10
The Duke of Ranelaghand Somerville escorted Tessa out to the garden, Bennett trailing behind them. The fog-filtered moonlight revealed a small rectangular courtyard surrounded by hedges. Lanterns lit the two graveled paths that crisscrossed the space, a gurgling stone fountain standing at the center of the “X.” Tessa couldn’t see why it had taken Bennett ten minutes to “secure” the place, unless he’d turned over every leaf of the skimpy flower bed.
She was acutely aware of his presence behind her. The truth was, she’d been acutely aware of him since their kiss, and it was taking all her wherewithal to avoid looking at him. Yet she couldn’t escape the sensations: her lips still felt seared by his, the hard ridges of his muscles imprinted upon her skin. The barest whiff of his soap made her heart race with longing…and humiliation.
She finally understood what Pretty Francie and the others had warned her about. Before, she’d scoffed at the idea of being seduced by a man, but Bennett’s kiss had changed that. And his reaction afterward had shown her just how painful losing oneself to passion could be.
At least he’d gotten one thing right: shewasa trollop.
Having had a day to contemplate the matter, she wasn’t overly surprised or embarrassed by the fact. Blacks prided themselves on being a hot-blooded lot. While she was adopted into the family, the Black spirit ran in her veins as true as blood, and she reckoned it was the family legacy of passion showing itself in her.
Her grandfather oft described his first meeting with his wife-to-be as akin to being struck by lightning. He’d chanced upon Althea Bourdelain at a fair: one look at her and he’d known there would be no other woman for him. She’d felt the same way. Her upper class family had opposed the match and disowned her when she chose to elope with her love.
Althea and Bartholomew Black remained devoted to one another until the day she died. Grandpapa had never remarried.
A Black mates for life, Tessie,he’d said.
Tessa had always found her grandparents’ story romantic. She’d secretly yearned to someday feel that intensity of emotion: to know love that would endure suffering and celebrate joy and never fail. Thus, she didn’t mind being a trollop if it meant finding and being true to her heart’s desire.
What she did mind was being arejectedtrollop.
Blast it, why do I have to want a man who doesn’t want me back?
Even as she recognized her feelings for Bennett, she also knew it was too late to eradicate them. In truth, they’d taken root from their very first encounter, and, despite his harsh repudiation, continued to bloom. Frustration tangled her insides. While she grappled with yearning,hewas entirely unaffected by their encounter.
He continued to do his job as if it was exactly that: a job. Tonight, he’d watched on while her family tried to auction her off like a prime article at Tattersall’s, his handsome face devoid of emotion. Obviously, he couldn’t care less if she were to be married off to another man. In fact, he was aiding and abetting her grandfather in the godforsaken scheme.
Damn his eyes, she thought on a surge of shivering anger.
“Cold, my dear?” a silky male voice asked.
She’d almost forgotten about the duke. Which was odd, since he was a large man, nearly as tall as Bennett, and he was standing right next to her. In the moonlight, his tawny eyes appeared silver, and his long, manicured fingers were undoing the carved buttons of his coat.
Before she could reply, wool slid over her shoulders from behind. She was engulfed in warmth…and Bennett’s masculine scent. Just like that, her nipples budded, tingling beneath her bodice.
Bennett’s gruff voice emerged from behind her. “Take mine.”
She swiveled to look at him. She didn’t know what she hoped to see, but it wasn’t his composed expression. Her frustration swelled.
And be tormented by your smell all night? I don’t think so.
She shrugged off the jacket, tossing it back to him. “It’s not necessary.”
“I think you’ll find this more to your liking.” To her surprise, Ransom placedhisjacket over her shoulders. “The superfine is woven for me specially.”
The material was softer and plusher than that of Bennett’s jacket. And, rather than soap, it smelled of an exotic cologne, one that she found cloying. She was about to refuse the garment when she caught a glimpse of Bennett.
Lines bracketed his scowling mouth. His jacket was bunched in his fist, and that unruly lock had once again escaped to curl upon his brow. He looked...irritated?
Hope burst into bloom. She decided to wear Ransom’s jacket after all.
Presenting her back to Bennett, she gave the duke her most dazzling smile. “I am much obliged, Your Grace.”
The duke’s eyelashes flickered. They were long for a man, she noticed, and suited his debonair style. With his striking feline eyes and bearded chin, he made her think of a pirate. He was handsome, sensual, and faintly exotic, the sort of man debutantes would swoon over.
Unfortunately,sheseemed to prefer men who were stoic, brooding, and extremely annoying.
His Grace offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
