The Scandalous Proposal Of Lord Bennett

She laughed. ‘And I valet?’

‘Oh, my dear, I do hope so.’ He almost purred the words.

I asked for that. She really was going to have to think before she opened her mouth and put her foot in it.

This was Lord Theodore Bennett at his predatory best. She didn’t know whether to be amused, fascinated, or run a mile. His words and the hot look he directed at her set off those new, exciting tingles in her body once more. The man was a danger to her equilibrium. She picked the two books up from the desk and held them in front of her bosom like a shield. Why, when she was aroused, were her nipples so hard and itchy and wanting to poke through her chemise? Sadly it wasn’t something she could ask Ben. It was at times like this she missed her mama, or having someone around to ask. Oh, her godmama would tell her all she needed to know, but that, now she was wed, somehow seemed a betrayal of her marriage vows. Because surely it was one of those secrets between a man and wife? Clarissa swallowed.

‘Then I will collect my cloak and meet you in the hallway at the appropriate time.’

It was the best exit line she could manage. His chuckle followed her up the stairs to her room.

****

It was strange how someone you’d seen from afar – or that was how it seemed – never passed more than five minutes with, and never thought would look at you in any way other than through you, could be such an interesting companion. If only it was more. More what, Clarissa wasn’t prepared to imagine.

Whether Ben had given himself a stern talking to, or was simply out of his self-induced hangover and prepared to make the best of a bad job, Clarissa had no idea. However, during the long drive north to his hunting lodge in Rutlandshire, he set himself out to be the perfect host. He chatted about the countryside, the gossip circulating the ton, which didn’t involve them, and the hats worn by the tabbies at their wedding. He hid his ever-increasing yawns behind his hands, and never once crossed the line into impropriety. Eventually Clarissa held her hand up.

‘My lord, enough. I don’t need entertaining. You look as if a sleep would be beneficial. How long until we change horses?’

He glanced out of the window. Evidently he knew the route well. ‘About an hour, why?’

‘I think you should nap. You may have slept last night, but I’ll wager it wasn’t restful.’ The same went for her, but Clarissa didn’t think she’d be able to relax until she was in her own room, and her own bed. Alone. Heavens, she might sleep with her mouth open, or snore as loud as him. She might not want his advances – liar liar, may your tongue not fall out – but nor did she want his pity or, worse, his loathing. Now she wanted his silence so she could collect her thoughts.

He stared at her for long seconds. It was like being back at Miss Nunnery’s school for young ladies, where Clarissa had been thought of as a generally biddable young lady, albeit with a stubborn streak. How the two coexisted she had no idea, but evidently that was her make-up.

Finally, just as she was ready to blurt out and own up to whatever alleged misdemeanour was hers, Ben yawned once more and nodded.

‘Thank you. I admit, I am beginning to flag.’ He stretched his long, pantaloon-clad legs out across the coach and put one ankle over the other. Then, with a deep sigh, he folded his hands over his chest and closed his eyes. As far as Clarissa could tell he was asleep within seconds. If only she could be so lucky.

She averted her eyes from the interesting bulge, which sat snugly across the front of his torso. It reminded her of a cucumber she’d seen in her father’s greenhouse at their country estate. That thought made her snigger. A cucumber, indeed. In reality the bulge could, she guessed, be much more interesting. Cucumbers had never featured highly on her enjoyment list. They tasted bland at best. Clarissa forced herself to glance away and looked out of the window, at streams and trees and cattle in the fields. At this time of the year, the Great North Road out of the city was busy, and the first hour had seen them run the gauntlet of pie sellers, post boys, stagecoaches and phaetons. Now, several hours into their journey, the traffic had dwindled to a few carts, one or two solo riders, and once, the mail coach going south. Their coachman had pulled over when the yard of tin was heard, and Clarissa had marvelled at the speed at which the mail passed them. No wonder people said you needed to hold on to your hats if you travelled by post.

A particularly bumpy stretch of road made her grab on to the strap. The heavy rain of recent weeks had washed much of the surface away. That, followed by several days of sunshine, had turned the road into ruts of hardened mud. The gossip was that this stretch of road was soon to be attended to. Soon couldn’t come fast enough.

She stared doubtfully at her husband. He lay loose-limbed in a semi-upright position and swayed from side to side in time with each rolling movement of the vehicle. If they weren’t careful, he’d end up on the floor. Clarissa wasn’t sure what to do for the best. Leave him to the vagaries of the road, or try to wedge him in the corner?

One lurch, more vicious than those before, took the decision out of her hands. Ben swayed and slid across the seat in her direction. His hands found her waist and his head her lap. With a self-satisfied murmur he hooked one hand into the material covering her breasts, and settled himself, using her as a pillow.

Clarissa wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She looked down onto the dark curls, and at his face, which looked so boyish in sleep, and her heart melted. How long had she had this tendresse for him?

Since forever it seemed, and he was oblivious.

He was her husband, so she supposed she’d better accept what crumbs she had and make the best of it. After all, knowing Ben, it wouldn’t be long before he tired of her, the country, and the bucolic life, and hightailed it back to London. The thought didn’t please her. She might have railed against the marriage, but her papa had said exactly what she herself thought. If she had to marry, then she could do a lot worse that marry Ben. Except … She sighed. She suspected what she wanted from marriage and what Ben did were poles apart. Such as him wanting to live mostly in London. That was her idea of hell. It was a situation she would need to consider carefully, weighing up all the eventualities, if she declined to accompany him.

With that thought uppermost, she wedged herself securely on the seat, held him close, and closed her eyes to think about the strange last few months.

A chuckle and warm breath blowing over her neck and cheek woke her. Something was tickling her ear.

Spiders. She struggled to release her limbs, which seemed tangled in the arachnid’s web.

‘Clary, wake up. We’re at the Swan. Come on now.’ The spider pinched her ear. It stung.

Spiders don’t pinch, they bite. They don’t talk and they would not call me Clary. She opened her eyes to look straight into the concerned ones of Ben. The normally bright grey irises were dark with what looked like desire? Surely not? It had to be mere concern over her agitation.

‘Whaa?’

‘You started to struggle and mutter about being caught.’ He winked. ‘My head was removed from the most comfortable pillow ever in no uncertain manner and you batted at me as if I were the devil incarnate.’

‘Spiders are the devil incarnate. I must have been dreaming. Spiders on a log and … oh.’ She remembered just what the log in question had been. But that was a dream, surely?

‘Sometimes in that dreamlike state between wakefulness and sleep we do things we otherwise might not,’ Ben said and laughed. ‘As I used you for my pillow. And you …’ He raised one eyebrow, and tilted his head to one side in a gesture of query.

‘And I let you,’ Clarissa said. She was sure he wasn’t alluding to that, but to where she had an uncomfortable idea her hand had slipped. ‘Ah.’ She’d never been more thankful to see a carriage door open and a liveried servant waiting to help her descend onto the inn’s forecourt.

‘Ah? Ah, you mean saved by the servant. I will give you that this time.’ Ben followed her out of the vehicle, and took her arm. ‘Let’s eat.’

Damn him. Does he always have to have the last word?

****

Ben watched the manner in which his wife took such dainty mouthfuls of food, and to his chagrin imagined her lips and teeth around him. It was enough for him to need to adjust himself underneath his clothing. Why did it happen to him? Only once in his life had he acted with chivalry, and without any thought to what the consequences could be, and the result was he was leg-shackled. To someone who insisted she had no interest in him. Ben thought there was truly no justice. When he had come across Pendragon and Clarissa, his blood had boiled. How dare the man touch her? Deep in the depths of his mind, he was, he admitted, ashamed that his first thought had been ‘How dare he touch her when I dare not?’, followed by chivalry, with no thought of how perhaps a true rake would have bowed and left them to it.

Or would one? Because surely the first rule of a rake was ‘willing women only’. Whatever, Ben was uneasily aware that his first ever chivalrous gesture hadn’t quite turned out the way he thought. It irritated him. He’d given up his way of life, let himself be seen as a cad who had, as many thought, reluctantly saved the lady’s reputation. Although he’d wager no one thought he’d completely change his ways as he intended.

If my lady lets me. My lady? Not a hope at the moment. Nevertheless, he intended to do what he could to alter that state of affairs.

Meanwhile, as he watched the totally innocent, but wholly erotic way she ate her food, Ben accepted he was smitten. It did not sit comfortably. Married men did not become enamoured of their wives. They did their duty, and went their own way.

Why?

Meanwhile, Clarissa finished her repast, and wiped her lips with her napkin. Ben swallowed. His mouth was dry and his stomach hollow. Even that little thing had his body on high alert.

A clatter, a crash and the sound of people running across the cobbles outside brought his attention away from his wife. He got to his feet and strode to the window. Outside the road was clear. A couple of urchins ran along the dusty verge towards where the commotion seemed to come from. The inn’s yard.

‘What?’ Clarissa had come up behind him, and stood on tiptoe to try and see past his body. ‘What’s happened?’ Her soft hand as she held on to his shoulder to steady herself burned through his coat and imprinted its shape on his skin. A delicate scent teased his nostrils, and Ben realised it was that elusive something he’d been chasing ever since he woke up.

‘What is your perfume?’ he asked abruptly, and could have kicked himself. He must remember this was his wife not some demi-monde who had no need of fine words.

Luckily, he thought, Clarissa seemed not to notice his tone, or she chose to ignore it. ‘Perfume? I don’t have any … oh, you mean my soap? ’Tis made by Mr Pears. It reminds me of my garden at my papa’s house. It’s one thing that makes my stay in the capital semi-acceptable. Oh, I meant to say, how lovely the garden at your town house is. You must let the staff know they can use it.’

Ben was amazed. Here they were, speaking together like sensible, non-antagonistic people and having a proper conversation. He made a note to find out more about a soap that smelt of sunlight and long summer evenings in the garden. He recollected the rest of her statement.

‘All the gardens were my mama’s favourites when she was alive.’ Stupid. After all, how could they be if she were dead? ‘She would have said exactly the same with regard to the staff. I’ll make a note to let them know.’ He experienced the usual sharp pang of loss that hit him whenever he thought of his long-gone mama. She had passed when he was at Eton, and Ben still experienced the loss, as if it were the day before. ‘I feel they may be neglected somewhat. I’m sure she – I – would be happy for your input.’

Her sigh stirred the hairs on his neck.

‘You don’t like the idea?’ He’d thought she’d be pleased. Truly the way a woman’s mind worked could be a mystery. For one fleeting moment Ben had a vision of his last mistress. Her mind worked in one way only – calculating what was in it for her. He had parted company with the fair lady when her demands began to be inappropriate. Right from the start he’d told her it was a temporary liaison and, whatever she’d thought, he’d had no intention of altering the status quo. And now he was married? Ben had an uneasy feeling life might not be the same, even though he thought he and his wife had come to an understanding.

‘The gardens?’ he prompted Clarissa when it seemed she wasn’t going to answer.

‘Oh yes, the gardens. Perhaps.’ Her offhand, indifferent tone of voice irritated him. The knock on the door came as a welcome relief. Ben was out of his depth, and he didn’t like the sensation.

He liked the news even less.

‘What do you mean, some idiot’s driven into my coach?’ He roared the words, and blinked rapidly, as if the gesture would change the declaration uttered by the harried footman in front of him. ‘How the hades did you let that happen?’

Clarissa placed her hand on Ben’s arm. How he stopped himself from shaking it off, he had no idea. He glanced at her impatiently. She stood her ground and returned his perusal.

‘My lord, have you never heard the expression do not shoot the messenger? Scraptoft here is only relaying what’s happened. He is neither responsible for it, nor able to alter the chain of events. He’s told you about the accident, and you need to go and see for yourself what’s to be done.’

The footman flashed a grateful glance in her direction and Ben gritted his teeth. She was right, of course, but he didn’t like to be reminded of it in such a fashion.

‘Of course, my dear, you are, as ever, correct.’ He cursed the defensive tone.

‘I accept your apologies and acknowledgement, my lord.’ The words and intonation were dulcet, the look in her eyes not so. ‘I will arrange for our food to be delayed until your return.’

Ben nodded curtly. ‘Thank you. My apologies, Scraptoft. It is, of course, not your doing. Forgive me – I was somewhat perturbed.’ He gestured to the man to precede him, and turned back to his wife once the other man had left the room.

‘I trust you can entertain yourself while I’m away?’

Her eyes filled with mischief, and he could have sworn she choked back a laugh.

‘Of course, sir. I have a book.’

Chapter Four

Why, oh why, did she feel the need to goad him? Clarissa pulled the bell rope. It was answered by a fresh-faced young girl, who carried a jug of what Clarissa presumed was ale, and another she saw was wine.

‘I’m sorry as you had to wait, M’Lady, but what a commotion outside.’ The girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Everyone’s telling each other what ought to be done and only His Lordship seems to have any common sense, my mama says. The food will be along ever so soon.’ She bobbed a curtsey.

As soon as she could get a word in edgeways, Clarissa asked for their soup and pies to be held back, and for a small – she emphasised small – collation to be brought at once. Why Ben had agreed on hot food she had no idea, for the day was warm, and cold meats and salads would have been much more preferable.

Once the girl had returned with glasses, with yet another reiteration that the food was nigh on ready, Clarissa poured herself a goblet of wine, sat in a roomy and remarkably comfortable chair, and picked up her book. She took a sip of wine, and then another before she placed the goblet on a side table, and shuffled around to make herself more comfortable. Then she opened the book and began to read.

The warmth of the sun, which now shone directly through the window, the smooth, rounded taste of the wine, and her lack of sleep the night before began to take their toll. The words blurred on the page in front of her and her eyelids drooped.

‘Well, what have we here? Briar Rose? Should I awaken you with a kiss?’

Clarissa struggled up from her slumber. What was she doing dreaming of fairy tales? Why was Ben in her dreams? Or why did the hazy, attentive, faceless man who had wooed her in them now have a face, and a deep, smooth voice that curled around her like velvet?

The soft pressure on her cheeks made her open her eyes. Ben’s face was only inches away from hers.

‘I knew the kiss would do it? Shall I show you how?’ He moved closer and pressed his lips over hers. Clarissa opened her mouth to protest, as his eyelids closed, and he lifted her out of the chair and sat down with her on his lap.

Something pressed into her buttocks and she wriggled to dislodge it.

‘Stay still woman and kiss me back.’

Before she was able to utter a word, his tongue slid between her teeth and pressed on her tongue.

Her body tingled and goosebumps appeared on her arms as fast as urchins at a farthing scramble. What was he doing?

‘Kiss me back,’ he mumbled the words into her mouth.

Clarissa shut her eyes. How on earth did one kiss a man on the lips?

Easily she found. His hands stroked her neck and her arms as he held her close. Almost of its own volition, her tongue sought his and began to play.

Her skin was on fire and she stirred restlessly.

Why was he holding her fast? She needed to move to assuage the strange feelings that invaded her body. Her feet dangled and she stretched to get a toehold.

Ben lifted his mouth. ‘My dear, do you know what you are doing?’ His breathing was as erratic as Clarissa’s. ‘For a first kiss that was memorable.’

‘If it was our first kiss, no doubt.’

‘If you continue to encourage me so, I’ll take you up on your invitation.’ He slackened his grip, and set her on her feet. ‘What do you mean “if”? Are you saying we’ve kissed before, or it wasn’t a kiss?’

‘Whichever you think fits.’ Me and my big mouth. Clarissa staggered and he shot his arm out to steady her. ‘Ignore it.’ Why didn’t she sound cool, collected and in command? ‘I issued no invitation. You, you plundered and took.’ It was hard to remain calm when her bosom heaved, and her private places stung as if a bee had alighted. No wonder it was known as a woman’s honey pot. However, even in her agitated state she noticed the way he kept glancing at her chest. What was that part of a woman’s anatomy called other than breasts or chest, she wondered? Did men have a private name for those mammaries?

Once, she noticed a secret smile playing around his lips, and she itched to ask him what was funny. Only the thought that he might say ‘you’ stopped her.

‘I did indeed,’ he said at last, just before her temper got the better of her. ‘And believe me I enjoyed every second of it. No …’ He put his finger over her lips. ‘Silence is needed.’

Clarissa managed – just – not to bite his digit or, heavens above, suck it into her mouth.

‘Say no more. I have news for you, with regards to our carriage.’

She looked at him closely. Had his face taken on a greyish tinge? Or was it because the sun had gone behind a cloud?

‘It’s ready?’

He shook his head. ‘Sadly, no.’

Those pesky spiders were back in force.

‘Then shall I ring for the soup and pies?’ She was pleased how well she kept her voice level. ‘I assume we will have time to eat before it is repaired?’

‘Oh yes.’

Why did he stare at her so closely?

‘We have plenty of time,’ Ben said. ‘The wheelwright informs me it will be tomorrow before a new wheel is fashioned and fitted.’

Clarissa sat on the nearest chair with a thump that jarred her teeth.

‘Repeat that, please?’ she said faintly. ‘Slowly.’

‘Tomorrow, hopefully soon after breakfast. We may, if all goes well, get to the lodge before nightfall.’

She shook her head. He was jesting, surely? The wary look in her eyes told her he wasn’t. The spiders grew bigger and scrambled for a better place to torture her.

‘So, until then? What will we do?’

She mistrusted the gleam in his eyes. It was time to show she was no wallflower. ‘I, of course, have my book. So once we have eaten, I’ll let you do whatever you need to. Rest assured, you don’t have to worry about your need to entertain me, sir.’

He grinned. The grin she had seen from afar when he honed in on a usually willing woman to dally with.

‘Oh my love, believe me it will be no worry. I look forward to,’ he paused, ‘entertaining you. Ah.’ The door opened and the landlord and his wife bustled in with laden trays. ‘Refreshments.’

‘’Tis all here, M’ Lud.’ Blevins, the landlord, supervised the positioning of the bowls and platters. ‘And your bedchamber is ready if you need to freshen up. The one at the end of the corridor. The best room M’Lud.’

He ushered his wife out of the room.

Clarissa cleared her throat.

Ben pulled back a chair. ‘May I assist you?’

‘Room?’

He nodded and didn’t meet her gaze.

‘Room, my lord? As in room, singular?’ No wonder he looked anywhere but at her.

‘It seems the inn is full.’ Ben sliced a golden-crusted pie in half and inspected the contents. ‘Ah, chicken. May I help you to a slice?’

‘Then, yes, thank you, a small slice. I have a notion my appetite is about to desert me. Pray continue.’

‘Continue?’ He contrived to look almost bewildered. ‘What was I saying?’

‘Exactly.’ She spoke in a crisp, concise manner. ‘Continue. Resume. Carry on. Proceed. Shall I refresh your memory? I believe you were about to explain the lack of an “s” on the word room.’

‘We are lucky. Due to my rank, the landlord has rearranged the sleeping quarters. We now have his best bedchamber, and the young buck who was in it is relegated to the second best and so forth. The poor soul who was in the last room may well be in the stables or with the pot boy.’

‘Then I assume you’ll be in the pigsty,’ Clarissa said with studied indifference. ‘As I have no intention of sharing my room with anyone, let alone a man who snores after imbibing.’

The look on his face was incredulous. He put down the tankard of ale he held and stood over her.

Oh lud, have I taken one step too far?

‘Then rest assured, my love,’ he said and tilted her head upwards by dint of holding her chin, ‘I won’t imbibe and you can enjoy my … presence without fear of losing sleep.’ He paused and bent his head so his breath feathered over her ear. ‘At least not due to my snoring.’

****

Ben couldn’t help but gain a modicum of pleasure from the way his wife’s eyes widened and she visibly gulped. He was, he reckoned, not a cruel person. Although something about the way she stood up to him impressed him, it also annoyed him. A little bit of wifely adoration could surely be injected into her speech occasionally? He didn’t think he was that uninspiring, but nothing he said or did stopped her in her tracks. Except, maybe …

He began to plot.

‘Eat your pie, my dear. You’ll be glad of the sustenance, later.’

She sputtered on the mouthful of pastry she’d just taken and began to choke. Crumbs sprayed everywhere as she coughed. Her eyes watered and her face turned red.

Ben was alarmed. He only meant to tease her, not harm her. He patted her back with one hand, took up his jug of ale with the other, and held it to her mouth.

‘Drink.’ His tone brooked no argument. To his utter relief she did as he asked.

‘Th … thank you.’ She sputtered and coughed again. ‘No, no more, I beg you. Ale is never my drink of choice.’

He picked up the wine. She paled.

‘Not if you want me coherent.’

Ben laughed. He was enjoying himself. ‘Coherent is not necessary. Not comatose is. Drink.’