Raven McAllan - The Scandalous Proposal Of Lord Bennett

To give herself time, and to rid the room of the noxious smell of stale alcohol, Clarissa walked over to the windows, pulled back the curtains, and pushed up the sash, thence to let warm, fresh air and sunshine fill the room. It was lucky this room overlooked a pleasant and tidy garden, filled with scented flowers and not the road, where the aromas would certainly not be fresh and sweet.

Ben groaned. ‘Woman, you are trying to kill me.’

‘Fresh air never killed anyone, my lord. And if you persist in smelling like a cast-off from a tavern, you’ll need the benefits. To put it bluntly, you stink worse than any privy.’ She dusted her hands together and after a brief, very brief glance down his body, stared at his face. Her words seemed to have little effect on his body. Clarissa willed herself not to blush.

‘I do, do I? My poor wife. How shall we remedy that?’ Ben jumped off the bed and stalked stiff-legged towards her.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed his gait made his cock wave about as if in welcome to her.

‘Perhaps you could bathe me and show me what’s needed?’ His tone was challenging.

Clarissa dug her nails into her hands. He would not trifle with her, and she would not rise to his bait. ‘Perhaps?’ She shrugged insouciantly. ‘But why should I bother? You have nothing to interest me, and on past showing, I have nothing that interests you. Why waste time? You drink yourself into oblivion, and I … I? I will …’ She ran out of words as he continued to move closer until he stopped a few inches in front of her. One more step and his body would touch hers.

‘You will?’ he asked silkily.

‘Go and have breakfast.’

Damn him.

She left the room at a most indecorous speed. His mocking laughter followed her as she headed down the stairs. Why on earth had she acted in that way? Oh yes, he’d annoyed her, and in truth intrigued her. Because if what she’d read happened, did happen, well …

Hot chocolate and a light breakfast should calm her, surely? And get rid of the strange tingles and shudders that had run through her when she’d stared at her husband. First, though, she needed to walk. Clarissa turned away from her original destination, and made her way along a narrow corridor to where a door led into the larger than average town garden. At least Bennett House had one. So many great town houses didn’t enjoy such a thing. The screech of the bolt which secured the door, as she withdrew it from its casing, made her think few people ever ventured into this outdoor space, even though it was there. She made a mental note to ask Ben to have the lock and bolt oiled, and inform the servants that the garden was for everyone. After all, how often would it be used otherwise?

The thoughts brought her up short. A wifely task? What was she thinking? She had no desire to act as a wife – complaisant or otherwise – hated town and had no intention of spending a minute longer in the metropolis than she had to. The niggly thought that perhaps she would have no say in the matter, she ignored. As she did the one that sneakily told her she’d love to be his wife … his proper, no-holds-barred, forsaking-all-others – for both of them – wife. Clarissa wrenched open the door and walked out into the fresh air.

The scents that wafted up into the bedroom didn’t do the garden justice. Or maybe they had no chance against stale brandy?

Why had she reacted to Ben in such a way? It was guaranteed to put his back up – and it seemed his staff. She giggled, her heart suddenly lighter. She could neither change her way of thinking than a leopard could change its spots. To be outspoken and forward-thinking was ingrained in her. Ever since her mama died, her papa had tried his best to be both parents to her. But as he had often admitted, the workings of a woman’s mind remained a mystery to him, as they did to most men. She loved him dearly, and was more than happy with the strength and independence he’d helped her gain. However, Clarissa would be the first person to admit that her attitude didn’t go down well with most of the ton. It had never bothered her before; in fact she had actively cultivated their view of her. Until Ben had shown his chivalrous side, that is, and she had started to wish he saw her as more than an encumbrance. She still hadn’t decided why he had come to her aid, although to be seen stroking her ankle could well have become the scandal of the decade.

Life was so complicated. Clarissa sighed and began to walk.

The garden was immaculate, but even so, she had the impression it wasn’t loved. No lady of the house came and picked the flowers or walked the lawns. No guests spilled out of the dining room or the ballroom to walk the terrace and enjoy the soft evening air. It was a pity, and Clarissa knew, even though there was now a mistress of the house, nothing would change. The thought depressed her in some strange way, and she retraced her steps inside, and thence to make her way to the breakfast room.

The footman looked at her strangely as she walked in alone, and at such an early hour, but he merely bowed.

‘My lady.’

Clarissa bit her lip. Although she’d been a Lady all her life there were ladies and there were ladies. As the married Lady Bennett she was of a higher echelon than the unmarried Lady Clarissa Macpherson. She’d have to find that hat and learn how to wear it. In her father’s house, once her rakish, but strangely staid, pompous and proper with regard to her, elder brother had moved out, she and her father had lived life very informally.

Tarnation, I can only be what I am. Stuffiness and pomposity didn’t sit well with Clarissa’s true nature. She smiled at the young footman. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘C … can I get you some breakfast, my lady?’ His voice squeaked and he blushed the colour of the deep red cushions on the chairs.

‘Just chocolate and a light meal, please.’ She ignored his embarrassment. He was new and no doubt scared. ‘Eggs, perhaps?’ What was his name? ‘Timothy.’ She remembered at the last minute and was glad she’d done so when his face lit up. ‘Of course, my lady.’

Nothing was said about Ben, and Clarissa chose not to mention him. Her mother had died when Clarissa was in leading reins, and she and her father always breakfasted together. Clarissa had no idea if that was the norm or not, but felt it best not to comment unless she was asked a direct question.

She waited until the man left the room, and stared at the twelve-foot-long table. If Ben did appear and they sat at either end, they would need to communicate by signs – did he know semaphore? – or a written note. For a family dining table it was ridiculous. How stupid did Ben feel when he ate alone?

As if on cue the man himself appeared. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and his normally immaculate hair appeared to have been in a fight with a hedge and lost. The cravat tied around his neck was more Belcher than Bennett, and all in all he looked, well, disreputable. She risked a quick peep downwards, but nothing hard spoiled the neat fit of his pantaloons. Clarissa wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed.

He took one swift glance at her and sighed. ‘How many apologies do I owe you?’

She shrugged. He looked like a little boy who had been caught red-handed tormenting the chickens, or trying to ride the family sow, and it was hard to keep a straight face. For the first time, Clarissa had an idea life was not going to be as straightforward as she hoped. ‘If you need to ask, then the answer is, of course, none.’

‘I was afraid of that. Several then.’ He essayed a grin. She didn’t respond and he rubbed his chin with one hand. ‘But as at this moment I have no recollections of my misdemeanours, I’ll save the specifics until I do. Until that time, please consider them given.’