “Go to the bed.”
The blood rushing in her ears, she went. At the bed she paused; it was a big one, and with her hands tied it would be awkward to climb up. But Benedict’s hands were at her waist. He lifted her, holding her against him for a moment before letting her down on the mattress. She started to scramble forward, but he threw the end of the ribbon over the top rail of the bed and pulled. Penelope forgot to breathe as he pulled until she was stretched up, bound hands raised to the ceiling. He let out a little slack, until her knees rested on the bed again, and then he knotted it, fixing her there.
She held perfectly still, except for the jarring beat of her pulse. A polished silver vase stood on the table across from her, and she could see herself reflected in it. And then she saw Benedict, darker and larger, behind her.
His hands brushed her waist. “I never wanted to want you,” he whispered next to her ear as his hands idly stroked up. “I knew you would be like a sickness I could never recover from.” At her elbows, he switched from fingertips to fingernails, and lightly scored down the tender undersides of her arms, over her shoulders, around her breast. Penelope writhed and twisted, shocked by the sensation.
“And I was right.” His hands gentled again, flowing down over her belly and around her hips. He moved closer, and she felt his erection nudge between her thighs. Wordlessly she flexed her spine, and he pulled back, only to push forward again, his rigid flesh gliding over her feminine core. “You’re a fever in my blood, the lodestone of my madness. You dazzle me, you delight me, you infuriate me, and I only want more of you.” Leisurely, almost accidentally, his fingers drifted lower, passing through the curls that were already wet. “And I want you to want me the same way.” He swirled one finger around, and Penelope’s eyes rolled back in her head.
“This—this is a good start,” she managed to gasp.
