Chapter Seven

July 16, 1815

It had been two days since he'd talked with Marjorie at the lakeside, and in those days, he'd made a concentrated effort to play the charming host. And while it had been lovely enough conversing with William and Marjorie, and the servants were overjoyed to see him in the dining room, it only served to remind him of how alone he was and how much he missed his family.

Today, as he was on his daily after luncheon walk, he paused on the far side of Hummingbird Lake, which was the opposite side of where he'd sat with Marjorie yesterday. Here there was a stand of tall oak trees and beneath them, he'd built a stone bench years ago for him and Phoebe to enjoy time away from the house and to merely be together, to watch sunsets on the days Henry didn't immediately need them.

No sooner had he perched on the bench than his dead wife appeared… or rather her ghost, or perhaps nothing more than a conjuring of his own mind.

"Phoebe." Her ghost appeared to him a few times a year, usually when he was at his most conflicted points. "What are you doing here?" Still, he looked his fill, for she was as fresh and beautiful as she'd been halfway into their marriage, the time when he'd thought her the most attractive and loving.

"I believe you could benefit from a talk, Syn." Her slim form seemed to hover above the ground, yet the breeze rippled the skirting of her rust-colored gown, one of her favorites. Tendrils of black curly hair clung to her temples and nape; it used to drive him wild. "I am not happy that you are entertaining such dark thoughts."

Sadness and fear twisted down his spine. "How can I not when you and our boys are in the next world while I am here?"

Though his wife's form was transparent, her frown was evident. "That is the risk of life, dearest." Her eyes were kind as she looked at him. "Sometimes, the people in it don't survive until the end, but it is not time for you to join us."

"How can you say that? Don't you miss me?" Hurt tore at his chest. "Wonder what has become of me? Don't you care that I suffer every day?"

"To be honest, here in this realm, emotions aren't as important as they are to the living." When she floated near to his location, he held out a hand. "However, that is one of the reasons I came to see you today. You must make peace with everything, Benedict. You can't go on torturing yourself with memories that are perhaps more rosy than the realities actually were."

"Do you mean your death? What drove you to it?" He could hardly force the words from his tight throat. "Did my unwillingness to properly grieve, to share those emotions with you, to be there for you when you needed me lead you to walk into that lake?"

Was Marjorie correct after all?

"Perhaps that was some of it." She touched a ghostly hand to his, but the only thing he felt was a gentle breeze. "But grief affects everyone differently, and women are often emotionally based creatures. I'm afraid I made the mistake that you did by shutting the people in my life away." A shrug lifted her shoulders. "I lost my parents and grandparents shortly after you and I married, and when you moved us to the Lake District, all my friends remained in London. I was lonely."

"You never told me."

"You never asked." Nearer she floated and brushed a hand against his cheek, and that gesture manifested to him like an errant flower petal floating over his skin. "So much death took a toll on our marriage, and for that I'm truly sorry."

He forced a hard swallow. "So am I, but I still miss you and the children. I am trapped by guilt and need a way out."

"Why can you not see what is in front of your eyes, dearest?" When she floated down to sit next to him on the bench, a shiver went down his spine. "Traverston is here, and he desperately wishes to make you well so you can resume your friendship. He can help you through."

"I know."

"And then there is the Widow Stowe, whom you rescued, and have since treated horribly." Phoebe laid a hand on his arm, but all he felt was the breeze.

Heat rushed up the back of Benedict's neck. "Uh, how do you mean?" Had his dead wife witnessed the naughty things he'd gotten up to with Marjorie?

"You haven't provided her with the proper clothing. Nor are you being a proper host." She tsked her tongue. "You know better. At one time, you were one of the premier peers in all of London."

"Perhaps, but—"

"No." With the shake of her head, she dismissed his protest. "She walked all the way out here two days ago and reinjured her ankle merely to speak with you so that you might try to work through your grief and anger. Doesn't that speak to her character?"

Now that he thought on it, she was limping as they walked home. "She didn't say anything about recurring pain."

"No doubt she didn't wish to invoke your wrath again. Your temper has a short fuse at times, and it has grown worse since my death." Again, she patted his arm. "I rather like Marjorie."

"Oh?"

"She's got spirit and she'd not afraid to stand toe-to-toe with you. And she's nearer to your age." Phoebe chuckled as if she found the whole thing a huge joke. "I'll wager she won't let you hide away any longer."

"No, she doesn't like it when I'm on a ramble without explanation." That pulled a small grin from him. "She's rather outspoken, but then, she's an American."

"I like her." The ghost or the figment of his imagination gazed up at him, which was disconcerting for he looked right through her. "What is more, I rather think you like her… or you are enjoying her rather vigorously, hmm?"

The heat on his neck intensified. "I… Er, that is to say, she and I have…"

"You needn't say anything, but I am glad to know you have connected with someone finally. If you didn't, you would have brought her back to her cousin straightaway. Now, if you will realize there is more to a relationship than the physical, I think you'll be right as rain before too long."

Was that Phoebe giving her consent to some sort of relationship between him and Marjorie? "And if I don't want that? If I only want the carnal because I want to be with my family more?" he asked in a barely audible voice.

She blew out a breath, or at least that was what it sounded like. "Darling, at the moment, you can't. It's not your time. There is still purpose for you here."

"A purpose without you? Without the boys?" So much pain knocked about this chest it was difficult to breathe.

"Loss is a part of life; it is the payment for loving someone. They go hand in hand, and though it hurts, eventually you'll wake one morning, and you will be happy again. You will find joy in all the little things once more." The ghostly lips curved into a smile. "We have had this discussion many times, but there is Marjorie in your life. If you are honest with yourself, she has brought interest back to you beyond what you derive from finding release in her body."

For long moments he thought over her words. "I know next to nothing about her other than she was married to a bounder and that she has a grown son."

Phoebe's ghost stood up from the bench. "Don't you think you owe it to the relationship to keep discovering her truths… and yours?" When he didn't respond, she sighed. "There isn't just one love of a lifetime for each person. I believe there can be two or three depending on the life. Do bear that in mind."

Sorrow mixed with panic in his chest. "You are leaving?"

"I must. Already I have been away too long, but you called out for guidance." She again brushed her hand over his cheek, but it was naught but the wind. "Don't close your heart to love and all good things, Syn. So many people need you that their affection tethers you to this world, and that is impressive. Live, my love. It's not your time."

Then the apparition faded and seconds later, Phoebe was gone.

Though he missed his wife desperately, he didn't feel as gutted as usual after talking with her ghost or spirit. Was she right in the fact that he should connect with Marjorie on a different level over and above the physical? Was there enough between them to constitute… something else?

That remained to be seen.

A few hours later, Benedict found himself in the drawing room of his neighbor and Marjorie's cousin-in-law, Mrs. Andress. It wasn't odd, for he often checked in monthly, but today, there was an energy in the house that wasn't there before.

"I'm here because I've news regarding Marjorie," he said between sips of tea.

"Oh?" The lace on her widow's cap fluttered in the breeze coming in through the windows. "To be honest, I'd forgotten about her. In recent days, I've been preparing to go up to London, to leave in a couple of days."

"For how long?"

"Who can say? I want another crack at society life before I leave this mortal coil."

That didn't bode well. "Though her ankle strain is healing, she still is unable to walk long distances without pain." Especially now that she'd come out to Hummingbird Lake merely to see him. He tugged on the knot of his cravat as heat sneaked up the back of his neck. "She needs clothing and personal things since her stay at my estate is ongoing."

"I'm surprised you didn't send for those things before now." A trace of censure went through her voice as she eyed him over her teacup.

"Yes, well, I have been engaged elsewhere."

"Ah, you are elusive. I'd forgotten, but then, I'm an old woman." She took a sip of tea. "Do you have designs on Marjorie?"

Dear God , did the woman know of the unspeakable things they'd already done to and with each other? Remarkably, he kept his composure. "I do not, for I rather think I'll not be here long myself."

One of her thin dark eyebrows rose in surprise. "In the country?"

He shrugged and wasn't committal.

"Fine." The older woman nodded. "I'll have her maid pack a valise for you, but if you know of a man who might take her off my hands, I'd be obliged. My nephew wasn't the best of husbands or men, but life is difficult as a widow, and I want her looked after."

Shock plowed through his chest. "I thought you wanted her for a companion?"

"I do if that's the only choice available, but I'd rather not have the expense of her." The woman shook her head as if she didn't see anything wrong with her statement. "I intend to live lavishly in London, you see."

He rather didn't. "That is a little harsh. She is family." And when one had precious little of that to go around, one was more sensitive to it.

And he had treated Marjorie rather shabbily.

"Well, family by marriage. That's different." She finished her tea. "Life is life, Lord St. Synedon. We all must do what we can as we see fit."

"Indeed." There was no denying that Marjorie's arrival had managed to put a spark back into his life. Damn it all.

"Well, if there is nothing else, Your Lordship?" She rose to her feet, and he scrambled into a standing position.

"No. I'll just wait for Mrs. Stowe's luggage. Thank you." What would he tell Marjorie about her cousin?

When Benedict returned to Ormandy Manor, he was obliged to take the widow's bags and a trunk up to her room by himself, for it was Sunday and that meant the staff had the day off to attend church and chase their own leisure activities.

"Marjorie?" His call echoed through the empty dressing room, but splashing sounds from the adjoining bedchamber betrayed her location. Knowing that he shouldn't but daring it anyway, he pushed open the door and then slipped into her room. "Marjorie?" Then every thought left his head, for the widow lounged completely nude in a porcelain bathtub with her hair piled high and secured with pins. "Dear God…"

She startled. "Benedict… What are you doing here." Initially, she used the fashion periodical to block her breasts from his view, but a few moments later, she relaxed, but the fact she still strove for modesty even after they'd done countless erotic things to each other made him grin. "I thought you had errands."

"I am finished, and one of them was visiting your cousin for your clothing and other personal effects you might need." Why the devil was he randy… again? Hadn't he had his fill of this woman? Shouldn't being visited by his wife's ghost put a damper on that need?

The expression of gratitude mixed with relief that crossed her face made his heart squeeze. "That's wonderful! I know you weren't pleased with me wearing your wife's dresses, even if you didn't say anything."

"Ah…" Heat slowly moved up the back of his neck and through his chest. "It wasn't because I was angry about it." When he tried to cast his gaze elsewhere, it always returned to her in the tub with her glorious body on full display.

"Then what were you were thinking?"

He'd hoped not to confess this. "That, uh, the garments looked far nicer on you than they ever did on her, for they enhance your body." Did that make him sound like a cad?

The smile she gave could rival the afternoon sun that streamed into the room. "What a wonderful compliment." Then her eyes darkened with the same need currently streaking through his blood. "Perhaps you would consent to help wash my hair? It's far too long so I can't manage it by myself, and the staff left after they drew the water for my bath."

Such an innocent, domestic task, one usually done by a maid, but had the potential to become quite intimate. "I am honored." Benedict's hands shook as he removed his jacket, cuffs, collar, and waistcoat. Once the garments were deposited on a nearby chair, he pulled a footstool close to the tub and sat upon it then worked to remove the pins from her tresses. As the blonde waterfall tumbled down, a ragged sigh left his throat. "You have beautiful hair."

"I appreciate that, but most of the time I wish it was different." Marjorie sat up in the tub while he filled a pitcher with water that he then poured over her hair. A tiny sound of enjoyment escaped her when he massaged the bar of finely milled French soap through those tresses.

"Nonsense. The mass is so silky and soft, and I adore that scent of lilacs." In short order he worked the soap into her hair then washed it out with another two pitchers of water. Then not wanting to leave her to finish the bath, he massaged her neck and shoulders, hoping to have her relaxed and perhaps a bit aroused.

"Oh, that feels so lovely." Her eyes shuttered closed. "Did you do this for your wife?"

An ache went through his chest, followed by confusion, but he pushed through it because he liked talking to her. "At times. She had glorious black hair, so curly that it vexed her."

"I wish my hair was curly, but it's impossibly straight, even if I tie it up with rags to dry."

What gammon was this? Her tresses were thick and blonde with caramel strands. "There are many kinds of beautiful."

She snickered. "I own a mirror, Syn."

"Then it's apparently broken."

"I am a woman of advanced age."

"That matters not. Age is merely a number. I especially like it when you have your hair in a loose bun. Tendrils fall down to frame your face and neck…" And invariably drew his notice to the cut of her jaw, the way the light danced on the caramel strands, the way those hairs moved in the breeze.

"I never knew you could be such a romantic." Slowly, she put her head backward into his hands. "It's lovely. Much different than what I had with my husband." When her eyes closed, Benedict continued to massage the tension from her muscles. "We met through my father, and I was married off at eighteen, conceived my first child on my wedding night, which wasn't exciting or special at all."

"I'm sorry. I wish it had been different for you." He almost held his breath, fearing she might stop sharing if he interrupted too much.

"When I lost the baby, my husband assumed it was my fault, that I'd done something to rid myself of the child." A tiny waver happened into her voice. "However, my husband didn't care about the mourning I went through, and in short order, I found myself increasing again, bore my son the next year." When she briefly bit her bottom lip, need lanced through his shaft, for he well remembered how those lips had felt around his member. "I assumed my marriage would improve once I gave birth, but my husband caroused even more after that."

"That's horrible. A woman needs the most help, affection, and reassurance directly after she is delivered of a child." He kneaded her shoulders and all the while, he couldn't keep his gaze from her tempting breasts that flirted with the surface of the water. "I'm sorry you didn't have that."

"So am I." A sigh escaped her. "Through the years, I always wanted a knight in shining armor type of man, but all I really got was a selfish coward in an ill-fitting suit. When he died, I was both relieved and happy, because my life could finally begin again."

"That makes sense. When I came upon you, you were certainly a damsel in distress."

"Clever man." She opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder at him. Amusement danced in those blue pools. "All of that to say, a lifetime sometimes isn't forever, and there is nothing wrong with that. It is entirely possible to live two perhaps even three lives during one existence, but the key word there is to live ."

"You cannot help but to drive home that point to me, can you?" he asked in a whispered voice, but he leaned over and placed a fleeting kiss to her lips, and it was rather interesting doing so upside down.

"Until you learn the lesson, Syn, I will always need to remind you while I'm here."

Not willing to answer with words, Benedict slipped his hands to her breasts and lightly circled her nipples with his fingertips, for he didn't want to think of the day when she would need to leave his home.

"Mmm." With that sound between a purr and a sigh, Marjorie sank further into the water, and when he continued to worry those pebbled tips into hard peaks, the lower portion of his sleeves were wetted. "How is it that I can immediately be both relaxed and aroused the second you touch me?"

"Perhaps I'm just fortunate to have that talent." And there was no explanation, for he felt much the same way. Needing to explore more of that connection, he pressed his lips to the side of her neck, just beneath her earlobe while at the same time squeezing her breasts and rubbing the pads of his thumbs over those tempting nipples.

With every pass of his fingers, the desire licking through his veins caught fire, and each time she made a sound of encouragement or enjoyment, need worked to bring his shaft to painful, throbbing life.

Wanting more of her, or at least to bring her to that brink, he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger with his left hand while sliding his right between her thighs to slip along her sensitive flesh. There was just something intoxicating about giving her pleasure that he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop until she'd gone over that edge.

"Syn…" A gasp followed the utterance of his name, and she gripped the edge of the tub with one hand. The periodical fell from her other hand to flutter upon the floor. "Each time I'm ushered to the brink more quickly than the last."

"That is all too the good." As soon as he encouraged that bundle of nerves out of hiding, he applied copious amounts of friction to that bud.

Her breath came in fast pants; her knuckles turned white on the side of the tub from how hard she gripped it, and all the while, the widow arched her back, bucked her hips in time to his ministrations. "Oh, oh, oh… Syn!"

"Let go, Marjorie. Scream out your pleasure. There is no one here to judge you," he whispered against the shell of her ear and didn't stop in his quest to see her undone.

Seconds later, she shattered and hit release, and that cry of repletion was as beautiful as she was, and his heart unexpectedly missed a beat.

In that moment, there was only her and him, and he couldn't wait to claim her. Withdrawing while she came back to herself, Benedict divested himself of his shirt and then his breeches and boots. When he was fully nude, he assisted her out of the tub. It didn't matter that water dripped from her body and the wet mass of her hair fell in tangles to her waist; he wanted her, and it didn't matter how.

"What are you about?" Satiation clouded her eyes, but there was a certain hunger lurking in the blue depths that called out to him. She eased her palms up his chest to clutch at his shoulders.

"I think you can guess." Nearly crazed, he tugged her against his body, being certain to grind his hardened shaft into her belly so there was no doubt what he was after. Craving the closeness and intimacy he'd enjoyed before with his wife, he crushed his lips to Marjorie's, and while there was a familiarness there, it wasn't the same.

But that wasn't a bad thing. Being with the widow made him feel wild and uninhibited, which was much different than the proper peer he'd been with Phoebe.

How incredibly odd.

As she'd always done since the moment they'd first kissed, she returned his overtures with the same desire that drove the enthusiasm. All too soon, he was breathless and hungry to claim her, but when she sneaked a hand between them to curl her fingers around his erection, he wanted to launch out of his skin.

"If you are trying to be a wanton widow, you are surely on the correct path," he said against her lips as he slid a hand into her hair to tangle his fingers there and ease her head backward.

"Good." And there was such pleasure in that word he couldn't help but chuckle. "For far too many years I was downtrodden and miserable. I feel as if I'm coming into my own and finding exactly what I want in life."

Teach me how to do the same.

But he couldn't give voice to those words. Instead, he pressed a line of kisses to her throat, followed them with licks and barely there nips, and at her collarbones, he suckled the skin, wishing to give her his mark but wondering how she might feel about that.

When she tightened her fingers on his shaft, he knew it would take very little effort to send her over the edge again, and he couldn't wait to witness that. In fact, he was literally living for that moment each day, and when they didn't come together, he felt more listless than he had before.

"Take me to bed, Benedict, or I swear I'll take matters into my own hands like that day at the lake." Her eyes were half-lidded. A faint blush infused her cheeks and upper chest. "Either by my fingers or yours, I'll meet bliss this afternoon then you can tell me about your visit with Cousin Dorcas."

Oh, God.

The way his imagination fired from her words was quite troubling, and if they kept up this frenzied pace, she would surely wear him out, but then he pushed all those thoughts from his head. With one last searing kiss, he walked her backward until the bed prevented further movement. Then he put his hands at her waist, lifted her up, and deposited her on that piece of furniture.

"You will be the death of me," he murmured as he rolled one of her nipples, but he was coming to adore her American way of going directly after what she wanted.

On the heels of a gasp, she flashed a grin. "I would rather be the renewed life of you."

And she was very nearly that, but such a musing was for another time.

With a growl, Benedict grabbed her uninjured ankle and yanked her to the edge of the bed, and as she balanced there with her hips, he eased her legs apart merely to look his fill at her lovely pink flesh. Droplets of water glimmered on her thighs and knees, and if he had the time, he'd lick away every lingering dot of moisture, but he was ready to explode.

Then he hooked his hands beneath her knees, pulled her slightly forward, closed the distance enough that the head of his prick kissed her folds, and in one powerful thrust, he speared into her, being sure to penetrate her body without stopping until he was fully, irrevocably, wonderfully seated within her heat.

Their moans blended together.

"This is such a miracle after what I'd had before," she whispered in a gasping sort of voice as her fingers curled into the bedclothes. When her gaze crashed into his, he had the distinct feeling of tumbling into those blue pools. "I want it hard and fast today, Syn. No excuses."

Unexpectedly, a fragment of the wall he'd built around his heart crumbled down; for as long as he lived, he would remember this moment and how much he would give her anything she wished for as long as she would stay with him.

"Do you think to order about a marquess, Mrs. Stowe?" It was easier than giving in to the emotions battering his insides, but he renewed his grip on her legs.

One of her eyebrows lifted. "Absolutely, I do. If more women realized the power they can wield, the world would be a better, more satisfying place."

In that moment, he would give the contents of his coffers to see her in charge of the government for a week.

Then he began to move within her body, with a frenzied, frantic energy he'd come to associate with these carnal meetings. Faster he moved his hips, deeper his shaft drove into her core, more powerful his thrusting went until the sound of flesh slapping flesh blended with their ragged breathing and fractured moans. Marjorie whimpered with encouragement and pleasure while Benedict tried to stave off the inevitable, but that door had already opened.

His stones pulled tight to his body; need raced through his shaft and hurtled him closer to the edge of bliss, but damned if he would go over before she did. As he was about to manipulate her button, she anticipated him in that as well, for one of her hands went between their bucking bodies, and the sight of her fingers touching that most intimate part of her caused him to lose the final vestiges of his control.

"Bloody hell, Marjorie!" The sensation roared through his body, and just as he hit release, a keening cry left her throat, and contractions took possession of her core. He was sucked under wave after wave of wondrous sensation, and as they spent together, he rather thought he would never see such a beautiful sight as the emotions flitting over her face.

All too soon, the strength left his bones. Not even grinding his pelvis into hers could prolong that pinnacle moment, and for a few seconds, he fell into her body, his breathing ragged, her expirations warming his cheek. Not having the words to explain how he felt, he kissed her lips, but it wasn't the desperate and possessive gesture he usually gave.

And that made him wonder what was happening to him all over again.

Eventually, he pulled away, and when she crawled to the middle of her bed, he joined her, wrapping his arms around her, intent to enjoy at least a portion of the quiet afternoon by doing nothing more except being with her.

For the time being, he wouldn't tell her that Cousin Dorcas didn't want the expense of her as a companion or that she wanted Marjorie married off to the first man who showed interest. He also didn't plan to tell her that he might wish her to be his mistress. It was a stupid notion, for he wouldn't be here long enough for all of that, but a lover was enough for the next several weeks.

Wasn't it? With a soft huff, he buried his nose into her damp hair and let the scent of lilacs fill his senses. It had to be because he wasn't strong enough for anything else.

Was he?