He urged the horse into a brisk walk, pressing Georgiana tightly against his chest. He glanced up at the first few faint stars studding the night sky before resting his cheek on the top of her head. He wouldn’t wish himself anywhere but here. If he could, he’d stay here with her forever.
They didn’t speak much. Neither of them said aloud that their investigation into the Duke of Kenilworth was over, that his ugly secrets seemed destined to stay buried. There was no need to say it. The marriage register had been their last hope, and even proof of a marriage between Clara and Kenilworth wouldn’t have been enough to save Jane and Freddy.
They needed Clara Beauchamp. Not just a glimpse of her in a carriage on a darkened street, but Clara in the flesh, her skin warm and herheart beating.
In the eyes of the courts, Kenilworth was no bigamist unless they could prove Clara was still alive, and they were as far from being able to do that as they’d been when this business first began. Now there was nowhere left to go except back to London, and for Benedict, from there to North America, to give Jane and Freddy a chanceat a new life.
Benedict wished for a new life, too, but not the life he’d find inNorth America.
Not any life that didn’t include Georgiana Harley.
He wanted to tell her, but there was too much to say, and too little time left in which to say it. Neither of them tried to fill their last moments with frantic words. Instead she let her body melt against his, and heheld her close.
This was the most he’d ever have of her. These fleeting moments, with her nestled against him in the saddle, her slender back pressed to his chest, his arms resting against her sides. He leaned forward so his face was mere inches from the back of her neck and inhaled a deep breath of a scent that had breathed new life into him—a scent he’d never forget, no matter how many miles came between them.
He was in love with her—had been in love with her for months now—and it didn’t make a damn bitof difference.
“Sleep, Georgiana,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear. “It’s late.”
Too late to be making the long ride back to the gamekeeper’s cottage, but they’d decided not to remain at the Silver Stagg. If Benedict thought they’d come across the duke’s men on the darkened road he wouldn’t have risked it, but the duke hadn’t sent his men after them at all.
He hadn’t needed to. Any evidence of his marriage to Clara Beauchamp had long since been obliterated. Kenilworth had covered his tracks too well to believe they’d find anything they could use against him.
Benedict leaned closer to Georgiana, his eyes falling closed as the stray locks of hair that had come loose from her hat brushed against his cheek. “It’s all right to rest, Georgiana.I’ve got you.”
He waited for her to insist she wasn’t fatigued, and didn’t need to sleep, but the words never came. She drifted to sleep in his arms in such an unexpected show of trust it brought an acheto his throat.
The ride back to Burham was both too longand too short.
When they arrived at the cottage, he eased himself from the saddle and then reached up for her, taking care not to wake her as he lifted her down and gathered her into his arms. He nudged the cottage door open with his foot, strode inside with her cradled against his chest, and carried her to the bedin the corner.
She stirred when he lay her down, made a low, protesting noise in her throat, and caught his sleeve when he tried to draw away. “Don’tgo, Benedict.”
He caught her wrist between gentle fingers and tried to free himself. “Shhh. You need to sleep, Georgiana. We have a long ride back to London tomorrow.”
A small frown crossed her lips, and she held him fast. “You need to sleep, too. Lie down here, next to me.”
A rueful smile drifted over Benedict’s lips as he shook his head. “You’re inviting a notorious rake into your bed?” He thought of how it would feel to hold her in his arms, their bodies pressed together, his every breath an echo of hers, the firelight playing over them and her lips mere inches from his. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, princess.”
She opened her eyes, and her answering smile was…Good Lord, he’d never seen such an inviting smile grace any woman’s lips before. It was innocent and sultry at once, the slight pout of her lower lip making him hard in an instant, all the blood rushing from his head to his cock in one thunderous surge, leaving him dizzy with arousal.
“I do.” Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Benedict gazed down at her, his best intentions warring with a desire that grew stronger with every flutter of her eyelashes, each of her quickening breaths. She didn’t know what she was saying, didn’t realize how dangerous it was to tempt a man like him to lie beside her in a bed in a darkened cottage. How could she? She was inexperienced, an innocent.
But Benedict knew better, and so it was up to him to deny her, to pull away—
“Just for a little while, until I fall asleep,” she whispered, tugging him closer.
That whisper brushed across his skin like a caress, sparking across his nerve endings, and Benedict cursed himself for a fool as all thought of denial fled and he crawled across the bed to lie down next to her. He was careful to leave an ocean of empty bed between them, a thousand warnings not to touch her, not to lay a single finger on her whirling through his head even as his cock pressed eagerly against his falls.
When he didn’t make any move to take her into his arms, Georgiana raised herself onto her elbow and peered down at him. “You don’t look terribly comfortable, Benedict.”
“Nonsense. I’m as snug as a kitten in a basket.” A bald-faced lie, of course. He’d be more comfortable lying on a bed of iron spikes than he was lying here beside her, knowing he couldn’t touch her. “Go to sleep,” he added, squeezing his eyes shut and resigning himself to a night of torture.
“Don’t you want to take off your coat? Your waistcoat too, I think, and your cravat.”
Benedict nearly whimpered. “No. I prefer to sleep in my clothes. Go to sleep.”
