Perhaps he should slow down, as he hardly ever drank to excess, but if ever there was a time for brandy, it was now.
“She is the daughter of the painter I hired for the portrait I need for the Albany Club. Miss Winters.”
Silas urged him on with his tale. “And?”
“And she has taken over the painting for her father and now I am stuck in a room with Miss Winters all day with nothing else to look at but her.”
“And you want to look, I gather. You want to more than look?” said Silas as he cocked his head.
Benedict glared at his friend. “Do not speak of her that way. I am not suggesting… anything inappropriate. She is employed in my home.” He fell back in his chair with a huff of frustration.
Silas raised his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, my apologies. But what if she was not employed by you, would that change things?”
Benedict sighed. “How would it change things? We are not in the same circles, and what would I do, court her?” He shook his head. “The idea is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” asked Silas, swirling his drink. “You are thirty-three years old and you have no wife, no heir. No woman in all these years has captured your attention. Just when are you planning to secure your affairs?”
“That is not the issue at hand, Silas. The portrait is the key to my membership of the Albany Club. That is what is at stake here,” said Benedict.
Silas scoffed. “Who cares about a bloody portrait, hmm? What’s so important about it anyway? I know you like to dabble in your clubs, but how many memberships do you truly need?”
“I have been trying to get into the Albany Club for ages, not only for my own interests but also to represent the Home Office. You know they like to recruit for various foreign diplomatic services.” Benedict scowled, losing his train of thought. “That’s not the point though-”
Silas grinned, eyeing his friend speculatively. “Yes, old chap. That is certainly not the point. But I know what is…”
He cheekily raised his glass in Benedict’s direction and then threw back the contents in one self-satisfied gulp. “You, Lord Seton, have finally succumbed to the allure of a woman. You have been struck down, without a doubt, by Eros. By God, it’s sosatisfying to see you brought low. Finally, you walk on the mortal plain with the rest of us lowly beings.”
“There’s no need for that,” grumbled Benedict, frowning in Silas’s direction. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we?”
“Oh ho, not nearly thick enough,” exclaimed Silas with a grin. “I remember too well all the many times you told me to‘just get over it’ when I was in deep over my feelings. Now is my time to repay the favour, I think.”
“If it was so simple to put Miss Winters out of my mind, I would surely have done so already,” sighed Benedict, leaning back and bumping his head against the backrest of the chair in frustration.
“I know, and I am going to make it even worse for you,” smirked Silas. “I am here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, that you should make your move.”
“What, are you mad?” exclaimed Benedict, blinking owlishly at his friend. “You know I cannot, she is under my protection, staying under my roof. I could never…”
“No, you would never. But I am here to tell you that you should. Why, how do you know that she doesn’t feel the same about you, have you asked her? What if the Miss Winters is willing?”
Benedict stuttered an intelligible answer, his cheeks red as he blustered in the face of this alarming idea.
Silas laughed. “Oh yes, and now you will not be able to put that out of your mind even if you tried. The temptation is there, growing stronger every minute.” He leaned forward, glancing around the room as if about to deliver a state secret. “Women aren’t some precious treasures to be put on a shelf and admired, that is the mistake I made and it cost me so much time. Women have wants, feelings, and desires as well.”
With a wink, Silas smiled, while Benedict tried in vain to gather his argument in the face of the onslaught.
“Who are you to know what Miss Winters’s feelings are towards you? Benedict, you have spent your whole life doing the right thing, perhaps you should do the wrong thing, just once.”
“I came to you for a voice of reason, not to make matters worse,” rebuffed Benedict.
“Let us put a wager on it!” exclaimed Silas. “I say it is worth the risk.”
“You are in your cups,” grumbled Benedict, furious that his friend was treating the subject as a jest.
“Nay, you are chicken, lily-livered, scared. Both that you might win, and that you might lose.”
“One does not wager on a lady’s virtue,” scowled Benedict.
“What’s this about a wager?” came a voice from behind, and Benedict turned to find Lord Branwin swaying slightly on his feet behind his chair.
