“Flowers, pretty words, get to know her. You need to make aneffort. And while she may not make the leap, her father will—you’ll need to convince him you’re not after her fortune.”
“I know—that’s why we’ve rented this overpriced hovel instead of somewhere reasonable.”
“Wayland has considerable resources. You’ll need to work quickly to reassure him before he digs deeper.”
“Now I need to seduce that bastard as well? Is there anyone else? A grandfather? Or perhaps a cat?”
“Please take this seriously. You know what is at stake.”
“Yes, yes. I promise, Bella, I won’t fail us. This is what I was made to do.” Benedict infused the speech with all his usual confidence.
Something about the press of Bella’s lips, the downturn of her eyes, told him he might have missed the mark slightly. Still, she said nothing, merely shook her head before she downed the dregs of her gin. She gestured toward the door before abandoning him without a word.
He sighed and rose to sink down on the threadbare golden settee his sister had abandoned. There, he contemplated his scotch with an interest its quality did not deserve.
Benedict hadn’t lied to Bella. He had been preparing for this night for most of his life—since his father had concocted this scheme.
But he never expected her to be so… innocent. He’d had years to imagine her. There had been so many versions of her in his mind—seductive, manipulative, greedy, proud. How could the daughter of Michael Wayland be anything less?
But Eliza had been… not sweet, precisely; she was a more than capable verbal sparring partner. Just… different.
And prettier than he had ever dared to hope.
The men in the billiards room weren’t wrong. The other Wayland girl was striking. And if rumors were to be believed, vivacious and bold as well.
But there was a delicate beauty to Eliza. Her amber eyes were large and bright, her lips full—kissable—and her cheeks flushed a becoming pink when he teased her. And when she had smiled up at him… she had positively glowed from within.
Despite Eliza’s assertions to the contrary, his words hadn’t been a line; hewasdisappointed that she had stopped smiling.
All in all, Benedict found much to be pleased with regarding his performance that evening. He had certainly caught her attention at the very least. With that thought, he sat up and tipped back the last of his scotch. He rose, deposited the empty glass on the cart with a pointed click, then ascended the creaking stairs.
Once he reached the room he’d claimed for his own, he stripped off his stifling coat. This endeavor had been truly costly. A new wardrobe for both himself and Bella, the rented house and small staff… It was the entirety of what Benedict had stowed away for the last two years. If this—he—failed, they would bein even worse straits than they had been in before. But they couldn’t very well wait another season—the chance that both girls would wed in their first season was too great.
Failure was not an option.
Sighing, he tucked his hand into the pocket of his abandoned coat to retrieve his flask. As he did, the wool of his coat released a soft, floral scent.
A warmth tightened in his chest—an anticipation of his coming sip as he twisted off the cap. Benedict savored the answering burn in his throat before setting the bottle aside.
He flopped back onto the bed in an undignified sprawl, wincing as it gave a disgruntled croak in response. His cravat threatened to strangle him, trapped between his weight and the bed, and he fought to tug it loose.
Free of the trappings of his outerwear, Benedict turned to his side, too tired to remove the rest of his clothes or pull the coat from beneath him. Instead, he blew out the candle from where he lay and savored the darkness enveloping him.
In the cool evening air, he breathed in Eliza’s lingering perfume as he struggled to name the floral note. He rather thought she was the sort to appreciate a bouquet of that particular bloom, whatever it was. The scent was certainly pleasant, romantic, and one he already knew she favored.
Sleep claimed him before his head supplied an answer.
Chapter Four
“Mama?Uncle Hugh said you were unwell,” Eliza said as she climbed into the carriage, already packed too full with her mother and sister on one side and the Ainsley girls on the other. They squeezed in tighter to allow her to sit, but the sheer volume of skirts was enough to overwhelm any free space.
Without a word, Uncle Hugh knocked on the roof from outside, and the carriage jolted to a start.
“We’ll discuss it later, sweetheart.”
Eliza’s stomach dropped. “What?” she demanded.
Across from her, Sophie rolled her eyes. “You managed to attract the most notorious rake in town. And ruined everyone else’s night.”
