Bella was partly undone for the evening, her hair in a braid but still in her skirts, with her bodice only half buttoned.
“Whatever you’ve done tonight can be fixed. But for the love of all that is holy, please tell me you haven’tactuallyfallen for the chit.” Bella’s voice remained a lyrical alto, even as she spewed hateful things. Benedict chafed at the insult to Eliza, masking his irritation with a casual sip.
“Benedict…”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Bell,” he said, avoiding her gaze. Benedict had never been so unraveled. Between West’s impassioned warning, the ecstasy of Eliza’s touch, the lingering nausea of his own self-hatred, and now Bella’s imminent fury—he was wrung out. Wrung out and craving the comfort of Eliza’s arms with a ferocity he hadn’t thought possible.
How easy would it be to pretend none of this existed? To run back to Eliza’s breathtaking gardens and pleasure her until sunrise. To be the sort of man who could love her as she deserved?
Bella interrupted his fanciful musings. “I need you to assure me that you haven’t done the stupidest possible thing you could’ve done.”
The denial was instinctive, bubbling up in his throat, but his mouth refused to form the words.
“One job, Benedict. Do not fall for the pretty face. I even chose the less fortunate sister, and for precisely this reason.”
He caught the inside of his cheek between his molars, gnawing at the flesh until he tasted blood.
“This is it. There’s no turning back. It’s not as though you can abandon one and seduce the other—not now. Besides, you’d probably be writing sonnets for that one in another two days.”
“I know that. You don’t have to remind me what’s at stake.” He tipped back the last of his scotch, savoring the burn in his raw cheek. Why had he ever stopped drinking?
“It’s not as though I can ruin her on your behalf. I don’t possess the necessary genitalia.”
“Thank you, Bella, for that crass reminder. I’d quite forgotten.”
His dismissal must have struck a chord, because she snapped. “Twenty-eight years—longer than I’ve been alive. For twenty-eight years we’ve clawed our way back up from hell, waiting for precisely this moment. Now you’re going to fuck it up. And for what? A pair of doe eyes staring at you like you hung the stars?”
“Enough! I know what is at stake. I know what I need to do. I should remind you, Eliza is not responsible for our misfortunes! She is an innocent bystander—and the one who will pay the price.”
“She’s been more than happy to enjoy the fruits of our ruin though, hasn’t she?” Bella hissed.
“You think every shilling Father lost wasn’t initially gained by the ruin of someone or other? Don’t be naive, Bella—it doesn’t suit. If the boot were on the other leg, you’d be sipping chocolate with every meal. We’re the same—just less lucky.”
“The same? Your Eliza is the daughter of a cheat! We’re the children of the wronged man! We’re nothing at all the same. I need you to assure me. Can you still do this?” She tossed whatever book she had been reading aside with athumpbefore she straightened and made her way to the drink cart. “Father?—”
“I said I know! I know what is at stake! I’ll do it. Only I don’t see the need to revel in it.”
“You’ll revel in it plenty once you have her in your bed,” she spat.
“Stop talking about her. Hell, stop thinking about her.”
Bella took a dainty, ladylike sip, a sharp contrast to the venom of her words. “If you believe I’ll be able to do that, you’re the naive one. You need to ruin her, Ben. And soon. Wayland has far too much reach— Alice wrote. He’s sent a dunner all the way to Blackwood. Thank God Father was cup-shot and out of the way when he arrived. But Wayland isn’t a fool. He will figure out the connection. Then you’ll never see her again.”
She was right. West didn’t know, didn’t understand. Growing up, he’d had nothing to begin with. He didn’t know what it was to lose it all.
But if she was right, why was a war raging inside his chest? Every inch of him revolted at the thought of never seeing Eliza again, never running his fingers through her wild curls, never tasting those full lips, never setting eyes on those pebbled nipples that had teased his chest. His stomach threatened to rebel.
But his head… It snatched onto the hope Bella had inadvertently provided. Wayland would keep Eliza safe. She would be sad for a little while, but then someone would see what those other fools hadn’t. Probably that damned Bellemere. Eliza would wed. He would give her a beautiful garden, and she would give him beautiful children. She would have a better man—a man who wouldn’t destroy her.
And Benedict would forget her—eventually. Surely there was enough liquor and enough willing bodies in the whole of Cornwall to excise Eliza Wayland from the piece of his heart she had ruthlessly claimed. He might have to cut that part off, but Eliza was a generous soul; she’d surely have picked a convenient corner he would hardly miss.
“You can do this. You were made for this, Benedict,” Bella clawed him away from the tempting hope forming. Was she right? Was that all he was made for? He existed for the sole purpose of dousing the light that was Eliza Wayland?
Or was West right? Was he meant for more than this?
“Promise me, Benedict.”
“Right.” He swallowed the metallic tang that pooled along his tongue. “I will.”
