“Well, all of your gloves, in truth.”
“Why on earth…”
“I want to feel your touch, Eliza. That cannot be so surprising.” He turned to face her and settled his hand low on her waist, skirting the edge of propriety. “Your softness, your warmth. I long to know you.”
“Oh,” she replied dimly as he collected her other hand in his. Eliza watched, breathless, as he lined her fingers against his, measuring the difference. Benedict’s hand was broad with long, strong digits beneath his own gloves. By comparison, Eliza’s hand was small, dainty against his own. For the briefest moment, she thought he might slot their fingers together. Her heart clenched in anticipation as her cheeks flushed. Then his eyes fluttered shut on an inhale, and when he opened them on a sigh, he twisted his hand to grasp the edge of hers. Devastatingly proper.
No sooner had he completed his flustering ritual than the quartet began, and he stepped into her.
He gave her a few measures to grow, to adjust to the movements before he spoke again. “Did you enjoy yourself this evening?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Good. I did as well. Your relations are very devoted to you, if perhaps a little overprotective.”
“Yes, I’ve been trying to break them of the habit, but, well, you’ve met them.”
His chuckle was a low rumble, and Eliza felt it in her own chest. “Yes, I have.” Benedict’s gaze searched her face. “Do not be too angry with them. Such relations are a gift.”
“I don’t…”
“I’m left with only Bella. My friend, West. And, I suppose, my father.” He added the last as an afterthought. Once again, curiosity bloomed about his childhood.
Benedict’s gaze snapped to something behind her before she could question him. Their footwork turned, and Eliza caught sight of Lady Arabella. She rested, her back against a corner, along the embrasure. When she noticed Eliza, her expression shifted from something unreadable, almost dark, to a pleased smile.
They turned again, and Benedict’s gaze slid over Eliza’s shoulder. Only a flicker—but enough for his expression to shutter, something bright extinguished as though snuffed between finger and thumb. For a heartbeat, she didn’t recognize him.
Benedict continued, drawing her back in. “You have an entire cricket team worth of people prepared to defend you. It is a gift.”
“I know that, of course. They can be a little… overwhelming.”
“Yes,” he chuckled. “But they are, at this moment, all that stands between you and unimaginable scandal.”
“Do be serious.”
“Oh, but I am,” he whispered, pulling her dangerously closer. “There is a proper way to treat a lady. I know that. You deserve that and more. But there are so many steps, so many meddlesome relatives lengthening the process. Your relations are eager to bar me from your side at the first misstep. But all I want to do is worship you, Eliza.” There was a rumbling hunger in his words, but something about them seemed strained, as if forced through clenched teeth.
It left her dizzy, flushed and weak-kneed, but also inexplicably uneasy. She could taste a hint of scotch on his breath. “Benedict…”
His head hinged back, allowing her a glimpse of his throat. She was seized with a desperate desire to bite it—a moment of pure insanity. Benedict dipped his gaze back to her before she could act. The heat in his gaze was different, more controlled than she was used to seeing.
“I ache, Eliza, to know all of you. In every way it is possible for a man and woman to know each other. The ache grows stronger with every flush of your cheek, each flutter of your lashes, each breath of your scent. I’m driven half mad in desperation. But I know that to cross that line would mean toneverhave you again.”
Eliza’s lips had parted, her eyes were certainly wide and cheeks heated. But his words made her weak, devastated, desperate.
“No,” he continued. “I’m left to torture myself now, with only the chance of tomorrow.”
“I— Benedict…” she whispered.
“Eliza,” he replied, gaze tracing the lines of her face while his lips pressed together. When he met her eyes, they were softer, with more earnest warmth. “You’re everything I’ve never dared to dream of. I need you to remember that.”
Eliza found herself lightheaded at the content of his words and befuddled by the urgency of his tone. “I don’t understand.”
His answering smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Our time is up,” he said quietly, resignation scraping along each word.
“Oh, I?—”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but did not meet his eyes. It was all glittering bravado, brittle at the edges. “Perhaps next time, you’ll tell me which name you prefer.”
