Another grunt.
“Soon—a week, perhaps a fortnight—you will be able to coax her into your bed. Once you’ve managed that, it will be no work at all to convince her to run away with you.”
“Bella… might we discuss something else? Anything at all? It seems we’ve spoken of little else for months.”
She stopped short, her arm ripping from his. “Oh, I beg your pardon? I thought we were discussing the vengeance and salvation we’ve been intent upon for years. But by all means, if you find the subject dull, we may discuss anything you wish.”
Benedict’s jaw clenched, trapping the litany of worries that threatened to escape.
“You forgot yourself tonight, more than once. Do not suppose it escaped my notice. I have no objection to your taking satisfaction in your efforts. It certainly lends authenticity to your flirtations. But this is too important for distractions. Do you suppose you can save Blackwood entirely with your fists? How long do you believe you can continue to win in the ring before your body betrays you? What would happen to me, to father, if you were injured? We need that money. And father needs his recompense. We all do.”
“I know. I understand my duty in this. To revel in my cruelty, though… it is unseemly.”
“Cruelty? Cruelty was Wayland cheating our father. What you are doing? This is justice. This is right. You are repaying a debt,” Bella hissed.
“A debt?”
“Father’s revenge—it’s still owed—long overdue, in fact. Wayland should be thrilled; he always collects on his debts.”
“I know this is necessary, but we needn’t delight in it, Bella.”
“Fine,” she bit out as she snatched his elbow and pressed him ahead at a furious clip. “What else shall we discuss?”
“Fine weather we’re having?” he supplied after desperately floundering for another subject.
It was Bella’s turn to grunt and continue their forward march in silence. Benedict was overwhelmed with relief. He did not require Bella’s constant reminders. His betrayal was imminent. There were mere days before he earned his moniker in truth.
In a sennight, perhaps two, he would add wrath to his sins, greed as well. Paired with his existing lust, envy, and pride, he’d nearly collected the entire set.
Lord of Sin indeed.
The siblings stompedoff to their respective rooms once they reached their overpriced hovel.
As soon as he secured the lock, Benedict toed off his shoes and shed his coat, cravat, and waistcoat. He tossed them across the threadbare blue chair before searching the pocket for his spoils.
Once retrieved, he flopped down onto the too-thin horsehair mattress. The bed frame groaned in response, threatening to collapse. Thankfully, it held firm.
Benedict ran the glove between his middle and forefingers. The white leather was fine, with gold embroidery around the edge that glimmered in the candlelight. It was long, but the diameter was small—custom-made to Eliza’s lithe arms. Quite the treasure.
He was unhinged. This was madness, but he could have sooner stopped the sun from rising than he could have prevented himself from bringing that glove to his face. Benedict breathed her in. Eliza’s delicate fragrance might cling to his coat, but here, along her wrist, her scent was potent, concentrated.
His eyelids fluttered shut as he inhaled, drawing the fragrance deeper. Violets—he was certain of it now. Violets paired with a citrus note. And something earthy, sensual, Eliza.
Without allowing himself time to pause, to think, his right hand drifted down his chest to the center fall of his trousers. He did not even need to fiddle with the buttons but merely tugged the fabric to free his cock from its prison. He wrapped his hand around his newly freed length, already half hard.
Ordinarily, he used a firm grip when he took himself in hand. But Eliza would be gentle, hesitant, until she learned how thoroughly she owned him. Then she would understand she could use him as she wished—that he would beg her for more. But this time, the first, she would treat him with reverence.
His thumb swiped over the head, gathering a bead of moisture. With one long stroke, he drew it along his cock. A groan threatened to burst from his chest.
He squeezed his eyes tighter and gasped for another breath from that precious glove.
“Benedict,” she would whisper; she would use his full name, he was almost certain, could nearly hear the desperation in the word.
He would learn her too, learn how to best lay kisses along the luscious swell of her breasts to leave her panting. She wouldcling to his shoulders with those elegant fingers if he tongued along the neckline of her dress. It was only appropriate to show his appreciation for the way she’d offered those breathtaking breasts up for his admiration that evening.
His fist tightened at the thought, and he forced himself to loosen it, to explore in a way he hadn’t since he was a lad. Once Eliza overcame her shyness, her natural curiosity would shine through. After she satisfied that curiosity and grew confident, she would tease him. She delighted in teasing him. Their bed sport would be no different. In words and actions, she would draw out his pleasure.
Her devilish temptation of a dress had closed up the back. He’d caught the edge of it with his fingertips during their waltz. Benedict was enough of a rake to know he could dismantle an entire row of hook-and-eye closures with one studied tug and release. Not with Eliza though, not their first time. She deserved the reverence and slow anticipation that built from freeing each hook, one at a time.
