Chapter Ten

July 22, 1815

For the past two days, Benedict had spent the time with Traverston fishing, camped outside for two nights, and when they were hungry, they'd gone into the village for breakfasts, dinners, and copious amounts of ale at the tavern.

After that night he'd spent in Marjorie's bed, he'd felt almost like his old self, and since he owed his time and attention to his dearest friend, that is exactly what he'd done. The widow hadn't minded, for she'd been perfectly happy ensconced in his library surrounded by books. Apparently, her husband hadn't cared for her penchant for reading or improving her mind. Beyond that, she had seemed genuinely pleased he wanted to get outside.

And that endeared her to him even more.

Now that he'd come home after feeling that he'd renewed his friendship with the earl, he was anxious to see Marjorie again. He'd had a bath, and part of him had hoped she might have interrupted him during that time, but she didn't, so he'd been forced to talk with his valet, who tried to hint at his relationship with the widow, but Benedict remained noncommittal.

Finally, with a stomach rumbling from hunger and teatime nearly upon him, he went off in search of her.

He met the butler on the stairs coming up as he was going down with a silver pitcher in one hand. "Trenton, do you know Mrs. Stowe's location?"

The older man grinned. "I believe she is in the ballroom with the Earl of Traverston. She'd mentioned in passing at breakfast this morning that she wished to learn a few English dances, and the earl said he would be happy to teach her."

"Of course he did." If it was Traverston's intention to make him jealous or declare himself, that would only partially work. Jealousy stabbed through his chest, but he nodded at the butler. "Thank you. I'll seek her out there."

"Very good, Your Lordship." Trenton shot him the ghost of a grin. "One, and one thing more?"

"Yes?" One of Benedict's eyebrows cocked in question.

"Regarding Mrs. Stowe. It has been rather pleasant having her here these past two weeks, hasn't it?"

"She has certainly brought a breath of fresh air into everything." That he hadn't expected, and every day he was coming to look forward to seeing her merely to discover what she would do or say next.

"If you don't mind me saying, it has been over two years since we lost the marchioness. It might be good for all of us if you could see yourself engaged to a strong woman such as the widow."

His jaw immediately tightened. "I don't need the reminder, Trenton." The arrival of Marjorie had done wonders to smooth over the loneliness and maudlin mood he'd been trapped in since Phoebe took her life, yet was it a betrayal to his wife's memory if he sought out anything else from the widow beyond bed sport and companionship?

"I meant no disrespect, Your Lordship. I only meant that you and she have been getting on well as of late, and she's lovely to every member of the staff down to the stablehands and the scullery maids. She has even been helping some of them learn to read and write if they weren't able to do that before."

"Oh? I wasn't aware of any of that." And she'd done it all without bragging or even mentioning it. Because that wasn't her style. His chest swelled and he allowed a small grin.

"She says that being literate is the greatest power anyone can have in this world. She says everything starts with the written word."

Indeed, it did. "Thank you for telling me. It makes me proud to know she is such a favorite with my staff."

"My pleasure, Your Lordship. She is unlike anyone else I have ever met, even if she is an American."

"That doesn't matter, my friend. Perhaps it takes an American to make us all relearn things we should have been doing all along." Then he continued his way until he reached the ballroom. As he peered into the room, he frowned to see Marjorie in Travertson's arms as they danced a Viennese waltz while a maid played the pianoforte. When her laughter tinkled through the empty room, his frown strengthened. The earl was certainly charming, and he was employing the grin he reserved only for those ladies who had particularly caught his eye.

Did he want Marjorie for his countess? Another wave of jealousy smacked into his chest and his heart squeezed. The dress of lavender muslin stamped with green vines suited her frame, and with her blonde hair pinned into a loose chignon, awareness skittered over his skin, for that was how he liked her tresses best. Yet obviously, if the widow favored his friend more than him, that was her inclination, but wasn't he superior to Willian in every conceivable way?

Except the earl never entertained thoughts of liberating himself from this mortal coil.

"Well, isn't this a cozy little scene?" he asked in a soft voice as he entered the room.

The maid immediately stopped playing. She scrambled to her feet and curtsied. Benedict dismissed her from the room, but Marjorie called after her.

"Thank you for your lovely music, Anna!"

The earl brought Marjorie's hand to his lips and kissed the back. "The fascinating widow Stowe was indulging me in a waltz. She wanted to know how English dances differed from American ones, so I agreed to show her with alacrity." A knowing light appeared in his eyes. "She's a delightful armful."

Well, damn. "Indeed, she is." And she is mine. The thought shocked him, but more and more, he was coming to believe it was true.

"In fact, I was thinking of asking her to come up to the Highlands with me because she told me that her cousin's plan for her had fallen through."

Surprise lined Marjorie's face. She glanced at Benedict. "I have no intentions of traveling any time soon as I'm perfectly happy where I'm at unless I choose to return to America."

Had they both conspired against him to make him offer for her? He rather doubted it, but after the conversation with the butler, he was paranoid.

Enough of such nonsense. He walked over to their location and held out his hand. "Well, I would be all too delighted to lead the widow around the ballroom and show her how skilled even the English can be with the continental waltz if you'll allow?" he asked of her while completely ignoring the earl, who snorted as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

Amusement shone in her eyes. "That is acceptable, but you frightened off our pianist."

"There is no need for music for a man with enough talent on the dance floor."

Traverston briefly pointed his gaze to the ceiling. "Obviously I can take the hint, Syn." To Marjorie, he flashed a grin. "This has been a lovely interlude, but unless I miss my guess, the marquess will land me a facer soon for daring to dance with you."

Marjorie waved a hand and tittered. "Surely not."

He huffed and favored Benedict with another grin, this time both knowing and mocking at the same time. "I'll leave Mrs. Stowe in your capable hands."

"I would appreciate that." He glanced at Marjorie in time to catch a faint blush staining her cheeks. Was she remembering the last time his hands were on her person? Perhaps that wasn't a bad idea to keep reinforcing that thought. He didn't want the earl to turn her head. "Until dinner, Traverston."

With a wink at her, the earl left the ballroom and pulled the door quietly closed after him.

Once alone, Benedict wriggled his fingers until she slipped hers into his palm. "Did you have a good dancing session with Traverston?" He made a concentrated effort to rein in his jealousy.

"I did." She simpered up at him as he tugged her into his arms in preparation for the waltz. "Did you enjoy fishing with the earl?"

"Indeed. It was much needed. Thank you for suggesting it." The scent of lilacs teased his nose. He leaned close and put his lips to her ear merely to smell that floral bouquet. "Though I will admit, I missed you."

"Hush. You would have come to the realization by yourself." She playfully swatted his arm with a hand. "I'm glad your friendship is as strong as ever."

"As am I." Knots of concern pulled in his gut. "What were you discussing with William? Surely his charm hasn't gone to your head."

"Of course not. He merely enjoys teasing you." She laid a hand upon his sleeve. "Mostly he talked about you in a very flattering light. He only wants you happy and at peace."

"That is good to know, and for what it's worth, I am trying. Some days are more difficult than others."

"That's understandable. Neither of us can ask you for more than that."

He nodded. "Shall we begin?" The dance or a lifetime together? At this point, he didn't know himself, and honestly, it was a refreshing change from thinking about death.

"Did you have a doubt?" A sigh escaped her when he settled a hand at the small of her back.

"Sometimes, doubt rears its head, especially since I have come to know you better." Applying slight pressure on her back set them into motion as the waltz began and he hoped she might have some sort of music in her head. "How does your ankle fare? Perhaps a dance isn't the best thing for you."

Her hand trembled in his. "It is well enough. Only twinges occasionally, but I wouldn't miss this time with you."

"Is that honesty or flirting, Mrs. Stowe?"

The truth reflected in the blue pools of her eyes. "Absolute honesty."

As if he'd been given permission to finally draw breath, Benedict grinned, and it felt all too right being here, doing that, having her in his arms as he twirled her about the room. "Thank you for the hope."

"You are welcome and I'm glad for it, Lord St. Synedon."

A piece of his heart flew into her keeping. "Ah, Marjorie, my Marjorie." Then he was lost to the nuances of the waltz and the implied romanticism therein. His wife had enjoyed dancing, it didn't matter the set, and it was no different with Marjorie. With each turn, with every step, he fell into the blue depths of her eyes, stared so long that his soul touched hers, even more closely than it had the night he'd sneaked into her bedchamber. The incredible welcome, the building warmth that wrapped him in a cocoon relaxed the tension in his shoulders he'd been carrying for far too long. The knots in his gut released, and for the first time in a long while, the pain radiating around his heart ebbed. In this woman it was entirely possible he'd found perhaps everything he'd ever wanted since his wife had died… if he'd only let himself complete the fall.

Therein lay the rub. If he did that, would he betray everything he had before? Would his family and wife suddenly mean… less?

When he pulled her incrementally closer, hoping that she might provide him with wisdom or perhaps courage, she trembled. "Would that I had the courage in this moment to say what I am feeling, but I haven't been accustomed to that for far too many years, and I fear it ushered in the gulf between Phoebe and me."

He didn't want to make the same mistake twice.

Tears shimmered in her eyes, leaving them luminous. The whisper of her skirting rasped in the silence as they moved over the floor. "You've had that power all along." The lilac scent of her wafted to his nose, enhancing the emotions building in his chest.

"Have I? I wonder."

"Don't say something prematurely until you are ready. I'm not going anywhere." Her chin quivered, as did her hand that rested upon his shoulder. She continued to hold his gaze. Tiny silver flecks swam through her irises adding to his fascination.

How have I been so fortunate as to stumble upon you? "There is comfort in that uncertainty if we choose to go at the future together." He tugged her closer still, enough to put his lips to the shell of her ear once more. "I've never met anyone like you; what you make me feel—think—thrills me and terrifies me by turns."

Her chuckle was on the breathy side. "You do the same to me," she managed to say in a choked whisper. When her steps stumbled, he wrapped his arms around her and held her steady. The flutter of her pulse in her neck matched the racing of his own. "Syn?"

"Hmm?" The spell from the dance had broken, but a different sort of magic fell over him, the same sort he felt every time he was in her presence.

"Please hold me. I am suddenly feeling both confused and excited, and I don't know which side I'll land on."

In this moment, he might just do anything for her. "You'll always have shelter with me." He held her close, and his lips pressed to her temple. "There is no need to rush off to America so soon."

"I appreciate that; already many members of your staff feel like family." She slipped her arms around his shoulders, and as she furrowed her fingers into the hair at his nape, a shiver of need lanced down his spine to lodge in his shaft. "I… After all those years wasted with my husband, after being treated so differently by you, I…" There were emotions in her eyes he dare not put a name to in the event he might be wrong.

"I know." Benedict cupped her cheeks, held her head between his palms and then claimed her lips in a kiss so tender he was in danger of revealing feelings he hadn't sorted for himself.

"Oh, Benedict…" Marjorie lifted onto her toes to better return his overture.

The sound of his name on her lips was dizzying indeed. He moved over her mouth as if he wished to memorize every contour and detail. When he eased the tip of his tongue along its seam, she opened for him, invited him in, and moaned when the kiss deepened. One of his hands traced her spine, and as he squeezed her arse, brought her closer still to his body, the press of his aroused member twitched for he needed all of her.

Again.

"Marjorie, I…" He dragged his lips beneath her jaw, along the column of her throat, and as he kissed her, he walked her backward over the open floor until the nearest wall prevented further movement. Not able to stop himself, Benedict licked a path around her bodice. She arched her back, giving him a clear invitation.

"Hmm?" The widow clung to his shoulders and returned his kisses with the fervor he'd come to expect from her.

"It is nothing that can't keep." At least until he could make sense of his thoughts and feelings. Benedict slid his hands up her back. He quickly undid the laces of her gown, and when the garment sagged about her breasts, he tugged the bodice down. "So gorgeous."

"One would think after seeing my bosom so many times, you would grow tired of it," she said, and her voice was decidedly breathless.

"Obviously you have much to learn still regarding me." He palmed her breasts, kneaded them until she shivered, and then with a chuckle, he worried the nipples into tightened peaks. Never would he grow tired of these charms.

"Such a rogue. Isn't that what the British people call men like you?" She lifted a hand, and with her fingers at his nape guided his mouth to one of the pebbled buds.

"Perhaps you bring out that side of me." Nearly lost, Benedict shifted attention to the neglected nipple, and a shuddering moan escaped her.

"I can't help but think that is a good thing."

"Mmm." It would explain the strong connection between them, the unexplained comfort and attraction that had smacked into him upon their first meeting. Every time he was with her, he grew more and more intoxicated on her. "However, if you prefer a man like Traverston for more meaningful conversation or these little trysts…" He took one of her hands, and then slowly, kissing the flesh of her arm as he went, he watched her merely to see the reaction in her eyes.

"Don't act like an idiot more than you can help, Syn."

The gentle admonishment made him grin. "I do apologize, but I had to know." When he gave her other arm the same attention, she trembled.

"Live in the present, and don't worry what might come next."

"I am trying." It was much easier to do while in her company, though. He traced his fingers down the side of her face.

"I know, and that means… everything." Emotions shadowed her eyes, but she smiled. "Just because you are broken, or have been broken, doesn't mean you still don't have worth. Trust me. I know this too."

His chest tightened. "I fear I am coming to rely on you far too much." If she left because he didn't know if he could marry again, would that leave him completely devastated? Unwilling to answer himself, Benedict slid his fingers into her upswept hair. "But I thank you for what you have given me."

"You are most certainly welcome, because in you, I have reclaimed a sense of adventure and wonder I thought I'd lost long ago." Marjorie tugged on his cravat as tears gathered in her eyes. "That is a miracle unto itself," she said in a choked whisper.

Never had he had such an emotional conversation that didn't center around death, and it was… lovely. Needing an outlet and to show her how much she was coming to mean to him even if he couldn't say it, he crushed his lips to hers, and so much feeling lay behind the kiss that need and something stronger shivered down his spine. And he didn't stop kissing her until she clung to his lapels.

"I adore it when you are possessive and powerful." She stared up at him, nipped the underside of his jaw. "Will you be that man now?"

"I'll wager I can be whichever man you want." Was it truly him saying such flowery words? Nearly three sheets to the wind on her, he drew up handfuls of her skirting.

"Good." She curled a hand about his nape while she manipulated the buttons of his frontfalls with the other. "Give me all of you. I want… everything." When his hardened length fell heavily into her palm, he gave in to a shiver of need so strong the reaction baffled him.

There was nothing else to say, so he put a hand beneath one of her thighs and encouraged her leg upward. She hooked it about his hip, anchoring her heel into his backside. Her body was completely open to him, and the tip of his member glanced along her sensitive flesh. "For whatever reason, in whatever capacity, for however long, you are mine, Marjorie. Never forget that."

"Oh, Benedict." She kissed him with a savageness that matched the flood of desire coursing through his body.

When he flexed his hips and buried himself as deep as he could go, she moaned in pure appreciation, as did he. Never had he wanted a woman more, and now he was beginning to think he needed her for far more than to relieve physical lust. "Bloody hell, but this is much like… magic," he murmured and captured her lips once more as he rested his free hand on the wall near her head.

Then there was no more need for words. They communed by touch and the brush of lips. Sighs and sounds of enjoyment and pleasure punctuated the silence of the room. Her fingers dug into his shoulder as he claimed her body the best way he knew how. There was something he'd found in Marjorie that had been missing from his life for far too long. Over and over, he speared into her, couldn't have enough of her, and each time she welcomed him home in ways he'd forgotten.

She pulled him closer with the pressure of her heel to the small of his back. Clearly, she enjoyed the coupling as her eyes shuddered closed; she was beautiful each time they came together.

Watching her, reveling in the tactile feel of her body gliding against his, having her scent infiltrate his nostrils all worked to hasten his trip to the edge. He changed his rhythm as he snaked a hand to her waist, his fingers gripping her skin in the quest to bring her closer, to join them as one, to leave an indelible mark.

"Have you given any more thought to what I offered the other night?" he murmured while putting baby fine kisses beneath her jawline.

"I have."

"And?" He would surely perish, for as his thrusts grew more frantic, he went ever deeper into her honeyed heat.

She met his gaze. Those blue eyes were so cool, so inviting, but they did nothing to dim his ardor… or the feelings which strengthened for her the longer he was in her company. "I think you already know what my answer is."

It could go either way. "You want to become my mistress and live here with me in sin and scandal for the foreseeable future?" Damn, there was too much hope in that inquiry. Would she think him weak? "But it is beyond that. You are quite the amiable companion and wonderful conversationalist, and—"

"Yes, I accept your invitation."

Why the hell were those the sweetest words ever uttered in recent memory? "Truly? I can't promise you anything beyond that, but…"

"I know, and I'll accept whatever pieces of me you'll give because part of you is better than none. Perhaps along the way, you will continue to heal." Then she gave in to a full-body shiver and sigh. "Claim me, Syn. Show me I haven't made a poor decision. Let me know I'm valued beyond what you find in my body."

Oh, God. That wasn't how he wished her to view him, but he couldn't utter the words that sat on the tip of his tongue, couldn't let himself cross over that invisible barrier for when he lost her, his heart would be shredded beyond the wreck it already was. Yet even as he debated with himself, the walls he'd erected around that organ were crumbling about his feet.

Shoving it all to the back of his mind, Benedict continued to work her body as if he were a maestro and she a pianoforte. Harder and harder he pushed so that they slammed against the wall. Deeper and deeper, he stroked. Faster and faster his hips moved, and she clung to his shoulders, meeting him thrust for thrust while he fell down, down, down into the cool blue pools of her eyes.

"I… Oh, I… Ah!" Marjorie broke from reality with a startled cry that turned into a keening wail as she fell over the edge into bliss. She curled her fists into Benedict's lapels as she found release. As her inner walls contracted, the flesh squeezed at his shaft, ushering him to his own release. As she said his name like a litany, he kissed her, taking the sound selfishly into himself.

He thrust once more, a great push that speared her to the wall before he claimed his own moment of satisfaction. Grand pleasure swamped him as his member pulsed and shuddered, and still he kissed her, not wanting the moment to end.

But it did, and as he came out of that passionate fog, a feeling of loss surrounded him. How was it that he could find respite from his storms while with Marjorie so easily? Not wanting to let her go quite so soon, Benedict put his arms around her and held her close, kept holding her until their breathing regulated and his pulse ceased to thunder.

As always, the widow kissed him back, eased her lips down the side of his neck to tease a spot above the knot of his cravat she obviously favored as she set her foot upon the floor. "You are quite potent," she admitted in a whisper that hosted a thread of exhaustion.

"I'm glad you think so." As he stood back from her, he grinned; how could he not? She was a balm for his ego and soul.

"This was wonderful— you are wonderful." Marjorie tugged her bodice into place while he set his own clothing to rights.

"I appreciate the confidence." Urging her to turn about, he secured the laces at the back of her gown, and as he did so, his stomach rumbled. "Perhaps we should order tea. Of course, that means sharing it with Traverston and withstanding his knowing glances."

"It matters not, for I am content." She patted his cheek, and the emotions in her eyes both cheered him and frightened him. "However, you go on to the drawing room. I will freshen up a bit before joining you."

"Right." With a nod, he slipped an arm about her waist and escorted her to the door. "Marjorie?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For everything." That was all he could give her right now.

She patted his chest. "You are welcome. It makes me happy to see you in a better humor." When she smiled, his world tilted, and a piece of his heart went into her keeping. "Let us hurry. I'm famished."

As he went ahead of him into the corridor, he pressed a hand over his heart. I'm in a spot of bother, I believe.