“Do youwantto be nearby when Bella learns that you’re responsible for my present state?”
“Ah… No.”
“Then make your escape. Quickly.” Benedict added a shooing motion with his free hand.
Slowly, West heaved Benedict’s arm off his shoulder. His hand hovered uncertainly at Benedict’s bicep for a moment as if prepared to catch him if he were unsteady. Mustering every sober thought he’d ever had, Benedict straightened his spine and stood as straight as he was capable of.
“Fine,” West agreed after a moment. “If you’re late tomorrow, I’ll be the one beating your arse. And I’m much better than Harker.”
Benedict shooed him again, then waited until the other man had disappeared from view.
Eliza…
He could force no other thought into his cup-shot head and world-weary heart. West’s words echoed in his mind. “You might have Eliza.” No other notion had ever sounded as wonderful.
Big, fluffy clouds tried and failed to hide the bright moon—down to the last quarter before it was reborn into something new and began life again. The night air was temperate. A soothing breeze caressed his cheek—soft as Eliza’s fingertips.
The thought of walking back to his shabby townhouse, where nothing but his tumultuous thoughts awaited him was a punishing one. His thoughts awaited him—and Bella. Facing Bella with her judgmental, knowing eyes was an appalling prospect. She would see through him in an instant.
A delicate, floral scent whispered on the breeze—violets. It may have been a fiction, brought on by drink and wanting, but he didn’t care. There was nowhere he’d rather be. No one he would rather see.
He wanted—craved—one more moment with her before it all burned down around him. One last fortifying breath.
The decision formed without permission, uncontrollable and inevitable. His feet were already moving, carrying him toward Grosvenor Square and Dalton Place with reckless purpose.
Just one more moment of her.
Chapter Sixteen
Eliza retired earlyafter a quiet evening. Curled up atop the bed coverings in her nightdress, her hair unbound, she thumbed through a book. Every few pages she set her book aside to admire her violets.
Plink.
The odd sound startled her. But after glancing around the room and finding nothing amiss, she returned to her Edgeworth novel. Dickens had proven too depressing to be borne on such a relaxing evening.
Plink.
The first could have been a trick of the mind, but a second… Eliza abandoned her cozy bed to search. Her bare feet padded toward the fireplace—unlit on the warm night. Nothing in that corner was out of turn.
Plink.
Eliza spun to the window between her bed and hearth. Beneath it sat an end table with a fragrant bouquet.
Plink.
The disturbance came from the window. She was certain of it. Gingerly, she slid the vase to one side of the table so she couldpeer out without disturbing it. At first, all she could see was darkness; the candles illuminating the space were too numerous to allow her sight.
She pressed against the glass, cupping her eyes with her hands to block out the ambient light. After a few seconds, her vision adjusted to the moonlight, and her heart stopped.Benedict.
His wave was cheeky, boyish. The sight had her lips curving into a breathless smile. She backed away and reached for her robe on the bed.
Years of sneaking down to the kitchens for a snack left her confident of which steps creaked. Avoiding them was automatic, even as she raced down the stairs, tugging on the robe.
The darkened route to the music room was less familiar than her usual midnight sojourn to the kitchens, but she navigated it without incident.
She snapped the lock and slid the door open. She froze at the sight before her.
Far from the buttoned-up Lord Sinclair she’d met before, this man was undone. His coat and necktie were long gone, his dark waistcoat hung from broad shoulders, and the buttons of his shirt had abandoned their role, leaving her with a massive expanse of new, distracting skin to admire.
