Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Benedict spied Honora leaning against the balcony out on the terrace, thankful she was alone. He had spent the whole night allowing the party to have their moment with her, he wanted Emmaline to himself for a while.

“There you are, sweetheart. I have been searching all over for you.” He brushed his hand along the pale line of her shoulder, admiring her profile as she turned towards him.

Benedict frowned, there was something off. Her face was swollen, her eyes glassy.

Someone had hurt her.

“What is it, Emmaline? Did someone upset you? Who was it, I will-”

“It was you,” she said, her voice strangely flat, staring vacantly somewhere in the vicinity of his cravat. “You upset me.”

Benedict paused, his gut telling him something was profoundly wrong. “I don’t understand.”

“I heard them, you see. I heard all about your bet at White’s, your plan to seduce me as if it was all a silly little game to you.” Her eyes flashed up to his, pain flaring hot in their warm brown depths.

Benedict felt his blood run cold.

He vaguely remembered that conversation with Silas. But they had not truly made a bet, it was a manner of speech only. Although it had sparked his courage to act on his feelings.

Lord Branwin. That imbecile.

He must have been running his fool mouth, talking about Emmaline as if she was nothing but a light skirt.

Benedict would kill him. He was a dead man walking.

“Emmaline, I swear to you, there was no wager. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

She frowned up at him, planting her hands on her hips with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Are you saying I imagined what I heard? You were not discussing me with Silas at White’s?”

“Well, no. Yes, but not in that manner-”

Emmaline’s face crumpled. Her sweet, beautiful face was a picture of misery.

“You used me? I was nothing but a diversion for you. Are you happy, now that you have had your taste will you throw me away?”

“No, of course not.” Benedict tried to grasp her hands, but she pulled away as if his touch burnt her skin.

“Emmaline, you know that is not true. Have I not offered for you? Are we not to be wed?”

“I don’t know, are we?” she replied, brushing her cheeks as if to scrub the tears from her face. “There has been no discussion of posting the banns, or actually planning a wedding. Perhaps this is all some elaborate ploy to keep me as your mistress until you tire of me.”

She turned away, looking out over the balcony with a sudden calmness that was more terrifying than her tears.

“I should have known that a man such as you would never see me as more than a dalliance.”

“Is that what you think of me?” Benedict managed to utter past the lump that was lodged in his throat.

“I don’t know what to think anymore, all I know is that there are strangers in that room who think I am a conquest, a notch in your bedpost, and they are laughing at me.”

With a sniff, Emmaline ripped the ring from her finger, dropping it to the ground as she spun and rushed to the door, losing herself in the crush while Benedict watched, frozen in misery.