Raven McAllan - The Scandalous Proposal Of Lord Bennett

Clarissa was so engrossed in deciding whether to reread Miss Austen’s Northanger Abbey or discover the delights of Mrs Davenport’s The Hypocrite that when a strong hand descended onto her shoulder and gripped it she screamed as if a banshee had approached. She spun around and dropped both books. Straight onto a pair of bare feet.

The epithet that scorched her ears made Clarissa certain the hands belonged to a human, and hadn’t acted independently. No banshee would have such a wide and varied cuss word vocabulary, surely?

‘Woman, do you want to unman me?’ She looked into the anguished face of her husband, who actually hopped from one foot to another. What a play actor.

‘Highly unlikely unless your manhood is in your feet?’ She couldn’t help it, she let her glance slide over his crotch – did it always twitch when someone glanced at it? – before she looked at his allegedly abused digits.

‘What a performance over a little book on your toes. Mr Kean would be proud of it. The library today, Drury Lane tomorrow?’ Clarissa bent down and picked the volumes up. His soft whistle made her realise the actions stretched her gown tight over her rear. She itched to drop the books once more, with force and intention this time. And make them graze the stiffly outlined part of his body that stretched his pantaloons to the limit of their knit. Why on earth was he barefoot anyway? He’d had boots on earlier. What was wrong with house shoes like any sensible person?

She bit her lip to stop the ready retort that sprang to mind. Really, this bite-your-tongue stuff was a load of nonsense. He didn’t hold back, so why should she?

‘I thought you wished to talk, not insult me,’ Clarissa said as she put the books on the table and dusted her hands. It wouldn’t augur well to have a shouting match with her husband on the first full day of married life. ‘Your carpet needs a good clean.’

He bowed. ‘Tell your servants, my dear.’

My servants? Oh lord, I’m the lady of the house now.

She curtseyed in the same mocking way he had saluted her. ‘As you say. Did you want me for anything, my lord?’

He chuckled.

Clarissa clenched her fists as the ready colour she was cursed with heated her skin. ‘In your dreams, my lord. If … when,’ she corrected herself quickly, ‘I give myself to a man it will be one who has proved himself to be worthy.’

He whistled long and loud. ‘Now did I say anything about giving yourself, my dear?’ His tone was all innocence. ‘I trust you’ve found a tome to amuse you during those few moments I cannot? For we leave for my hunting lodge within the hour.’

‘Why?’ Not that she was averse to leaving for the countryside. Clarissa was never at ease in the metropolis, and much preferred the slower pace of life in the shires. But with Ben? Alone? When he could … well, whatever. She turned her thoughts into a cough.

‘Why? Honestly?’ Gone was the hungover bridegroom, to be replaced by the man she had secretly admired from afar. ‘Clarissa, whatever the circumstances, we’re married, and need to gain a modicum of knowledge and understanding of each other. We need to learn to at least be in each other’s vicinity without sniping. For that, I rather think we need privacy. Here we are too likely to be interrupted, by all and sundry.’

Clarissa understood the truth in that. Even in the short time she’d spent in the library, the silence of the house had been disturbed by the loud peal of the doorbell several times. More than once there had been strident voices, one of which she was convinced was female, and then a definite slam of a door. It was all well and good knowing she’d upset several ladies upon her engagement; not so good to believe more than one didn’t see a wife as an impediment to anything. Clarissa might not want to be married, or a wife, but neither was she prepared to step back and let any other woman monopolise her husband. The operative words were, she thought, her husband. Hers. Perhaps he was right.

‘Then I’ll make sure I have everything I need. Does my maid know?’

‘She knows. She has packed. She will not accompany us.’

Clarissa blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘No maid, no valet,’ Ben said. ‘I will play ladies maid.’

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.