Chapter Ten

I t was true that tonight would see the game on which Dorcas's entire future depended—and Stephen's too. It was also true she was to be wed tomorrow. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had made all the arrangements for the marriage license and the church. How she had done so without the name of the groom, Dorcas could not imagine.

But a third inexorable truth was that table linens would not embroider themselves. She had been nearly at the end of the latest bundle from McMillan, Bristle, and Coletwistle when she put the embroidery aside to focus on her costume. If Dorcas worked hard, she could complete the last batch today.

Stephen had spent the morning in the kitchen with Maudie, his favorite maid. After his noon-time snack, Scarlett and an ex-soldier who worked as part of the wolfpack had taken him to Green Park for a walk and to feed the ducks.

She would put him down for his afternoon rest when he returned, and with any luck, he would sleep long enough for her to complete the edging on the last four dozen napkins, which would leave her the matching tablecloth—probably a full day's work—though she was certainly not going to sew this evening. Or, at least, not during the game that would decide her fate. It would have to wait until the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow, she'd be getting married.

These reflections and others like them kept her mind busy, as she did her best not to let them slide into dreams about Somerford. Ben. Had he signed up to gamble on the chance of winning her hand? He was not a gambler, even if he did like to visit the Lyon's Den. The girls had told her that he visited several evenings a week, had a couple of glasses of wine over the evening, playing cards or billiards with friends for minor stakes, and never availed himself of the services on the third floor.

And surely, he knew he could have her for the asking? She had imagined that he was falling in love with her even as she was tumbling head over heels for him. Perhaps she had given him a disgust of her the night before last, with her anger at his interference. She tossed her head. If he was put off by her anger, even if it was misplaced, then she was well rid of him.

There. Despite her determination not to let her thoughts drift to Ben, she was at it again.

Perhaps, Dorcas thought, she should indulge her imagination and her feelings, for tomorrow she would owe her loyalty to her new husband, whoever he might be.

A knock on her door interrupted her musings.

"Enter," she called. If it was Stephen and his escorts, then they were early. Perhaps it had started raining? But no. The sun streamed in the window behind her.

"Lord Somerford to see you, Mrs. Anderson," said one of the doorkeepers. "Mrs. Dove-Lyon said to bring him up."

And in a moment, the doorman was gone, the door was shut again, and Ben was in her private sitting room.

Dorcas did not know what to say. Manners filled the gap. "Please, Ben, have a seat."

His eyes smiled at her as he complied. "I am ‘Ben' again. You give me hope, Dorcas. I apologize, in any case, for being so presumptuous. I had no right to take action on your behalf. I should have told you what I intended, asked your permission, and acted only as you wished."

Well! That was comprehensive. Dorcas smiled back. "You are forgiven. Officers, I have found, often think they must do all the thinking for those around them. I apologize for losing my temper, Ben."

"You are correct, and exactly what I realized about myself." He nodded. "I will try to do better in the future," he promised. "Dorcas, I have heard you are seeking a marriage. Is it because of Kempbury?"

"And Augustus," she told him. "You know as well as I that women have no legal standing, Ben. I need a champion with the legal right to protect me and Stephen."

"Then marry me," Ben said. "Surely if I pay Mrs. Dove-Lyon her matchmaking fee, she will stop the game?"

Dorcas shook her head, tears starting in her eyes. If only he had come to see her yesterday! If only she had not allowed herself to be so angry, she was unwilling to listen to him on the night of the Masque. "She will not, Ben. I have signed the agreement, and the game will go ahead."

"I shall just have to win it," Ben declared. "That is if you want to marry me, Dorcas. Do you?" He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

She dabbed at her eyes and avoided the question. "Oh, how I wish I had waited until I could speak with you before I agreed to the game. But Ben, Kempbury has called here five times! On the last occasion, he threatened to return with a warrant to collect Stephen! It's exactly what I feared!"

Damn Kempbury's eyes. Ben wished he had been here so he could have milled the man down. He should have been here! Or at least, he should have called sooner and asked Dorcas to forgive his interference.

"I should have come here yesterday myself. I told myself I should give you a day to calm down. I convinced myself I needed to attend a meeting I had yesterday and the session in the House in the evening. Then I heard about the game, but by the time I got here, they would not let me in to see you. They said you had had an early night."

She had been exhausted and had toppled into bed as soon as Stephen was asleep. "Will you really enter the game?"

"Do you want me to?" Ben asked.

Dorcas shook her head. "I do not want you to make such a huge sacrifice, Ben. You have done so much for me, have been so kind—"

He interrupted. "Kind!" The word exploded out of him. "It is not kindness. Dorcas, do you not know? I admire you. I esteem you more highly than any other woman I have ever met. I want you for my wife, Dorcas. You and no other. I have already paid my fee to enter the game." He hesitated and then added, almost shyly, "I love you. If you prefer one of the others, then say so now, and I shall step aside. But if it is all the same to you, let me be your husband, and protect you and Stephen from Kempbury."

"It is not all the same to me," Dorcas told him, softly. "I do not know the other men. I have admired you for a long time. You were an excellent commander of men, and you were always kind to the women and children. And in the past week, since you first came to my rescue, I have grown to love you. I want you for my husband, Ben."

He stood and held out one hand. "Then come with me to talk to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Perhaps she will refuse us, as you suppose. But let us ask, at least. She was very good to my sister last year. And to my friend Wickes's new wife."

Putting her sewing to one side, Dorcas rose and took his hand. "She has been very good to me. I owe her so much, Ben. Let us ask."

But when they did, Mrs. Dove-Lyon said no. "You must understand I am a businesswoman, and my success depends upon my reputation," she deigned to explain. "It is not just the entry fees and the value of the wagers—the house receives ten percent of any winnings, so the potential loss of earnings is considerable. The game has been announced. People are talking about it. If I cancel it now and then you marry, I will have broken my implied promise to the patrons of the Lyon's Den and to those who use my matchmaking services."

"But surely—" Ben began, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon did not let him finish. Instead, she held up an imperious hand.

"If I make one exception, I will be asked for others. Potential brides and grooms are always asked to sign an agreement promising they will go through with the process all the way to the marriage. You have both signed that agreement."

"You told my sister she could pay a forfeit to exit the agreement," Ben argued.

"It was part of our agreement, yes. It was not part of my agreement with Mrs. Anderson, who has promised, of her own free will, to marry the winner of the game. It was not part of my agreement with those who have paid the entry fee, who have promised to marry Mrs. Anderson if they win the game. As you know, Lord Somerford, for you signed that agreement last night."

She would not change her mind.

They returned to Dorcas's room. As she said to Ben, "The sky might be falling, but Mr. McMillan will require his linens at the end of the week, as promised." Her chuckle did not sound amused. "I, too, am a businesswoman."

Stephen arrived home a few minutes later. After a biscuit and milk, and a brief discussion with Ben about Sharpie, he reluctantly lay down and was asleep within minutes. Ben was still waiting for her when she returned to the sitting room.

"Dorcas, I am going to my club to see if I can find anyone with whom to play vingt et un. Just to refresh my memory. I used to be very good at the game, and I cannot see that time will have erased that skill. But I would rather practice. May I kiss you before I go?"

Should she allow it? This time tomorrow, she might be making her vows to another man. But today she was still a free woman. A widow, with a widow's license. "Yes, please, Ben," she said.

He cupped the back of her neck with a palm and bent toward her. Since he was so much taller than she, she had to tip her head back almost painfully, but his hand supported it, and his mouth descended on hers.

The first touch of his lips was tender, a mere brushing until both her lips tingled, and desire shot through her. Then he placed his mouth over hers, and his tongue brushed her lips until she opened her mouth.

After that, she lost the ability to catalog his actions, as he drew her into a maelstrom of heat and sensation. She had the fleeting thought that neither Ves nor Noah had kissed like this, but she pushed it away. It seemed, in an odd kind of a way, disloyal to Ben to even think about her former husbands while she was kissing him.

No doubt the world did not stop turning, and nor did the stars wheel above her in her small sitting room, in bright daylight. Those were thoughts that Dorcas had later, after Ben had left. For an endless moment out of time, she was the kiss, and the kiss was her.

When he finally drew back his mouth and took in a shuddering breath, she realized she was pressed to his body so firmly that there was no missing how much he desired her. Without her noticing, he had lifted her to stand on the raised hearth, annulling half the height difference between them, and his erection was pressed against her belly.

He looked as dazed as she felt.

"I must go," he said. "Or I shall want more than I have a right to take. More, I think, than you will wish to give, once you have time and space to think about it. By Jupiter's ram horns, Dorcas, I have to win that game!"

He pressed his mouth to hers again, quick and hard, then lifted her down.

"Ah, Dorcas, what you do to me."

He let her go. Almost, she swayed, her knees reluctant to hold her up. She stiffened them by force of will. Ben was right. She recovered the use of her tongue—the more usual use of her tongue, that is. "I want you to win, Ben," she murmured. "I want it so much."

His eyes darkened. He was going to kiss her again. But no. He checked himself. "Until later, then. I love you, Dorcas."

"I love you," she whispered as the door closed behind him. But what could she do about it? She had made a promise and signed an agreement.

Then she remembered something that might help. She stepped quietly into the bedroom to retrieve the tinder box from her reticule, then found a maid to sit with Stephen for a minute and went downstairs to talk to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.