Bella surged forward, refusing to allow him more time to think. “What have you planned for tomorrow— Well, later today?”
Benedict released a sigh and turned his gaze back on Bella as she settled back on the ratty settee. “Nothing. I’ve a fight, remember? Need to afford this hovel somehow.”
“I suppose it cannot hurt for her to miss you for one day. Are you confident that Wayland will not learn of your fight?”
“Not at all. But unless you wish to earn next week’s rent on your back, I’ve no other ideas.” Benedict regretted the comment as soon as he’d said it, but Bella had pushed him too far tonight. She was full of problems and empty of solutions—as always. But usually the problems didn’t make his heart clench and his cock twitch.
“Don’t be absurd. I’d never allow a man above me. He’d earn the honor of paying me on his knees where he belongs.”
Benedict’s snort took him by surprise. Lately, it was difficult to remember why he cared for Bella the way he did—until she said something crude and he remembered the brash, sharp-tongued rebel she could be.
She continued, “Perhaps I can visit our other project while you’re otherwise occupied.” His appreciation was followed by a sharp reminder that she was a pain in his arse.
“Leave her. I mean it.”
“Why? Will I foil your well-considered plan to fall cock-first in love with her?”
Benedict rather thought he’d fallen for Eliza’s mind first, but that probably wasn’t the central point of Bella’s comment.
“I said leave her, Bella.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t offer a counter remark. Instead, she rose and found his side. At first he thought she would leave him without comment, but she surprised him, stopping at his side with one hand on his shoulder.
“If you fail… Father—vengeance—it’s all he lives for now.”
“I know.”
“He’ll burn it all down on his way to hell. Everything we’ve worked for. He may not hurt you physically any longer, but there are other ways to destroy someone.”
“Goodnight, Bella,” he said pointedly. She squeezed his shoulder before sauntering off, placing her empty glass on the mantel as she passed.
Sometimes Benedict hated how well his sister could read him. She had sensed the inkling notion that had taken hold during their conversation—let Wayland discover the connection. He would end it, and Eliza would be safe. And Bella knew precisely how to slam the door on that line of thinking.
Benedict understood his father’s capabilities. If Benedict failed, Ambrose Sinclair would burn the world. And it wouldn’t only be Benedict he destroyed.
It had all seemed so simple. But Benedict hadn’t foreseen Eliza. He hadn’t expected her sharp wit and gentle heart, nor her kissable lips, tender caresses, and wild hair. If he went through with this—when—it wouldn’t only destroy Eliza socially, it would gut her. His own chest ached at the thought of her dark eyes filled with sorrow.
Christ, she had been glorious. Sweet smelling and responsive and so eager to please. And he would shatter it.
Perhaps it was in his blood. His father ruined everything he touched. Benedict had never met his grandfather, but he’d done an abysmal job in raising his son.
Benedict swallowed the scotch, grateful it no longer burned. With luck, tomorrow’s fight would finish what he couldn’t. And then he wouldn’t be the one to break her.
Chapter Eighteen
Another day,another ball. Eliza held little hope that this one would be interesting without Benedict’s presence. Now she knew what she was missing. She knew what it was to whirl around the ballroom, her feet never kissing the ground. She knew what it was to stare into the eyes of the handsomest man in the room. She knew what it was to be in his arms.
Eliza had not seen Rose in several days, and she was eager for the excuse to ignore the whispers in favor of a warm conversation.
Some lord or other scooped up her sister for a dance before they’d reached Rose’s side. Eliza could not lament her absence.
“Well?” Rose asked with her hands.
“Well, what?” Eliza replied in kind.
“You know precisely what. Tell me everything!”
In lieu of a response, Eliza offered a coy smile.
