“Yes, my lord.” Annoyance was heavy in his tone as he stomped into the drawing room.
Benedict didn’t particularly care if the man was peevish. He’d interrupted. And he’d embarrassed Eliza. Termination would have been a fitting punishment. But Bella would make his life miserable in the interim.
In the hall, he snatched his greatcoat off the rack before draping it across Eliza’s shoulders. A covetous, possessive, greedy part of him rejoiced at the sight. Eliza wasn’t tiny, not compared to some ladies, but she was a great deal shorter than him. The worn wool skirted her ankles, and the shoulder seams fell to her elbows.
“Thank you,” she said as he opened the door for them.
The hack awaited, the driver impatient in his pacing. Benedict waved the man off, giving him the directions.
He handed Eliza inside himself. The carriage jerked forward the second he climbed aboard—the driver unwilling to wait even the moment it would take for Benedict to find his seat.
Benedict half fell beside Eliza, earning a warm giggle. He let her bundle him into her side, luxuriating in a few more moments of warm, caring gestures.
Wordlessly, she snatched his hand and clasped it between hers, then traced her fingers over the bruises forming along his knuckles.
At her questioning gaze, he said, “It doesn’t hurt.”
She pulled his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.
Benedict’s throat was thick with sentiment he wasn’t ready to name. Shadows danced across Eliza’s face with each passing lamp.
“Eliza,” he croaked, too overwhelmed to feel shame at the pathetic tone. He settled back against the seat, tugged his hand from hers, and wrapped it around her shoulders to tuck her closer.
“I know you said I should not come tonight. But I cannot lament it.”
“You weren’t frightened?”
Her soft curls brushed his cheek when she shook her head. “No, it was exhilarating.”
He agreed with a chuckle.
“Did you— That is…” She swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet rocking of the carriage. “Your back?”
Her question landed like a blow, harder than any thrown in the ring. Benedict’s stomach dropped. It had been too much to hope she hadn’t noticed, that she wouldn’t question.
“You need not tell me if you do not wish it,” she rushed to assure him.
After a fortifying breath, he began, uncertain where the thought would end. “It’s not that I don’t… But perhaps not tonight? I— It’s not the thought I wish to end our night on.”
“Of course.” She accepted him so easily, so earnestly. “Whenever you’re comfortable.”
“You are too generous with me.”
“I am precisely as generous as you deserve.” Eliza settled into the crook of his arm with that proclamation. She had no way of knowing what her certainty did to him—the way her faith jolted his heart before twisting in his gut to amplify his overwhelming guilt.
He allowed himself the unearned luxury of breathing in her fresh, hopeful scent from the silken curls that brushed his chin.
Long before he was ready to give her up—not that he ever would be—the carriage shuddered to a halt. Reluctantly, he allowed Eliza to unwind herself from his grasp and straighten her skirts.
Benedict stepped from the carriage to hand her out. Eliza tucked herself back into his side while he instructed the driver to wait for him.
The drawing room of her house was still alight. “Eliza, is that?—”
“Mama always orders the house to remain lit until Papa returns home. He’s often quite late. I’ll need to sneak in through the back though,” she explained, guiding them toward the short wrought iron gate he’d made excellent use of the night before.
She glided inside before turning and shutting the waist-high barrier between them. “I’ll bid you adieu here.”
“But—”
