“Lord Benedict, my lady,” her butler intoned.
She jumped, the book almost slipping from her lap.Simmons stood in the entrance to the drawing room, his expression as impassive as ever.“Thank you, Simmons.Please show him in.”She should not hesitate in saying the next part.They were more often than not alone and interrupted, but she had never directed such.Just say it, Eleanor.“Please also ensure we are not disturbed.”
Her butler did not even blink an eye.“Yes, my lady.”
She gripped the book in her lap.Should she sit or should she stand?Sitting would put her at a disadvantage, but standing would be odd?Which, and she had but a second to choose.
Standing.Standing would be better.Putting action to thought, she then set about arranging a casual smile on her face, but then she didn’t know what to do with her hands.She was still trying to decide such when Benedict strode in.
He stopped.His brows lifted as he took in her awkward stance in the middle of her drawing room.“Why are you standing?”
“I— Because—” She scowled.It was ridiculous how awkward she felt.
He grinned, though his grin faded when he spied the heavily loaded tea table.“Is that Mrs Johnson’s coconut cake?”he said in awe.
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” she said crossly.
He’d already made his way to the platter, not bothering with a side plate as he picked up a slice.“You love me,” he said, his mouth full of cake.
She must, because she was only slightly disgusted.“Can you not display the bare minimum of manners?”
“Not when Mrs Johnson’s cake is on offer.”He eyed the platter, as if he thought to devour another slice.
“Are you going to stuff your face with cake all afternoon?”
“No, of course not.I am here for your lesson.”
A strange feeling curled low in her belly, anticipation and nerves and something she could not quite identify.“Well, what are we about?Is it fans again?”She had brought her fan, just in case.It currently resided on a side table along with the book she hadn’t read.
“No, I think we have conquered the fan.Today, we shall practice the almost touch.”
Frowning, she watched as he shoved the last piece of cake in his mouth.“The almost touch?”
“I don’t know what else to call it, El.”Wiping his hands on a napkin—at least he did not wipe them on his breeches, as he used to do as a youth—he made his way to the pianoforte.“Come stand with me.”
Unsure what he was about, she joined him.He gazed down at her expectantly, as if she should magically know why he wanted them to stand at the pianoforte.“What are we doing?”
“We are pretending we are at a ball and this is a balcony.”
“It is a pianoforte, Benedict.”
“Use your imagination, El.”
She blew out a breath.“And we are going to almost touch?”she said sceptically.
“Yes.”His gaze held hers.“It is a hot evening.You have spent the evening luring the earl with your fan and, with a final look, you have let him know silently you wish to take the air.You know he will follow you, and so you look out over the garden while you wait.You have found a quiet corner, far from the other guests.And then, he approaches.”
His voice lulled her, so she could practically see the picture he wove, only instead of Lord Malvern, it had been Benedict she had been teasing from across the ball.She could almost feel the cool breeze on her face, the thrum of her blood as she waited for him to come to her.
Awareness of him stole her breath.He was so much taller than her, and though he was lean, he was still bigger.Her arm brushed his, the perfect tailoring of his jacket deceptive.Beneath that sleeve was muscled strength and, if she turned her head, her chin would rest on a hard, rounded shoulder.
“I’ll show you what you could do.”His thigh brushed her skirts, and she fancied she could feel the heat of his body through their clothing.“Others are around, so it will be nothing obvious.Perhaps something like… your hand is on the balcony.I shall place mine next to yours.”
Long, well-shaped fingers stretched next to hers, his smallest finger almost touching hers.He was ungloved, as he always was when he came to her house.What would his bare skin feel like?He must have touched her a hundred times, a thousand, and yet she’d never longed for it, her breath strangled in her chest as she stared at his hand, willing it to cover hers.His smallest finger flexed, almost touching hers, and her heart leapt in her chest, throwing itself against her ribs.She sucked in her breath, so quickly she felt lightheaded.
His brow creased.“Are you well, El?”
She managed to nod, even give a reassuring smile.Because it was ridiculous that she had suddenly noticed how tall he was, how broad, how devastatingly handsome.
