Her sister chattered on about something, but Eliza was incapable of conversation.
And she wasn’t yet ready to give voice to this fundamental truth yet. Still too fresh for words.I love him. Even as her heart thrummed in a novel rhythm—bump, bump, bump.I. Love. Him.
“Forgive me, Soph. I need to wash up,” she said, then stepped around her sister and up the stairs without waiting for a response.
Once she reached her bedroom, there, on the table beneath her window, was a vase filled with tiny deep blue-purple blooms—all for her.
Chapter Fifteen
The next afternoonfound Benedict practicing at the heavy bag. After a sleepless night, even the monotonous rhythm of his fists against leather could not keep the treacherous thoughts at bay. Every moment he spent in Eliza’s presence made it more difficult to remember what he was supposed to be—rather than what he was. No role had ever felt more natural than that of her suitor. Truths he had no business considering slipped through his traitorous mind.
Not only did he want her desperately, but helikedher. She teased without barbs—unlike the way he and Bella had learned to survive, snapping at each other before anyone else could draw blood. And in moments where it truly counted, when he unintentionally exposed his soft underbelly, Eliza offered gentleness—as though she had never considered the ways she could destroy him.
Their every interaction was so unlike any he’d ever known. Her warm smile and kind eyes brightened when she spoke of her passions, and darkened when he left her flustered with desire.
With every passing day, the thought of using the trust she’d placed in him for his own wretched gains left him feeling untethered, sometimes downright sick.
But what was the alternative? He’d never considered a future where hechosenot to forge ahead with the plan. Failure had been a pressing fear. Success—a distant dream. But tochooseanother path? His head refused to make that turn, to consider what that might look like—every time he tried, his stomach swayed tumultuously. Because his head knew what his heart refused to admit: There was no future with Eliza. Because the thought of choosing her—choosing anything for himself—was too dangerous even to contemplate.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of West striding into the saloon. Benedict gave the bag one last forceful punch, but West ruined the satisfaction of the gesture by catching it on the backswing.
“Weston.”
“Sinclair,” he reflected Benedict’s formality and petulant tone with ease. “I know you’re feeling glimflashy. But you’ll need your wits about you if you mean to win tomorrow. How’re you feeling, then?”
“Fine… Ready,” Benedict muttered as he untucked one of the protective cotton strips from his knuckle and unwound it. “Your approval or disapproval of my actions is hardly a factor in my preparation.”
West made no attempt to hide his eye roll. “I don’t want you beat half to death for not training proper. And I know you—you’re all distracted over your own contemptible choices, even if you won’t own them.”
“You do not understand me half so well as you seem to believe you do.”
“Fine. You’ve no conscience, no soul. This grand plan of yours is brilliant and fair, isn’t it? You’re even set to put Harker out of time in one blow. Now then—do you want a drink?”
“God, yes.”
West clapped him around the shoulder and guided him out of the saloon.
Less than a minute’s walk found the men at the nearby public house. A few moments later, Benedict had a pint of Worthington’s in his hand. With a single sip, tension melted from his spine.
Unlike so many of theton, West was comfortable in silence. He could cross verbal swords with Benedict with ease but was also perfectly happy to finish his drink in silence beside him.
Shortly after the barkeep brought their second round, West began. “I’ve been watching Harker for a few months. His way’s always the same—he throws the first blow, then keeps on hitting without easing up. He won’t bother to block, and it only takes one good hit to lay him out. You’ll best him handily; you only need to wait for your chance.”
“Thank you… for that.”
“You’re my brother, even if you are making shameful choices that will devastate you and everyone in your life. I cannot let youdie.”
“I take it back.”
“No, no, much too late for that. You appreciate my efforts.”
Benedict merely sighed and took a pointed swig of his ale. He spun the glass between his thumbs, contemplating as it caught the light from his perch on the stool abutting the bar top.
“Believe it or not, I am actually aware that this is wretched. Your reminder is entirely unnecessary.”
West offered merely an intrigued hum in response.
“Not only is her father likely to have me killed and my body deposited somewhere that not even the buzzards can find, butI’ve grown quite… fond of her. It was easier when she was merely a means to an end. I knew my lines then. But every time she looks at me as though I’m worth something… I forget the script.”
