Bella was content to chat with Mrs. Frances, leaving Benedict to his thoughts while the carriage trundled down the road. The trio slipped from hack halfway down the block to avoid notice.
Benedict left his sister in the receiving line and sneaked passed into the ballroom. He scanned the walls, left to right,leaning around oblivious members of thebeau monde. There, framed by a high, arched window, he found Eliza.
Draped in gold silk, she shone, lustrous, even against the waning moonlight streaming through the window beside her. From his vantage point, he saw only her profile, but he noticed a hint of purple in her hair. A violet.
A strolling couple broke his reverie. His feet moved before he’d made a conscious decision. Benedict hugged the wall, ducking around mingling mamas.
With every breath he drew nearer. Until finally he was in her orbit. He approached her from behind, watching in fascination as her hands danced. She was speaking with the same friend from the first night. Presumably, that friend was hard of hearing. Benedict observed from over her shoulder as her fingers formed the words of some sort of story, wondering desperately what it might be.
He’d heard of such communication methods at university. An opportunity to observe them had never presented itself. Eliza moved with confidence, while her friend followed—until she caught sight of Benedict.
He recognized the precise moment she interrupted Eliza because her spine straightened. When she spun to face him, Eliza blinded him with the force of her smile.
“My lord, it is very good to see you.” There was a breathy, effervescent note in her voice.
“Miss Eliza,” he said with a respectful bow. Benedict turned to her companion. “Miss… Grayson, was it?”
“Yes,” the lady in question answered. “Good to see you again.”
“Thank you for the flowers,” Eliza said. “They are beautiful.”
“So I see,” he said, dipping his gaze to the violets tucked into her wild curls. She had employed a simpler style than some of the other ladies. The flowers and her own strands stole theattention. The sight of purple blooms on her person left him off-kilter. A primal, possessive part of his mind overtook him and he could focus on little else.Mine. His filthy mind readily supplied more and more perverted musings. How would Eliza look wrapped in frocks and jewels he provided or, better still, in nothing at all save those little flowers?
“There you are, Ben,” his sister called from behind him. “Honestly, it is as though you were raised in a barn. Miss Eliza was hardly likely to vanish entirely if you took the few minutes necessary to greet our hosts properly.”
Bella’s words were an icy wave crashed over his lascivious thoughts. His singular purpose upon entering the lavish house was to find Eliza, to… see her. He’d wanted to see her. That was all. There’d been no consideration of his planned seduction, no thought of how his actions would further their cause. He just… wanted her, smiling sweetly at him as she did now.
Bella, whether by accident or design, had shaped his excitement into something tawdry. She ensured that he appeared the charmingly overeager suitor to Eliza and her cousin.
Benedict’s teeth met, milling against one another. For one brief, beautiful moment hehadbeen that overeager suitor, delighted merely by the presence of a beautiful woman. Now that moment was gone, a rapidly fading dream.
“Bella, I hope you made my apologies,” he said, not trusting himself to face her without giving away his thoughts.
“Obviously. Miss Eliza, Miss Grayson. It is wonderful to see you again.”
Benedict finally managed to wrench his gaze from Eliza’s frame with a barely concealed sigh as her sister appeared by her side.
“Lizzie?”
Though he’d been introduced, he’d not paid particular attention to Sophie Wayland. He offered her a respectful bow. The girl was pretty—though he rather thought Eliza the lovelier of the two—with darker hair than her sister and her mother’s blue eyes. “Miss Wayland.”
“My lord,” she replied, shrewd gaze darting between Eliza and him, assessing.
After an introduction between his sister and their newcomer, propriety forced Benedict to make an offer he had no interest in.
“I have engaged Miss Eliza for the first and last set, but if either of you have an open slot on your dance card, I would be much obliged if you would help me toil away the hours between. I am certain there will be no more engaging company to be found.”
Miss Grayson gasped, a flush rising as she nodded and handed him her wrist. Benedict understood the reaction when he saw her blank dance card. He selected a slot.
Eliza’s sister’s card was nearly full, with only two spaces to be found. He selected one at random with a perfunctory signature.
He could not account for it, but Eliza’s expression was guarded when he turned back to her. Instead, he forged ahead with his display. “And, of course, I need to mark our dances, Miss Eliza, lest someone try to steal them from me.” He was pleased to find her card empty as well and scrawled his name across the two he’d claimed. His hand was rather sloppy—if only to discourage someone from claiming the dance after or before his sets. Whatever had darkened Eliza’s eyes had vanished when he met her gaze again.
Bella would roll her eyes at him were she able to read his thoughts. Hell, a week ago, he would’ve done the same. There was something soothing about seeing his name tied to Eliza’s wrist—probably the same mad instinct that left him half hard at the sight of a flower in her curls.
To Benedict’s relief, the dance was called at last. The redowa—it would do. The tempo was faster than he wished but would leave Eliza breathless in his arms. It was a fair trade.
“Shall we?” he asked, dipping his elbow for her.
