A thumb slid forward to brush along his lips, drawing her gaze. Benedict felt a blush creeping up along his cheeks—if he looked half as debauched as he felt, he was unfit to be seen.
“Open,” she commanded, her voice conversely soft, a touch hesitant. His jaw dropped as his gaze found hers. Her pupils dilated as she swept the digit along his tongue. The lingering essence of her arousal bloomed, drawing a whine from his chest.
This, he knew, was too much. The things his body craved were not what a man ought?—
“Oh, I…” Understanding grew in her eyes, confidence too. She straightened, the hand still twisted at his nape held firm as she said, “Kiss me.”
His lips slotted over hers, her urging hands unnecessary but devastating, nonetheless. His tongue claimed, eager to provide her with the first heady sip of her own pleasure.
Benedict fought against the need to crush her to him, to take everything she offered and beg for more, to fall to his knees again. Painfully, he pulled back slightly, enough to allow her a breath.
The noise of protest that escaped Eliza as she dragged him back into her drowned that thought. She didn’t want breath—she wanted him. And Benedict was frantic, determined to give hereverything.
Eliza’s hand slid along the curve of his spine, clutching him closer, down, down, down.
The cry broke from Benedict’s chest without permission as her fingers pressed into one of his wounds. Their gazes met, Eliza’s full of confusion, before Benedict leaned once more into her frame.
Her palm pressed against his sternum, pushing against him. Benedict’s heart clenched, but he obeyed, gaze cast down to the wrinkled chaos that was her skirts.
“Benedict?” Eliza’s elegant fingers tipped his chin up, forcing eye contact. “What was that? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Benedict leaned toward her again, only for her to pull her lips away.
“What happened?” she asked.
“It is nothing. I will be hale and hearty in a day or two.”
“But you are not now?”
“Eliza…” he grumbled.
“No, I do not wish to hurt you. Tell me.”
“Oh good, Lord!” a feminine voice broke through.
Bella.
Benedict’s head hinged back, cursing her existence to his God and any others for good measure.
In his arms, he felt a slight tremble in Eliza. He lowered his head and searched her over. When he could find nothing physically wrong, his gaze met hers. And what he read there stopped his blood. She was terrified.
“Get out, Bella!”
“You should be thankful it’s only me.”
“Get. Out.” His growl threatened to rattle the panes.
“I cannot. I saw—someone.”
“Tell me inside.”
“I’ll keep watch.”
Beside him, Eliza dropped down and began tugging her stockings on, tying that pretty purple ribbon with shaking fingers. Benedict knelt beside her and batted her hands away. He fussed with the tangle she’d created and twisted the lacing into a bow befitting Eliza.
“Stay over there,” he ordered his sister. “Do not turn around.”
He moved to repeat the gesture?—
