“But we don’t love one another. We hardly know one another,” Benny protested.

  “I hardly knew my husband when we wed. It was a different time then, of course. The notion of marrying for love was all but unheard of. Marriages were arranged and, if one were fortunate, there would be some degree of affection that developed in a marriage… but I grew to love my Albert and he grew to love me,” Marguerite confessed. “So keep your mind—and your heart—open to the possibilities. Now, you should be downstairs in the library waiting for him. After all, if he’s forced to break in and one of the staff calls for the watch, that would be more scandal than this house could recover from.”

  Payne climbed over the balustrade of Lady Marguerite’s terrace and approached one of the large floor to ceiling windows that, during the day, would bathe the room in light. It was unlocked and he could see the dim glow of a lamp from inside. Raising the sash, he slipped inside and glanced around. He found her immediately.

  Benny was standing near one of the bookshelves on the far side of the room, her fingers absently tracing the embossed leather on the spines of the books. “You are very punctual,” she said.

  “I would hate to be late for an assignation that I suggested,” he replied smoothly. “And there’s a rather important matter that we should discuss.”

  “And that is?” She didn’t bother to turn, but kept looking at the book shelf and the tomes before her.

  “I do not think we can afford to go about this marriage business in the traditional way. While I hadn’t planned to rush you, after the mood witnessed in the park this morning and the degree of censure directed at your aunt, your sister and your cousin—we should take a more expedient approach… Would you be willing to marry by special license?”

  The book she had plucked from the shelf dropped from her fingers and landed with a thud on the carpet. Immediately, Payne closed the distance between them and crouched down to retrieve it. A glance at the spine showed it to be a collection of Byron’s works.

  “Are you a devotee of the late poet?”

  “Not especially. I was only browsing idly while I waited for you,” she said, accepting the proffered book from him and returning it to the shelf.

  “What do you think of my suggestion, Benny?” he pressed her.

  “Oh… I… well, I had intended to speak with you about that. Aunt Marguerite had suggested the very same thing. She is worried that the consequences of our indiscretion could prevent Cordelia and Charity from being invited to any events for the remainder of the season—thus ruining their chances of finding husbands.”

  “It does not overly tax the mind to imagine that she is correct in her assumptions. Shall I speak to the archbishop then?”

  “We have no other choice.” Benny’s agreement was delivered with resolve but no enthusiasm.

  “Let us have a little experiment,” he suggested. There was no plan, no forethought to what he was about to say. “Come with me.”

  “Where to?”

  “The garden,” he answered, holding out his hand to her.

  She hesitated for just a moment and then placed her hand in his. Payne led her to the same window he had entered from and climbed out, helping her to do the same. It was a cool night, but not overly so. The moon was bright overhead and the skies remarkably clear for London. The last of the seasons’ roses sweetly scented the night air. It was the sort of setting that was perfect for a romantic interlude. But romance wasn’t really in order for them. Theirs was more of a practical arrangement. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be a pleasurable one.

  “Why did you want to come out here?” Benny murmured the question softly, so softly that he had to strain to hear it.

  “Because, for whatever reason, being alone with me inside seemed to be making you nervous. I thought bringing us outside into the night air, at least we would be in familiar territory.”

  A soft laugh escaped her. “I hadn’t considered it but I suppose you are right. This is rather like our first meeting… which was only last night and yet seems more than a lifetime ago.”

  “Momentous decisions have been made in that time,” he said. “And a lifetime of censure has been endured. Most people in our circle, Benny, go their entire lives without ever being touched by scandal. It’s an uncomfortable place to be.”

  “You are speaking from an experience beyond today’s.”

  The observation had been made softly, but it didn’t lack command for that. He knew she wasn’t simply asking for an explanation but demanding one. Given their circumstances, he supposed she was entitled to it. “I have never been betrothed, but several years ago I had an understanding with a young woman by the name of Anne Bardwell. We were terribly young and fancied ourselves terribly in love… in a way that only the very young can, I suppose. But despite my feelings for her, I also wanted adventure.”

  “I can certainly sympathize with that desire. Adventure leads to all sorts of trouble.”

  Payne smiled. “Well, it can. But in this regard, it led to the worst sort. I went off on my grand tour with the idea that our betrothal would be announced upon my return. But when I returned, Anne was gone.”

  “What does that mean? Gone?”

  “She had perished, Benny. In my absence she had been either seduced or taken by force. I cannot say which and she refused to tell anyone what had occurred. But she was left with child.”

  “Is that what… is that how she died?” Benny asked softly. “In childbirth?”

  Part of him did not want to tell her. The truth was so ugly. And he feared that she would hold him responsible for it as others had. But she deserved to know because people would whisper. People would use this new scandal as an excuse to dredge up old ones. If he did not tell Benny about it, someone else surely would.

  “No. She did not die in childbirth. It might have been a mercy if she had… The child was taken from her, given to distant relatives to raise as their own, and Anne simply could not recover from it all. She took her own life. Her family had banished her to a country estate in Cornwall. One that overlooks the sea. In a state of melancholy afterward, she simply walked to the cliff’s edge and didn’t stop.”

  “That is dreadful,” Benny agreed. “How she must have suffered to feel so desperate that death seemed her only choice!”

  “I had gone to her father upon my return and he refused to even see me. Instead, I was sent a note from him that stated Anne had chosen another and I should never speak to her again. Of course, after her death, the truth began to come out—slowly, piece by piece. And I had to accept that I played a part in it.”

  “But you didn’t!” Benny protested loudly. As if realizing that she was about to get them caught, she lowered her voice as she continued, “You did not. Nothing you did contributed to her demise.”

  “My absence did. Had I been here, had I married Anne instead of taking off for the continent, she might have had a very different fate.”

  “Because only unmarried women are the object of seduction or forced liberties? No married women must ever endure the unwanted advances of a man?”

  Payne shook his head. “It isn’t that simple.”

  “It is, actually. Women find themselves the victims of such things simply because they are women, their marital status or innocence aside.”

  “It may have been Wainwright… That’s why I was at Vauxhall last night. I had been tracking him. I knew that he often met young ladies or married women along the Dark Walk for his trysts. But when I was left with the option of avenging a dead woman or saving a living one—there was only one choice to make.”

  8

  His decision to save her had cost him the possibility of finding justice for the woman he actually loved. Benny felt a pang in her heart, something deep and dark and perhaps a little selfish. Because she realized that, whatever their marriage might be like, she would never be the wife he wanted. Instead, she would be the wife he’d been stuck with. Trapped. Bound by scandal.

  “You loved her very much,” Benny noted.

  “I was a boy, Benny. I loved the idea of love, I think. Had we married, my feelings for her would have deepened over time, as hers would have for me, I like to think. But no one at the tender age Anne and I were at that time is ever truly in love. Youth makes one too selfish to love well.”

  “You speak about it as if it happened a lifetime ago!”

  “A decade. Not a lifetime, but certainly long enough to give one the benefit of hindsight… But I don’t wish to talk about Anne or what my marriage to her might have been. Not anymore.”

  “Then what do you wish to talk about?”

  His hand shot out, closing around her wrist and pulling her to him. “I think, Benny, that I’d prefer not to talk at all. I want to kiss you again. I want to see if it’s as intoxicating as I remember.”

  Benny didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Instead, she stepped closer to him, feeling the heat and strength of him envelope her. Even as his arms closed about her, he was already lowering his mouth to hers. That first brush was like striking a match to tinder. That same heat she’d felt the night before suddenly roared to life inside her.

  She didn’t need to go to Vauxhall to see fireworks. Apparently she only needed to let this man, Payne Asher, Baron Davenport, kiss her and the entire world was lost behind a veil of shimmering sparks. Everything else simply vanished. Worry, fear, the threat of scandal—even her aunt’s dire warnings to permit nothing but a kiss.

  Lifting her hands, she slid them over his shoulders, around his neck, and locked them together. She could feel the crispness of his short dark hair, the warm skin of his neck. The scents of bay and sandalwood surrounded her and Benny, if she’d had the option, would have wrapped herself up in him at that moment.

  Somehow, they wound up moving across the terrace, toward a small bench that nestled against the back wall of the house, just beyond the double doors that provided access to the terrace from the drawing room. And somehow, they wound up on that bench, Payne seated there, leaned back against the wall of the house while she sprawled across his lap. It never entered her head that she was behaving indecently. That they both were. If she’d had to be entirely honest, she could only say that no thought had entered her head at all. Feeling. Sensation. She seemed to be comprised of that and nothing else.

  His lips left hers, dragging over her skin, pressing kisses to her jawline, to her throat. But when his teeth scraped lightly over the skin where her neck and shoulder met, Benny was simply lost. And so was he. His hands were suddenly everywhere, roaming over her with an insatiable need. Even when he tugged at the sleeves of her gown, the bodice slipping down to reveal the upper swells of her breasts and the stays that did nothing to give her even the hint of décolleté. And yet he did not seem to mind. He did not suddenly push her away, repulsed by the fact that her breasts were comically small. There was no laughter or jeering insults. Instead, he touched her reverently. His hand cupping the small mound and teasing the peak of it with his thumb until she shuddered with pleasure… and with anticipation of something she could not name.

  When his other hand slid into the precarious coiffure, so painstakingly created by her aunt’s maid, pins scattered over the stones of the terrace and the curls tumbled over her shoulders. She had never thought of her hair as being something sensual and seductive. But he certainly seemed to think so. And when she felt the silken strands moving tantalizingly over her skin—in tandem with the scorching kisses he peppered her with and the veritable magic in his fingertips as he teased her breast to a sensitivity she had never anticipated— she had to reconsider. It was if every part of her had been sleeping and suddenly come to life. She could feel everything, taste everything, hear and see everything. And touch… she could touch everything.

  He had not intended for things to go so far. He had not intended to be swept away by the need to taste her, to feel her. If they’d been anywhere else, if it had not been so terribly cold and the stones so hard beneath them, he would have made love to her right there on the terrace. Consequences be damned.

  With her gown pulled from her shoulders and her small, perfect breasts gleaming in the moonlight, he was half mad with wanting her. It happened so suddenly. Instantaneously. But there was no denying the intensity of his desire for her or the fact that her own desires were just as engaged. She might have been innocent, but Benedicta Wylde was living up to her name. This was no shy, terrified virgin in his arms, but a woman with a passionate nature too long denied.

  Then the creaking of the garden gate brought everything crashing to a halt. He knew that sound. Had he not heard it only a short time earlier when he had climbed that gate himself?

  Quickly tugging her dress back up, he lifted her off his lap. “Go inside,” he hissed. “Go inside, close that blasted window and lock it. I’ll return in a moment.”

  “Do not! You cannot go out there unarmed,” she insisted. Clearly, based upon her response, she had heard the sound of the intruder, as well.

  “I am not unarmed,” he replied. “Go! Hurry.”

  When she had slipped in through the window, he took off along the path that wound through the small garden and led to the wooden gate separating it from the mews. But he didn’t open that noisy gate. Instead, he hoisted himself up to the top of the garden wall to scan the area. The sound of carriage wheels alerted him and he swiveled his head to see. Wainwright’s carriage.

  It was distinctive. Elaborately painted and gilded to the point of poor taste, it was impossible to miss. Wainwright had not given up on capturing his kitten, it seemed.

  Climbing back down, he didn’t bother trying to pursue Wainwright. The man was too far ahead, his carriage already leaving the mews behind. It would better serve him just to set someone to watching the man. In the meantime, he needed to warn Benny not to be out alone and to be very cautious if she glimpsed even a hint of Wainwright’s person or equipage.

  Taking the path back to the terrace, he could see the pale oval of Benny’s face peering out from the window. Approaching it, he squatted down and immediately she opened it for him. But he didn’t go inside. They’d taken enough chances already.

  “Did you see someone?”

  Should he tell her? It would work her. Possibly, it would frighten her. But then if she were frightened, perhaps she would be cautious. Torn, he compromised. “I saw a carriage pulling away, but could not say who was in it. It could, possibly, be one of the gentlemen from Vauxhall.” He hadn’t lied. He hadn’t identified Wainwright whose villainy she was familiar with, but it might at least move her to caution.

  “Oh, dear. What could they possibly have wanted?”

  “You, Benny. They wanted you.”

  “But why? Well, I know why,” she said. “Or rather, I understand what for. But why me? It isn’t as if I am a great beauty or terribly desirable.”

  He didn’t trust himself to tell her just how wrong she was on that score. But he did attempt to answer at least part of her question. “Men like this are so jaded, so debauched, that anything resembling goodness or innocence is a novelty to them. And like so many men, they feel entitled to have what they want… Now that they have seen you, now that they know of your existence—I will obtain the license first thing. If I have to pull the Archbishop from his bed myself, I will have it and we will be married tomorrow afternoon. That is the best way for me to keep you safe and to mitigate the ramifications of all of this.”

  He waited for the argument. But it never came. She remained quiet for a moment. When she did finally speak, there was a slight tremor in her voice. “My sister, Delia, sleeps like the dead. But Charity is more like me. She is often up late and will sometimes walk in the garden at night to ease her mind and help her sleep. If she had been—I can’t bear to think of what might have happened to her. If we marry, will they leave me alone?”

  “Some of them. Others, will not. But they will be dealt with… And if you are residing in my home, rather than here, then your sister and cousin will not be in the path of these scoundrels.”

  “Send word where I should meet you,” she replied. “I will be there. No doubt Aunt Marguerite and the entire household will be with me. It will hardly make for a discreet elopement.”

  “We do not want to be discreet. We want gossip to spread far and wide about what we have done. It will help to deter those with nefarious intent.”

  9

  At precisely two in the afternoon, she walked into St. George’s Church as Miss Benedicta Wylde. At precisely ten minutes past two, she walked out on the arm of her husband as Benedicta Asher, Baroness Davenport. It hardly seemed possible that so momentous an occasion could have happened so quickly and with so little fanfare. The vicar had said a few words, they’d said a few words, then everyone had signed the book and now it was done. She was forever more tied to the man at her side, bound in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of God. Was it any wonder that her knees were quaking? She had never fainted in her life, but she was becoming familiar with the urge.

  “Smile!”

  The hissed order had come from her left, from her aunt. Apparently, married or not, she was still under Marguerite’s dominion. Dutifully, Benny pasted a false smile on her face. No doubt it was ghastly.

  “You look as if you stepped on something sharp,” Payne whispered in her other ear. “If you do not want to smile, do not. But for heaven’s sake, don’t do that again.”

  Benny was feeling mutinous. Being told what to do but multiple people, each one contradicting the other, was simply more than she could abide. “Well, let me keep my face devoid of all expression then so that neither faction must be entirely dissatisfied with it!”

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I don’t care. I don’t care if you smile, if you laugh, if you weep or throw yourself to the ground kicking and screaming. Just do not pretend. Do not be what others demand you ought to be to please them. Be only yourself, Benny. That is all.”