“Pardon?” she asked, even more off-kilter by his sudden shift. He could not be as devastated to say goodnight to her as she was him—but it was the only explanation she could find for the change.
“As I said, you may call me whatever you please in your dreams: Ben, Benedict, my god…”
Her shocked gasp at the blasphemy was only somewhat feigned.
“Let me know which name you cry out in your dreams. I need to be sure that mine are accurate,” he explained, his grin cheeky.
A knot threatened to overtake Eliza’s throat as she stared stupidly at him, her cheeks reddening beyond comprehension.
The music faded away with the last strains.
Slowly, deliberately, he took her gloved hand in both of his. He bowed over them with a whispered, “I’ll see you soon, Miss Eliza.”
After their dance and his use of her Christian name, the formality was a sobering jolt.
“Lord Sinclair,” she croaked along with a wobbly curtsy.
Then, he scandalized her still further. Wordlessly, he caught the middle fingertip of her glove between his thumb and forefinger and tugged. He studied her expression carefully before moving to the ring finger and repeating the process. When she made no objection, no move to pull back, he found her index finger and gave another pull. With that effort, the kid leather pulled free, caressing the length of her arm as he claimed it.
Air abandoned her. She watched in a daze as he pocketed her glove with a grin.
Vaguely she noticed Sophie appear at her side, suggesting that they find their mama. But she couldn’t bring herself to break eye contact with Benedict.
He backed up one, two, three steps still facing her before he turned and offered his arm to a waiting Lady Arabella.
At her side, Sophie studied her before tugging at her elbow.
Instead of to their mother as she had suggested, Sophie dragged her to one of the recessed windows and pulled her inside. “Breathe, Lizzie. If I hadn’t had eyes on you for the entire set, I’d think he hauled you off to a darkened corner to ravish you.”
“I feel as though he did.” The astonished breathlessness in Eliza’s voice earned a laugh from her sister.
“Oh, my dear, you are lost to us all now. An enchanting rogue with a silver tongue has claimed your heart. May he endeavor to deserve you.”
“Oh, there is no danger of that,” Eliza assured her. “Truly, the danger is the other way around.”
“We must disagree on that. But I am so unbelievably happy for you.”
“I— Me too. He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.” Eliza could not have wiped the smile from her face for the world. No, it was etched there forever.
“What on earth happened to your glove?”
Chapter Thirteen
The evening was fine,warm and clear, and Benedict convinced his sister and Mrs. Frances to walk rather than wait for a hack. After they escorted her hired companion home, they began the brief walk to their rented townhouse.
For a few minutes, Benedict’s boots thumped on the pavement without interruption. While he was well aware of Bella’s penetrating gaze, he felt unequal to a conversation.
Instead, his gut rolled with angry guilt even as his fingers caressed the delicate leather of Eliza’s glove in his pocket.
Benedict could no longer lie to himself. His was no mere attraction to Eliza. He desired her with a desperation he could not explain. More than that, he was genuinely fond of her. Far from the hardship he had anticipated when he set off for London, Benedict eagerly awaited their every meeting. Whenever he breathed the same air as Eliza, his mouth ran away with him, revealing far more than he intended.
Each time he forgot himself, whispered the tender words of his heart or the indecent words of his desire, Bella was waiting beyond Eliza’s shoulder. The very sight of her was a constant dash of frigid water on his ardor.
“Tonight went quite well. I overheard Miss Eliza and her sister giggling about whatever absurd platitude you offered her. Her mother has no objections either. I spoke with her at length. Lady Juliet intends to extend us a personal invitation to the club’s annual masquerade. It isthesocial event of the season.”
Benedict’s only answer was a grunt.
“The uncle is softening toward you, which can only improve your station with Wayland.”
