Chapter Three

No sooner had Benedict carried Marjorie into the manor than the servants erupted into immediate confusion, for it had been ages since he'd invited anyone into his home… not that he'd done that in this case.

And neither was he in the habit of rescuing damsels in distress.

Not knowing what else to do with the enticing bundle currently in his arms, he brought her into the downstairs parlor and gently deposited her onto a low sofa, encouraging her to prop her left foot on a stool with a crushed velvet cushion in a light blue color.

Along with Trenton the butler, Mrs. Perkins, the housekeeper, trailed into the room behind him. The earl brought up the rear, apparently alerted by the sound of raised voices.

"What the deuce happened while you were on that ride, Syn? When I said you needed a woman in your life, I didn't mean plow her over with your damned horse!" Amusement mixed with astonishment in Traverston's voice as he bounced his gaze between Marjorie and Benedict.

"Hardly, but how droll of you to say." Once more, he rested his gaze on the woman he'd found at the wishing well, and again, that immediate jolt of desire he'd felt the first time he'd spied her went through him with enough force to ignite every nerve ending and bring his shaft to attention. "Her horse bolted from the gig she was driving, which caused the vehicle to overturn. She has injured her ankle."

The earl snorted. "And the rest of her? She's rather worse for wear with dirt on her dress and skin."

"It was not from being molested; I can assure you." Not that he hadn't so subtly and briefly explored a few of her curves, especially once on horseback. Those full breasts were quite tempting, and she had been mounted in front of him. If the backs of his hands had brushed the undersides of those mounds, was he truly at fault?

The woman in question blew out a breath. Annoyance reflected in her blue eyes. "I am capable of speaking for myself, Your Lordship." The address was infused with sarcasm that had the corners of his lips twitching.

"Of course." He gestured at her with a hand. "Pray, tell Lord Traverston how you came to be in my wishing well."

A slight blush went through her cheeks. "After the gig overturned and the horse left, I hobbled to the wishing well because I couldn't walk back to my cousin's cottage. So I waited for help to arrive."

The butler, who was rather on the short side with a ring of white hair going around a bald patch on the top of his head, appeared to hang on her every word. To be fair, there was something compelling about the woman, and they very rarely had visitors. "It sounds like quite the trial Mrs…?"

"Mrs. Stowe. Widowed." She nodded and additional loosened tendrils of hair tumbled to her shoulders. "However, I'm glad the marquess came along when he did." When she slid her gaze to Benedict's, another wave of pure lust slammed through him.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Mrs. Perkins softly cleared her throat. "Will Mrs. Stowe stay with us, then?"

Benedict nodded. "Until she can stand and walk. We shall send a missive over to her cousin so there won't be worry."

She exchanged a glance with the butler. "Shall I prepare a room for her?"

"That would be a logical assumption." Usually, his staff was better trained than this, but perhaps the arrival of a female guest had thrown them into confusion. "Put her in the suite that is at the opposite end of the corridor from mine."

Before Mrs. Perkins could reply, the earl inserted himself into the conversation.

"Ah, then Mrs. Stowe will be kept safe, for our mysterious marquess keeps to himself, he never entertains or carouses, and he certainly never does anything wild." He winked at the widow. "You should pass your convalescence in peace."

Bloody hell. "Do shut up, Traverston."

When the widow's lips curved with a smile, his shaft tightened further.

The butler moved toward the door. "Should we summon a doctor or apothecary's assistant to examine Mrs. Stowe's ankle?"

"That will not be necessary but thank you Trenton." Quickly, Benedict shook his head, for he wished to be alone with the fascinating woman. "I will take a look at it myself. After all, Mrs. Stowe was unlucky enough to meet misfortune on my property." He steadily ignored the look of inquiry the earl shot him. "If, after that time, I deem it serious enough to bring in a physician, we shall do so, but if Mrs. Perkins could bring strips of cloth to bind the injury and perhaps a salve to encourage the swelling to diminish, I would appreciate it."

"Of course, Your Lordship." The housekeeper exchanged a glance with Marjorie that brimmed with speculation. Benedict couldn't fault her for that; it was an unusual situation. "I'll supervise the readying of that suite if Mr. Trenton will find the supplies."

"I will." Then he exited the room with the housekeeper.

The earl chose that time to clear his throat. "You know, I would be more than happy to drive you to your cousin's home, Mrs. Stowe. Syn might not have the manners, but I do."

"What a lovely gesture, Your Lordship."

"And one that is not necessary." Benedict narrowed his eyes on his friend. "The widow will be perfectly safe here until she's sufficiently healed." He was much like a cat with a new toy and was selfish about sharing.

"Ah, so she will. I apologize for butting in." Surprise lay stamped on his face, but he said nothing further, much to Benedict's relief. With one last glance at Marjorie, he added, "I suppose I'll just go find something to occupy myself for the remainder of the afternoon."

This time, Benedict allowed a tiny half-grin. "You may talk with her at dinner." With a few chairs between them.

"Thank you for the concession." With a wink at Marjorie, Traverston left the room.

"God, what an arse," he muttered as he approached the low sofa where Marjorie rested.

"I think he's adorable and quite congenial, much more than other men I've met today," she replied with an arched glance at him.

Heat rose up the back of his neck. "Yes, well, he is not me." And for some odd reason, he wanted the beguiling widow to prefer him over his friend. "This is my home, after all."

"Ah, so then you assume my loyalties should lie with you above anyone else?" Though there was blatant teasing in her tone, the words needled.

"I did rescue you."

"A veritable Lancelot, then." At the last second, she stifled a giggle, but it escaped regardless.

"Hardly. I'll wager he was much more honorable and purer in thought than I could ever hope to be." The damned attraction growing between him and her was puzzling indeed. Such a thing hadn't happened since he'd first met his wife, and that was concerning enough, and frankly, it had been far too long. Surely, he didn't deserve to feel thusly any longer, but the longer he remained in her company, the more he couldn't help fantasizing about her lips beneath his or on various portions of his anatomy.

Would it make him the worst sort of cad to ask her for a tryst that meant nothing when they'd only just met?

"Since I have only just met you, I couldn't say, but you didn't have to rescue me. Some men would have left me there at the wishing well. Or worse."

There was that. "I have never forced myself on a woman, if that is what you fear."

"It is not." There was a need, a deep-seated longing in her eyes he couldn't ignore, and he wanted to dig deeper to find out why on both counts.

"Good." He dropped to his knees to one side of the footstool. "While in the military, I served as a makeshift doctor at times, so when I examine your ankle, it is not a frivolous offer." And the task would serve as a distraction from his thoughts, both old and new.

"What an interesting tidbit, Your Lordship. It compels me to discover more."

"Syn, damn it," he whispered. There wasn't time to respond further, for Mrs. Perkins returned with the required items in a willow basket.

"Thank you, Mrs. Perkins. Now, if you will grant us privacy for about an hour while I examine Mrs. Stowe's ankle and wrap it? Afterward, she will require tea, for she will no doubt prove fatigued."

"Of course, Your Lordship." With a lingering glance on Marjorie, the housekeeper removed from the room and pulled the door mostly closed behind her.

"So highhanded of you… Benedict." Then she frowned as she attempted to put her hair back into some semblance of respectability. "Why would I be tired? This whole incident, while inconvenient, was hardly taxing. You did most of the work by carrying me and balancing me on your horse."

Another wave of lust careened through his shaft. Was she aware of how alluring she appeared without even trying? "I rather think it will be everything else that will tax your strength."

"Oh? Does that mean I will meet with some sort of excitement during my stay here?" For the space of a few heartbeats, a come hither look twinkled in her eyes, gone at her next blink.

"Only time will tell." Perhaps fate was teasing him with this temptation in the form of a pretty widow of advanced years. And damn his eyes, but the urge to do wicked things to her merely for the release was growing far too strong. If she ended up slapping his face, he would carry her back to her cousin's home without protest, but that would be such a dreary existence for one such as Marjorie, for there was spirit lurking beneath the surface that he couldn't wait to draw out. "Will you grant me permission to examine your ankle?"

"Of course. How else will we be able to determine the extent of the injury?"

"Thank you." Why the hell were his hands shaking as he removed her half-boot? He'd been around women before, had bedded a few after his wife died. Pushing the thoughts away, Benedict raised the hem of her muslin skirting. The watery blue color encouraged that hue out in her eyes. "Forgive the trespass, but I need to remove the stocking." Then he forced a hard swallow to encourage moisture into his suddenly dry throat.

"Understandable. Let me help you." She hiked her skirting up to her thighs, revealing a beribboned garter just over her knee. Watching him all the while, Marjorie slowly tugged at the ribbon until it unknotted. "Try not to jostle the ankle too much when you remove the stocking," she said in a hushed whisper with a faint flush in her cheeks.

Was that unspoken permission to go beyond a cursory examination of the injured ankle? It was too difficult to say, but then they'd both been speaking in innuendos for the past half hour. As if he were a green boy with his first courtesan, Benedict fumbled for the first few seconds as he urged the silky stocking down her shapely leg. Honestly, he hadn't given thought to her height, but her average frame was perfect, for he stood at nine inches over five feet, and her skin was petal soft. Finally, the stocking came away from her foot, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"The ankle is obviously swollen and there is some bruising already forming." He tenderly felt the skin, checking for broken bones or taut tendons. "It is my belief that this is a strain over a sprain. The muscle was probably tweaked a bit. A week of keeping it elevated should do the trick."

"A week?" Surprise reflected on her face. "Surely, it is too scandalous to stay here that long."

He shrugged. "I'm not certain anyone would care. This is the Lake District not London, and you are a widow besides." After taking a pot of salve from the basket, he slathered the balm on her ankle and the surrounding area. "My estate is sizable, and we are at least five miles away from the nearest neighbor—your cousin. To say nothing that there is plenty of room in the manor that we shouldn't need to see each other if that is something you don't wish."

"And if I do desire that?" The question was posed in a barely there whisper, so that he had to lean slightly forward to hear.

Damn, but she was flirting. Or daring. It was difficult to say. "Then we can manage that, with or without scandal, I would imagine." He couldn't meet her gaze as he wound strips of linen over and around her ankle, making certain the trussing was firm enough that she couldn't easily move the ankle.

"Perhaps the wish I made when I tossed a coin in the well wasn't too far off the mark." But nothing in her expression gave away her thoughts.

"That well was built when I was a child by my father at the direction of my mother. She was one for fantasy and whimsy."

"It is charming, I'll give you that. Like something straight out of story books." And she watched him with her bright blue gaze that he couldn't puzzle out the look in those depths.

"Indeed." After wiping his hands on a rag included in the basket, he chucked it back inside then returned to her leg. The skin was far too tempting, and he couldn't cease caressing his fingers up and down her calf.

"How long were you in the army?" A tremble moved through her limb, but she didn't bid him to stop.

"Five years. Traverston and I were in the same regiment, always together. Though we saw a handful of skirmishes, neither of us were horribly injured."

"Yet he walks with a cane."

"It was what ended his military career, and since my commission expired, I came home with him, for the fun went out of it if I had to continue on fighting without a good companion." Daring much, he gingerly took her ankle in his hand, moved the stool out of the way, then scooted closer to her and the sofa. "Once back in London, he and I set out to prowl through Town in the search of willing women." Definitely not the sort of conversation for feminine ears.

She snorted. "Sounds like a man, but I'll wager you found yourself courting one instead."

"Yes. She became my wife shortly after." Jagged shards of pain went through his heart, and needing a distraction, Benedict continued to caress Marjorie's leg, past her knee to the creamy skin of her thigh. "And before you ask, I do not want to speak about that."

Perhaps he ever would.

"Fair enough." The fingers of her hand resting on the sofa cushion beside her dug into the upholstery. Did that mean his caresses affected her?

He transferred his attentions to her other thigh and at the same time encouraged her legs slightly apart. "Is your ankle the only part of you affected by your spill from the gig?" The warmth of her skin beckoned as did the insistent pulse of need through his shaft.

"Yes, I believe so." The response was a tad breathless as her eyes rounded. "But if you must know, other parts of my body are beginning to feel different effects the longer you do… that ."

The corners of his lips twitched. "Oh?" Shoving the edge of her skirting farther up, his fingers brushed her feminine curls, and she gasped.

She nodded. "Will you continue to explore?"

"Do you want me to?" His fingers paused as he waited for her permission. This is insane! I have only just met her an hour past.

The rhythmic pound of his pulse in his ears marked the time until she answered once more. "I believe that I do. As I said before, I am free now, and it's made me almost giddy, perhaps reckless."

"There are worse things," he managed to whisper, and scooting forward, Benedict pressed his lips to a quivering thigh. That silky skin, the fine blonde hairs, the faint scent of lilacs all worked to bring him closer to the brink of madness, but he couldn't stop nor pull himself away. It was all too easy to splay her legs wider, and once he'd done so, he put his lips gently to the curls still shrouding the very center of her.

"Oh!" Marjorie's body jerked and she stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Goodness that took me by surprise."

He frowned. Was she not an experienced widow? The thought intrigued the hell out of him. "Did your husband never touch you like this?"

"No, he didn't." Her voice was again breathless. "In fact…" A fierce blush stained her cheeks.

"In fact, what?" Moving to grasp her hips, Benedict tugged her more fully to the edge of the sofa so that the curve of her arse balanced there.

Marjorie struggled to balance herself on her elbows, but when he helped her to hook her knees over his shoulders, she stilled. "I haven't actually… Well, there was never a time when…" A huff of annoyance and perhaps embarrassment sailed from her throat. "In all the couplings with my husband, I never… found release," she finished in a tiny voice.

"What?" What sort of nodcock was only interested in his own pleasure? Giving the same to women was half the fun.

"Yes." She looked at him with apologies in her eyes. "My husband was a selfish lover."

Benedict snorted. "Lover is a rather loose sense of the word, for he did nothing but rut with you in those cases." Hot aggravation grew in his chest. "I am sorry, though."

"As am I, especially when I learned how to touch myself until the sensations became too overwhelming, and I stopped." A sigh escaped. "I never knew if that was the same thing."

"Not quite but in the same general area. You just needed to finish." He snickered. "No pun intended." The knowledge that she'd explored her own body enhanced the desire already whipping through his veins. "Where did you learn how to do that?" As he spoke, he parted her flesh to gaze upon that private part of her. Fuck, if that wasn't the most glorious sight, and his mouth watered to have a taste of her.

"I, uh, overheard a couple of maids talking candidly in a room where they thought she was asleep on a sofa. Then they fell to exploring each other's private parts, and I was riveted." Her voice shook and another blush stained her cheeks. "Then there was a footman I saw rutting with a match girl in the cellar when they thought no one was there. I merely extrapolated that information."

Every word she spoke fascinated him even more. It was now more poignant than before that he show her some of the pleasure she should have had in her life regardless that they were still very much strangers; this was a challenge and a matter of pride.

"I'm certain you are the personification of scandal," he said, moments before he put his mouth on her center. The second he touched his tongue to the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, she uttered a half-stifled scream.

"Oh, my." Her fingers scrambled at the upholstery. The muscles in her legs stiffened, but that only served to draw him closer to her. "I… Mmm, my husband never even attempted this on me, but I always wondered—"

The awe and excitement in her tone humbled him. "Every woman should find herself thoroughly pleasured by her husband, and if a man cannot manage at least that, he should be castrated in the public square." Perhaps the sentiment was a bit harsh, but he meant every word. Then he bent himself to his work and the fact he would be the first man to ever make her fly.

Hopefully.

"I… I… I…" Her breath came in panting gasps. "This is… Oh, mercy!" Marjorie curled her fingers in his hair, no doubt wanting to push him away, but when he employed playful suckling to that swelling button, her hips bucked, and she pressed him closer. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Concentrate on what this is making you feel." Briefly, he lifted his head. When he met her gaze, those blue eyes of hers had darkened with arousal. "And when you think you will explode, let go of your hold. Finally, you will fly." Then he once more bent to his work in an effort to drive her into madness.

As her thighs trembled, he plied various degrees of friction to that slippery nubbin. "Is this, ah, something you indulged in with your wife?"

Unbidden, memories of his time with Phoebe danced through his mind, and he made the effort to tamp them down. "Yes." He huffed, hoped that puff of air on Marjorie's flesh added another layer of pleasure for her. "We enjoyed a robust physical relationship." Not wishing to talk further of her, Benedict continued to worry that nubbin, and with every swipe of his tongue, he caressed her inner thighs. "I loved my wife," he said on a whisper then gasped at the admission. Never had he talked about that time in his life, not even with Traverston. Annoyed at himself and his weakness, he penetrated her with his tongue. Over and over, he teased her passage, and also rubbed his fingertips quickly over her slick pearl.

Fall over the damned edge!

"Oh, this is so…" Apparently, words failed her as she moved her hips and he put his mouth more firmly against her flesh.

Over and over, he treated her to a cycle of suckling, nibbling, and then soothing, and the rapid movement and teasing from his fingers had her body shaking. Clearly, her hold on reality was ready to snap.

"Grasp that ring, Marjorie. Once you go over, you'll never be satisfied without chasing that bliss again." When he lifted his gaze to hers, caught the passion and slightly crazed glaze there, he grinned and continued his work, ignored the hard throb that pulsed insistently through his hardened member. "Come for me. There is no shame in it."

"I… Oh, Syn!" The sound of his nickname in her voice pleased him immeasurably. Her hips bucked. Her thighs quivered. Contractions went through her passage and he teased his tongue to her flesh in order to experience that ride. She tightened her legs about his head. "This is… amazing and truly like flying."

In that moment, he envied her, for it had been quite a long time since he'd joined a woman in that bliss, but there was something about Marjorie that intrigued him on a level beyond the physical.

And that worried the hell out of him.

"At the very least, you enjoyed it, and now you know what you should have had all along." It pleased him an inordinate amount that he'd given her that gift. It made him forget and what was more, he actually enjoyed himself this afternoon.

When was the last time that had happened?

"This is true, and merely another reason I wasn't overly fond of my husband." With a sigh, Marjorie sagged into the sofa as if her muscles had no more strength to support her bones.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Especially since he had been besotted by his wife. Gently, he urged her legs from his shoulders then brought the stool back to her location and propped her left foot upon it. "But as you said, you are free."

"So it seems. Even more now."

What did that mean? "Well, look at it this way. I've given you a distraction from the pain." As well as his own. He removed his handkerchief from an inside pocket of his jacket. "I may be many things, but I am always delighted when a woman is undone and comes into her own." After he'd wiped the moisture from his face, he leaned forward and dabbed at the moisture from between her thighs. It was a courtesy his wife had appreciated, so he assumed all women did as well.

While she arranged her skirting over her legs and hid the temptation of her skin, she regarded him with questions in her eyes. "Will you tell me about your wife?"

"No." The word came out as a choked whisper, but he didn't meet her gaze. "Her death left me a broken man, and I honestly don't know if I will ever come back from that." It was difficult having someone in his house that he enjoyed talking with let alone did something so intimate to after knowing her all of an hour. "I'm sorry." Standing abruptly, Benedict suddenly remembered who he was and what his life had become. "I shouldn't have said anything nor took such liberties with you. Excuse me. No doubt your rooms will be ready soon."

He had no right to garner any sort of distraction or happiness, even if it was just an afternoon. As he fled the parlor, he silently rebuked himself, for he hated himself for a completely different reason now.

Add that to his growing pile of sins, but it couldn't happen again.