Janice Preston - Saved By Scandal's Heir

She swung away from the view and sidestepped around Benedict to head for the door but, as on the previous evening, he was there before her.

‘Allow me to go first,’ he said. ‘In case you miss your step.’

At Benedict’s words, an image rose to tempt her: that of her stumbling...of him catching her in his arms...of him lifting her chin and lowering his head. Her heart pounded and her breathing quickened as she took especial care in descending the spiral stairs, clutching with gloved fingers at the thick rope that looped from bracket to bracket all the way down. Back on the ground floor without incident, her breathing eased and her racing heart steadied as she straightened her cloak in readiness for the walk back to the house.

‘Harriet...’

Her name hung in the air.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. She could not read his expression in the dim light that filtered through the window, but she did see the muscle leap in his jaw. The air between them crackled with intensity and her pulse responded with a lurch and a gallop. All moisture seemed to have been sucked from her mouth, and she licked at her dry lips as he moved closer. His gaze fastened on her mouth, sending desire sizzling through her. Pure instinct tilted her head, lifting her lips to his.

Aah. The most delicate of touches. Lip to lip...sweet, gentle, almost worshipping. Memories of love and laughter and pure joy. They had been so young. A shared future planned. They had followed the instinctive desires of their youthful bodies. She had felt so secure in his love for her. Before...

Harriet switched her thoughts away from the past and into the present. A kiss. Why should they not? It was just a kiss.

She leaned into him, raising her hands to his shoulders, broad and strong. A man’s body, reminding her he was no longer a youth. A silent sigh for what might have been echoed through her, and tears sprang to her eyes.

He deepened the kiss, his arms coming around her, moulding her to him as his tongue swept into her mouth and tangled with hers. His groan vibrated through her core and she could feel the steady thump of his heart as he tightened his hold, raising her onto her toes. His arousal pressed against her, and anticipation tugged deep inside her. Her own heart thudded in tandem with his as she explored his shoulders and back. She stroked his neck and threaded her fingers through his hair, knocking his hat to the floor. The thought surfaced that her gloves must go but, before she could act on that thought, he changed, urgency taking control.

Her toes barely scraped the floor as he lifted her higher, and backed her against the wall. She couldn’t breathe. Panic mushroomed out of the past, bringing it all back—the pain, the disgust—and she swung her head in denial, wrenching her lips from his, grabbing his hair to jerk his head away. He grunted a protest, seized her wrists and raised her arms, stretching them up, above her head, trapping her between his body and the wall, and tasted her again, invading her with his tongue.

She could not move. She was trapped. A scream built inside. She had learned to submit, but this was not Brierley. He was gone.

Harriet twisted her head to one side. ‘No!’ She panted with the effort not to scream. ‘No!’ Louder. More forceful.

Benedict stilled. Raised his head to look at her with dazed eyes. ‘What...?’

‘Let go of me.’

He released her. Stepped back. Frowned. ‘Why?’

Harriet stared at the blurry floor. Wiped her mouth with a shaking hand. ‘I cannot. I am—’

‘Don’t say you’re sorry,’ he said in a savage voice. ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses.’

He swung away and slammed through the door, crashing it shut behind him, leaving Harriet alone, trembling with the memories that she had tried so hard to put behind her.

* * *

Benedict strode down the hill, away from the tower, his blood pounding with fury and unquenched desire. How weak-willed could a man be? After her rejection—twice—still he had left himself wide open for another blow. His brisk pace did little to assuage the urge to lash out and, as he entered the Home Wood, on the path that led back to the house, he snatched a fallen branch from the ground to slash at last season’s dried-up undergrowth as he passed.

His instinct was to leave. Return to London. Bury himself in his work and his plans for the future or jump on the nearest ship and seek out new adventures. Anything rather than stay here and suffer any more of her games, leading a man on and then freezing him out.

The house came into view. He slammed to a halt. Considered. Then changed direction.

He strode into the barn, then slowed so as not to spook the horses in the stalls. Heads turned enquiringly to watch his progress along the passageway, and he breathed in the familiar, calming smell of horses, leather and hay, pausing to pat one or two gleaming rumps as he passed.

A groom’s head popped out from the end stall. ‘Morning, sir,’ he called. ‘Was you going out?’

‘Yes.’ The question spurred him into a decision. ‘Saddle the bay, will you, Tom?’

A long, fast ride would do him the power of good. It would douse both his temper and his lust and, hopefully, blast away the confusion that had beset him ever since Harriet had reappeared in his life. He swept his hand through his hair, realising he had lost his hat somewhere. No matter—his appearance would make no difference where he was going.

* * *

It was dark before Benedict returned to Tenterfield Court, weary and slightly foxed after an afternoon spent in the Crossways Inn in the village. He left his horse at the stables and walked towards the house, conscious that his steps were beginning to lag. He entered through a side door and met Cooper, the footman, in the passage. He must ask. He had no wish to bump into her unprepared.

‘Where is she?’ Hellfire! That didn’t come out as he intended. ‘Lady Brierley,’ he added. ‘I’m late. Has she eaten?’ It was past the customary time for dinner in the country. With any luck she had already gone upstairs, as keen as him to avoid another encounter.

Cooper frowned. ‘She’s gone, sir. Lord Brierley came and took her off in his carriage.’

Benedict felt himself sway. Must’ve drunk more than I realised. He inched closer to the wall and propped his shoulders against it.

‘When?’

‘Soon after her ladyship came back from her walk, sir. His lordship was already here. He’d had her bags packed all ready, and been up to see Sir Malcolm and then, when her ladyship arrived, he dragged her off to his carriage.’

Dragged? The image unsettled him, but it also raised a hope he didn’t want to feel. ‘Lady Brierley didn’t want to leave?’

‘No, sir. First she said she wouldn’t leave without her maid...’

Ah, of course. Her maid. Janet. She was the cause of Harriet’s reluctance. Stupid to imagine it could be anything else. Benedict shook his head, trying to clear it and order his thoughts.

‘And then,’ Cooper continued, clearly relishing being the one to tell him the story, ‘his lordship said Janet must go, too, and the doctor was here and he said as how she shouldn’t really be moved, and his lordship said he wouldn’t leave her here in this den of...den of...something...’

Iniquity, Benedict thought, his head reeling as his temples began to throb.

‘...so we had to carry Janet downstairs and prop up her leg on cushions and all the while his lordship was looking like thunder—’

‘Had he come to visit Sir Malcolm?’

‘No, sir, but he did go up and pay his respects. He said something about a letter, sir, and more scandal, sir. Just like that. More scandal!’ Cooper paused for breath.

‘And her ladyship was happy to go?’