Much Ado about the Shrew (15 page)

            “She
has a man on each arm. And handsome ones at that.”

“You think they’re
handsome?” That was a surprise.

Beatrice furrowed her
eyebrows. “Of course,” she said. “All three of you are. Not that I’m going to
throw myself at your feet, mind you.”

           
“Pity,”
Ben murmured, but felt his chest puff out a bit when she referred to him as
handsome.

           
“But
to have two young, eligible bachelors pay court to you? That would daze any
young woman.”

            “Really?”
Ben asked. “Even one as calloused as yourself?”

            Beatrice
stiffened. “Calloused, my Lord?”

            “Just
that you are most likely used to the attentions of all us young bucks.
Especially,” he paused, “while wearing such a dress.”

            “I’m
not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,” Beatrice frowned.

            Ben
shrugged. Truly, he didn’t know what he meant. The woman always tied him up in
knots. Did he really just get upset merely because Milford had touched
her?
 
Dear God, why the hell had he
promised her brother he would watch over her?

            “Would
you care to dance?” he heard himself say. 
Where did that come from?

            Bee
did not answer right away, and Ben sighed. He didn’t know why they always
fought, but they somehow always found a way. Sometimes in was inadvertently,
when one or the other took something the wrong way, but much of the time it was
intentional, most like to determine who could most likely strike the first, and
the hardest.
 
How in the hell was he
supposed to find her a husband if they were constantly at each other's throats?

            “I
would… I would like to dance,” Bee said so softly that Ben almost didn’t hear
her.

            “You
would?” he said, surprised. “Well, let us join in the revelry.”

            He
drew her gloved hand in his and rested it on his arm. She gripped him lightly,
and he cleared a path for the two of them to the dance floor.  A
waltz started up, and Ben internally groaned; if Milford saw the two of them
waltzing along like lovers he would never hear the end of it.

            “Are
you all right?” Bee asked as the other dancers began, “We don’t have to do this
if you don’t want to.” Ben saw her eyes peer up at him her through her
green-feathered mask.  They were uncertain and hesitant, two adjectives
that Ben usually never associated with Bee. He must be making her nervous, he
thought.  Perhaps she thought he would embarrass her?

            Resolved,
Ben took her hand and waist and followed in rhythm to the music. He tried not
to stare at Beatrice’s chest, clearing his throat when another couple almost
crashed into them, and he had to draw her closely into his arms.

            “How
are you liking the ball?” Beatrice asked, moving her head to try to catch Ben’s
eye.

            Ben
kept trying to avoid her gaze, and kept his head focused on the dancers around
them. 
If she knew what I was liking about the ball right now, she would
not be standing this close to me
. “I find it… diverting enough,” Ben said.

            “You
don’t like dancing?” Beatrice asked.

            Ben
gave a small shrug, which inadvertently drew Beatrice a bit closer to him. Ben
huffed his breath out. “It’s not that these events don’t have their moments,
but for the most part, no, I don’t care for them.”  He paused, and
then continued when he saw Beatrice’s frown, “Company excluded, of course.”

            “Of
course. I think,” Bee said, confused. “Why don’t you like balls?”

            “Oh,
they are stuffy, and crowded, and the food is bad, and there is never any
brandy, and,” he pulled Bee away from another couple who was spinning a little
too vivaciously, “did I mention crowded?”

            Bee
laughed. “If you hate them so much, then why are you here?”

            “A
promise,” Ben said without thinking.

            “A
promise?” Bee asked. “To whom?”

            
Blast
it!
 He hadn’t meant to say anything. The drink and the dance had made
him too relaxed. He searched his mind for an answer. “For someone who has,
unfortunately, not been with us a long time,” he said, hoping that would end
the conversation.

            “Oh,”
Bee said. “Someone who has… passed?”

            Ben
nodded, but did not look her in the eye. To your brother, he thought, before he
died over the supposed honor of some stupid woman. 
I promised him I
would do what he was not able to do.

            
They
did not speak after that, and when the dance ended, he led her back to the spot
where they had been standing, but Milford and Welles were mysteriously absent.

            “Where
do you think they’ve gone?” Bee asked, looking around nervously. 

            Ben
gave a frustrated sigh. “Knowing those two?” he asked, but tempered his answer
when Bee gave him a frightened look. “Probably dropped the chit off at your
aunt’s side,” he reassured her, and was thankful when Bee relaxed.

           
A couple on the way to the dance
floor jostled Ben, and he spun around to prevent himself from crashing into
Bee. "Come," he said, leading her away from the mass of people.
"Your cousin is safe with Welles and Milford. We'll eventually find one
another."
 
He led Bee to the patio
and took a deep breath at the fresh air.

           
"Thank heavens," he
muttered as he led them down to the garden path.

           
"Ben, are you all right?"
Bee touched his arm lightly.

           
Ben nodded, looking up at the clouds
that perpetually seemed to block the London stars. "Just a bit overwhelmed
sometimes," he admitted.
 
"I'm
not... adjusting... as well as I would have hoped."
 
He wasn't sure why he was telling Bee this,
but to be honest, she was the only one he really could tell.

           
"Maybe you should go to your
estate for a few weeks," Bee suggested.

           
"God, no," Ben said,
putting his head over his face. "I have enough ghosts of my father and
brother here." He looked up at the night sky, hazy and overcast.
"There are so many stars in France," he murmured.

           
Bee looked up, noticing the sky for
the first time, and nodded. "I do miss the stars. For the first week when
I came to London, I would look up to see if I could see the stars, but Lennox
says that they hardly ever come out here."

           
"That's true," Ben said
absently. "Bee, do you remember when we stole your father's telescope and
camped out on the lawn all night at your estate?"

           
Bee nodded and smiled. "Yes. He
ended up buying William his own telescope after that. Will loved the stars."

           
"Do you still have
it?"
 
He felt the corners of his
lips turn up at the memory of the three of them cavorting on the lawn, each
wrestling the other to look through the eyepiece.

           
"The telescope?" Bee
asked. She shook her head. "It disappeared soon after my uncle took over
the estate. I think he sold it to pay off his gambling debts."

           
Ben noticed the change in her voice
and looked down at her, and realized she was shivering. He drew her in to his
side and ran his hand up and down her arm, drawing the domino around her.
"We can go in," he told her. Indeed, the path had led them straight
back to the patio.

           
"In a minute," Bee said,
peering back inside a bright window.
 
She
took a breath. "I wanted to thank you for taking me to your mother's
today."

           
"Of course," Ben smiled.

           
"Do you know what is going to
happen to Lord Surrey?"

           
Ben stopped walking and drew Bee
around to face him, pulling the domino around her, so only her head was
visible. "I want you to promise that you will leave Surrey to me," he
said.

           
Bee raised one eyebrow. "What
do you mean?"

           
Ben let out a breath and looked up
for a moment before meeting her eyes. "I mean, that I don't know exactly
what I am going to do right now, but," he added, putting a finger over her
mouth when he saw that she was going to interrupt. "I will make him answer
for his crimes, somehow. On that, you have my word."

           
Bee looked up at him.
"Promise?"

           
Ben laughed. "That's what my
word is, you little minx. Come, we'll seal the agreement." He bent down
and lightly kissed Bee on the mouth, expecting to give her a quick peck and
pull back, but he found it impossible. Within moments he had his arms wrapped
around her, tight against his solid frame. God, she felt good, this nymph of
his. He lightly ran a hand down the front of her dress, taking care not to
disturb the silk leaves attached, and felt Bee moan and rock herself against
him. He slid his hand inside the dress and cupped her breast as he kissed his
way down her neck.

           
"Ben!" she shrieked, but
he quickly covered her mouth with his again and smothered the sound, lightly
pinching the nipple and massaging her breast. "Ah, Bee," he murmured,
wondering how he could get the rest of her bodice off.

           
"Ben, please," Bee said,
pliant in his arms.

           
"Please what," he mumbled
against her neck, moving his hand over to the other breast and kneading that
one as well.

           
"Kiss me again," she
moaned.

           
Yes,
dear.

           
The words almost came out of his mouth, and
shocked him back to reality better than a bucket of cold water.
 
At once he drew back.

           
"Ben?" Bee asked, dazed.

           
"I, um... oh, God,
this
I definitely do need to apologize
for, Bee. I... well," he swallowed as he tried to help set her to rights,
until she batted his hands away and adjusted the bodice herself.

           
"It's fine, Ben. Let's go back
inside," she said, and he noticed an odd tone to her voice. If they hadn't
been outside he would be able to see her eyes to discern what she was thinking,
but it was too dark.
 
Bee adjusted her
skirts and walked by him towards the stairs to the patio.
     
           
"Bee,
wait," Ben said, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.
 
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he merely
smiled back as he adjusted her mask. "Perfect," he said.

           
With a soft smile and a nod, she
turned, and they headed back into the crowded ballroom.

           
The very last thing Ben wanted to do
after the masquerade ball was go out drinking with Milford and Welles, but
somehow he found himself at White's, coerced into "just one more"
drink while Milford and Welles argued meaninglessly. Ben rubbed the left side
of his head where a sharp pain was beginning to form behind his eye, wondering
why he had bothered to pick up his two friends in the first place. He wondered
if it would be poor form to just leave them at the club and make them find
their own direction home.

           
"Ben, did you hear what I just
said?" Welles asked.

           
"Huh?" Ben said, looking
up at his two friends who were staring at him. "Uh, no."

           
"We were talking about-"
Welles started when Milford interrupted him. "Murat is dead?" he
exclaimed.

           
Ben rolled his eyes. Joaquim Murat
was a French admiral and King of Naples under Napoleon, and he had been
executed the previous year. "He died last year, Milford," Ben said in
a bored tone. "It was in the papers."

           
"Did we kill him, then?"
Milford asked, sitting back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink.

           
"I sincerely hope you are
jesting," Welles said, frowning and shaking his head.

           
"You think it's funny that we
murdered the man?" Milford asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

           
"We didn't murder him,"
Ben interjected. "He was executed by... I don't know. The people of
Naples. Who knows," he added, waving his arms, annoyed with the
conversation.

           
"How could you not know The
Dandy King died?" Welles asked.

           
"I don't read the papers,"
Milford said. "You know that. Just the gossip sheets, so I know which chit
might be desperate enough to find me marriageable so I can stay away from
her."

           
"A wonderful approach to
love," Ben muttered.

           
"But there were
announcements," Welles said, still astonished at Milford's previous
statement.

           
"Marriage has nothing to do
with love," Milford said to Ben.

           
"The Prime Minister gave a
speech," Welles continued.

           
"If that's your approach, then
it won't be," Ben countered. Since when am I arguing in favor of love? Ben
thought.
 
He sighed. Perhaps the brandy
was off.

           
“When I do marry, I shall merely
pick the most beautiful woman,” Milford smiled.

           
Ben rolled his eyes. “You’d best
pick a comely wench,” he argued. “Beautiful women are more trouble than they’re
worth.”

           
“And you would know this, how?”
Milford asked.

           
"And the Prince Regent spoke as
well," Welles interrupted.

           
Ben patted Welles on the arm
conspiratorially.
 
"Yes, yes, and
there was a parade," Ben said.

           
"A parade? And I missed
it?" Milford frowned.

           
"A parade? Really?" Welles
asked, turning to Ben, then smiling. "Oh, you are funning us."

           
"I knew I wouldn't have missed
a parade," Milford said. "I do love a good parade."

           
Ben shook his head slightly at his
friends. "Don't we all," he said.

           
"You know what I love more than
a parade?" Milford asked, sitting back in his leather chair.

           
"What, pray tell?" Ben
asked, finally feeling the warmth of the brandy flow over him.

           
"A good woman," Milford
said, raising his glass in the air slightly.

           
Ben laughed. "Don't we
all," he repeated, raising his glass as well.

           
"You know, Kendal,"
Milford said, his eyes narrowing, "you say that, and yet you haven't had a
mistress since the Continent."

           
Ben shrugged and took a sip of
brandy. "I wasn't aware my relationships were any of your business,
Milford," he warned.

           
"What was the name of his last
mistress, Welles?" Milford asked, ignoring Ben.
 

           
"Enough," Ben said
gruffly.

           
"Isla? Isabelle?" Milford
suggested.

           
"
Lady Isadora
," Welles supplied for him. "Quite the
sensation."

           
"Whatever happened to her,
anyway?" Milford asked. Ben, however, did his best to ignore Milford and
Welles, instead sitting back farther in his chair, focusing on the remaining
brandy still waiting for him to consume.

           
"I believe she stayed in France
after the war," Welles supplied after several moments, leaning forward and
turning towards Milford.

           
"Pity, that," Milford
said, waving his brandy in the air.

           
"True.
 
But a bit too expensive for my taste,"
Welles sighed.

           
"Is that why Kendal dropped
her, do you think?"

           
"Most likely. Either that or
she was too demanding in bed," Welles smiled, looking over at Ben.

           
"That would be a problem. For
Kendal, not me, you understand," Milford added after a moment.

           
"Of course,
ol
'
chap.
 
When you say demanding, however,
what exactly do you mean?"

           
"Would you kindly
cease
?" Ben jumped up out of his
chair, slightly knocking the table between them. Welles and Milford grabbed for
their glasses as Kendal slid back down in his own chair, trying to avoid the
eyes of the other members. Getting kicked out of his club- yes, now
that
would put a nice cap on the end of
his day.

           
"So... the Isadora chit...
Kendal, she was your mistress for a time, yes? What color did you say her eyes
were again?" Milford picked up the conversation again, ignoring Ben's icy
stare.

           
"Blue?" Welles suggested.
"Or perhaps a light shade of brown?"
 
He worked to keep the smile from his face but the edges of his face kept
popping up in lopsided grin.

           
Ben rolled his eyes. "You are
both twits," he said.

           
"I do believe we've been put in
our place," Milford smiled.

           
"Yes. I don't believe I've been
called a twit, since, well, since I was in short pants."

           
"Fine- you're both asses, then.
Any chance you could change the subject?" Ben asked, swirling what was
left of his drink around in his glass. He motioned to a servant for a refill;
drinking excessively was the only way he was going to be able to tolerate these
two tonight.

           
"Probably not," Milford
admitted.

           
"I'm not an ass," Welles
argued.

           
"Oh, but I am," Milford
grinned.

           
Ben took a sip of his drink and
sighed, thankful for the speedy servant, and sunk lower in his chair.

           
"Kendal, Welles,
Milford
," Ben heard a familiar
voice behind him.

           
"Rutland," Ben said,
sitting up a bit straighter. "How nice to see you." It was a rare
occasion that it
was
a pleasure to
see Rutland, but this just happened to be that occasion.

           
"Yes, yes," the Duke of
Rutland said, motioning to each of the young men with his own glass, "You
all seem to be wasting away the evening. Not even cards or dice to hold
you?"

           
"We are wastrels, my
Lord," Milford said. "We purport to do nothing of consequence, and as
you can see, it is a difficult road we must follow."

           
Rutland cleared his throat. "
Mmm
," was all he said, and turned his back slightly on
Milford, facing Ben. Milford smiled at Welles, who worked to force his grin
down, but succeeded only in making Milford laugh silently next to him. Ben
tried not to focus on the two, but stared solidly at Rutland's withered face.
 

           
"My condolences, I suppose,"
Rutland said, "regarding the
Everill
chit."

           
Ben narrowed his eyes. "What do
you mean, Rutland?"

           
"I hear she's to marry that
Surrey chap, the blond one... spends most of his times in the hells, I believe.
Wouldn't hear of it to have such a reputation at this club, you know.
 
I had thought he had killed her brother...
yes, hmm," Rutland paused, trying to make sense of his own words.
"Must have just been a rumor, then."
      

           
Ben felt a wave of anger surge
through him.
 
He had an undeniable urge
to kill
Rutford
, then his friends, then Surrey. Maybe
not in that order. And, maybe he only really wanted to kill Surrey, beat up his
friends and make Rutland shut up.
 
Or,
perhaps he did want to kill them all- he really didn't know. He took a deep
breath, willing himself to keep from throwing himself at Rutland.

           
Ben found his attention drawn to the
side, as Milford mimicked Rutland's stance behind him, holding his glass out at
the same angle, and opening and closing his mouth in time to Rutland's speech.
Welles doubled over with silent laughter.

           
Ben took another breath and pursed
his mouth into a straight line. "I wasn't aware of that," was all he
said.

           
"That was what I heard today. I
know you'd set your cap for her a long while ago, dear boy, but believe me, there
are plenty of much more amenable women out there.
 
Maybe not as pleasing to the eye, but most
definitely with an easier personality."

           
Ben's insides twisted, and this time
it wasn't with laughter. He wasn't sure anymore if he didn't want to kill
Rutland. What was getting into him today, all of this violence?
 
"Thank you," was all he could
manage, and offered his glass up to Rutland as a kind of a toast.

           
"Yes, yes," Rutland said,
narrowing his eyes at Milford and Welles, who were now sitting up straight, the
perfect models of decorum. "Did you say something?" he asked them
mockingly. "I'm afraid I didn't understand."

           
Milford raised an eyebrow.
"Which word?" he asked.

           
Rutland did not reply, but narrowed
his eyes before he turned and left.

           
"
Yes, yes
," Milford said, mimicking Rutland while holding his
glass in front of him. "
My
condolences and all that rot
."

           
"Oh, leave it," Ben said.

           
"Never say you are on the same
side as Rutland," Milford admonished.

           
"Why not? He's a duke."

           
"
He’s
definitely an ass," Welles said. “Not me.”

           
"What's that about Bee being
engaged to Surrey?" Milford asked.

           
Ben rolled his eyes and shook his
head. "Probably
ton
gossip. Some
old dowager was probably bored and started the rumor this evening."

           
"I find it interesting that he
thought you had affections for the young Lady Beatrice. Why is that, do you
think?" Milford's teasing note had left his voice, and he stared pointedly
at Ben.

           
"How the hell should I know
what goes through his mind?" Ben barked at him.
 
He may not be sure if he wanted to kill
Rutland, but he was still pretty sure he would like to hit Milford.

           
"Why the hell don't you
acknowledge what is right in front of your face?" Milford returned, his
voice uncharacteristically sharp.

           
"What is your problem,
anyway?" Ben said.