And for a moment he found himself picturing himself in the marquess’s place. With Benedict tucked up so close that their knees touched. And between them…well, he was shocked that his mind easily conjured Vanessa as the lady in the equation.
He cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind. Reid stepped away, almost casually, and the marchioness got to her feet. She didn’t look embarrassed to be found in this way, nor did the marquess, who merely looked up at Darrius with an arched brow.
“How is she?” Lady Egerton asked.
He shook his head slightly and her expression fell. “It is not my story to tell, but I think Miss Gardner could use a friend.”
“Oh no,” Lady Egerton breathed, then reached back to squeeze her husband’s hand before she hustled past Darrius and down the hall to rejoin Vanessa in the parlor.
Darrius remained at the door awkwardly, still watching Egerton and Reid. Egerton slowly got to his feet and moved closer, his dark gaze locked on Darrius. “Do you need something?” he asked.
Darrius swallowed. “No. It’s been a very long morning.”
“I assume so,” Reid said. “Merritt filled us in a little on whatever she knew. Lady Egerton, that is.”
Darrius looked between them. “Yes. Well. Yes. I ought to go take care of a great many things. But I assume you’ll be staying and perhaps we can discuss this…something…later on.”
He wasn’t one to stammer and felt like a fool as the two men stared at him. But before the matter could be addressed, he turned away and headed back into the hall. His mind must be addled to be pondering erotic images in the midst of hell. He had to get himself together and not forget exactly why he couldn’t pursue any desire that took hold of him, lest he become just as bad as his own brother.
Or worse.
CHAPTER 3
Vanessa
In the moments since Darrius Warwick had departed the room, leaving her alone with Benedict Norfolk, Vanessa had been fighting to keep control over her emotions. It was an almost impossible task, especially since the handsome man before her watched her with such a kind expression.
“I fear you must think me very silly,” she gasped out.
He took a long step toward her, dark eyes going wide with surprise at that assertion. “Never. I think Arthur cruel and foolish. I think you brave and determined. Both of which are fine qualities, but also ones you do not need to exhibit in front of me at this moment. If you want to scream, scream. If you want to cry, cry.”
Both those options seemed very good, but she didn’t know him well enough to do either in front of him, despite how tempting it was. She shook her head. “Perhaps I’ll drink instead.”
She’d been half-kidding, but he moved to the sideboard across the room and dug around in the cabinet beneath for a bottle. He lifted it and sloshed the liquid within back and forth. “This is Arthur’s finest whisky. He had it brought in from Scotland and he only allows it to be drunk on very specific occasions. I say we polish off the bottle. The bastard deserves it.”
Vanessa had the strangest desire to laugh at that suggestion, but instead she moved to the settee and collapsed down on it. She watched Norfolk pour their drinks, marking how his body moved with such ease and grace even when doing such a simple act.
“Whatever he did, I know he is your best friend,” she said. “You don’t have to pretend to take my side against him, as kind as that may be.”
He took a place on the opposite end of the settee and handed over a very full tumbler of liquor. “He was my friend, but not my best one, I assure you. Now he’s…” He sighed. “After this, I cannot imagine ever calling him friend again. He has revealed himself to be thoughtless and cruel and I could not stand beside a man like that.”
“Then you must be the very best of men, Mr. Norfolk,” she said softly, and lifted her glass for a toast.
“Arthur creates a low standard, but I appreciate it,” he said, and clinked his glass to hers. “I think you must call me Benedict if we are to be friends. I’m in the market for a new one, you know.”
She smiled again. It was odd how easy he made it to do that, even in the midst of something so awful. Then she sipped the alcohol and stifled a cough at how strong it was.
“It isn’t about being in love with him, you know,” she said when she could speak again. “I was never in love with him.”
“I know,” Benedict said softly. “It was an arrangement, as many unions of our station are.”
“But I had hopes that we could work something out,” she whispered. “That it would be better once we’d said our vows and bound our lives. But…”
She shook her head. She didn’t want to say more. She didn’t want to be so vulnerable as to wonder out loud if any man could truly want her after two terrible experiences that had proven they might not. That felt a little desperate to share with so handsome a man, kind or not.
He leaned an arm on the back of the settee and his fingers flexed, like he wished to touch her, probably out of comfort. “Vanessa,” he said softly, and she shivered at the sound of her name in his rough, low voice.
“Vanessa?” This time her name was said by Merritt as she stepped into the parlor.
