Benedict shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’ll meet you in my dreams, at least until morning. And then I will think only of you.”
A vulnerability settled over Eliza like an oppressive blanket. The thought of not seeing him—after what they’d shared—left her lost.
“You said tomorrow—it is not for ladies?”
Benedict’s chuckle was soft, indulgent. “There’s been no one but you. And there won’t be tomorrow either. Even tonight, I only wanted to be here. Pathetic, in truth.”
“It’s not pathetic.”
“Oh, it is. They’ll take away my wretchedtitle, hand it to some other deserving rake, and then where will I be?”
“Mine,” she said, cheeks heating when her thoughts caught up with her hopeful mouth. “I don’t— I didn’t?—”
“I quite like that,” he assured her, his smile small, intimate. “But, to bed with you,” he repeated. “Before it all goes to hell.”
“Goodnight, Benedict.”
“Goodnight, Eliza.” Benedict broke away to open the door, then guided her inside with a little shooing motion. He shut the door behind her before pointing at the lock with a raised brow.
Once she’d flipped the latch, he gave her a crooked smile before making for the back gate, taking all the air with him.
Eliza waited for long minutes before trailing back up the stairs.
Chapter Seventeen
Hell.
Benedict was bound for the deepest depths, and he deserved every eternal second of it.
Halfway to sober, the walk to his too small, too expensive townhouse was enough to excise the last of the liquor from his pores—though not nearly enough to dampen the lust thrumming through his veins each time he caught Eliza’s earthy scent lingering on his fingers.
She had been luminous in the moonlight. Lovely and undone for him, and so responsive. Even if he weren’t a villain preparing to ruin her, he’d never deserve her.
Nothing had ever cost him as much as pulling away from her. Tonight, he’d touched her with no motive other than her pleasure. It had been glorious to watch her peak in his arms for the first time. But the memory was tinged with the repugnant understanding that it would never be that way again—pure, adoring, hopeful.
No, the next time Benedict was intimate with her, it would be with ruin in his heart. As the thought settled into his spine, the scotch in his stomach revolted.
He retched against a gate two houses down. When he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his palm came away wet—tears he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t feel better for expelling the contents of his stomach. Nothing would make him feel better. If the mere thought left him feeling so filthy, vile, then the reality… He would never be clean again.
When he finally started back down the street, it was with a prayer that Bella was already abed. Her presence would only impede his self-castigation.
Disappointment settled in his gut when he saw a candle burning brightly through the window. She was awake.
The temptation to sneak past Bella to his bed to sort out the warring desires of reminiscence and censure was overwhelming. But he knew his sister too well. A locked door wouldn’t deter her if she thought he had intelligence worth knowing.
Instead, he made his way straight to the drink cart beside the mantel and overpoured a glass of scotch, refusing to face his sister on petty principle. He brought the drink to his lips and swallowed it in one gulp.
The glass clinked as he set it down. The knot in his throat—not loosened by the scotch—threatened to choke him.
“Oh, good Lord, you’ve fallen for her.” Bella’s horrified proclamation echoed in his ears.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he directed to the drink tray while he refilled the glass. Heaccidentallysloshed some onto his breeches where Eliza’s honey remained. He ignored the devastated pang in his chest. He was a lecher of the highest order.
“Top me off? It seems I will need it.”
Benedict snagged the bottle of gin Bella preferred and took it to her, preparing to face her judgmental gaze. She propped her elbow on the arm of the settee, glass held aloft in her raisedhand. He splashed a finger into the glass before returning the bottle to the cart.
Finally, he could delay no longer and eased into the chair across from her. The spring poked his back, but he forced himself to remain still.
