Unconventional Suitors 01 - Her Unconventional Suitor (8 page)

Benedict’s mind wandered back to the conversation he’d had with Lady Gillian where she had begun to question society’s high estimation of appearances. “Mother, I do not wish to find a wife who is only concerned with vain and frivolous things. I wish to find a wife who is interested in more than the cut of my clothing, who is interested in the man I am inside.”

His mother searched his face in that uncomfortable way only a mother could, with an odd mixture of love and disappointment. “Oh Benedict, is this a scheme you have concocted in hopes of finding a wife who is not shallow?”

“Perhaps, but my reasons do not matter. I am a grown man and do not find the need to justify my every decision to you.” Benedict knew his words sounded harsh, but the pain that filled his mother’s eyes made him feel like the lowest of cads.

“I think you are right, I am not feeling well. I will not be going to the ball tonight after all.” His mother held her head high as she shouldered past him, but as she began making her way up the stairs he saw her shoulders slump and he felt horrible.

“Mother,” he called out to her. “Please forgive me for speaking so harshly.”

“Never mind,” she said, not even bothering to turn around. “You are a grown man; you do not need to explain your actions to me. You’re opinion has been duly noted, and I will not interfere with your life again.”

Benedict was speechless. He had never felt so horrible in all of his life. He tried to temper his guilt the entire way to the ball, but that just resulted in his guilt being replaced with an anger directed at his bacon-brained friends. By the time he reached the ball, he was steaming and ready to plant a facer to each one of their perfectly sculpted faces.

The thought of seeing Lady Gillian was the only thing that helped elevate his mood and alleviate his yearning desire to call out his friends. By the time he walked into the ballroom, he had only barely managed to replace his anger with the desire to behold her lovely face.

The Barringtide ball was a veritable crush, he thought as he shrewdly scanned the occupants trying to locate Lady Gillian. His gaze paused on every brunette he beheld, anxious to find the one person he had come to see. He found her dancing merrily with a gentleman he didn’t know. The man was tall and undoubtedly handsome and looking down upon Lady Gillian with unmistakable interest. A twinge of jealousy furled within him as he watched Lady Gillian laugh at something the man said. He hardly noticed the dance end, or his friends making their way to him until he heard Griffin speak.

“Ah Beni, you are looking splendid tonight! Do tell us how Lady Gillian liked the poem we wrote.”

“Yes,” Marcus interjected. “Please do tell us everything.”

“She hated it,” Benedict spit out between clenched teeth. “Just as you knew she would.”

Warren had the gall to look offended. “Lud! How could she have hated such an eloquently written verse? I’ll have you know that we spent almost an entire quarter of an hour writing that poem.”

“A quarter of an hour? It’s no wonder it was so impressive,” Benedict said sarcastically.

“Do you think you could do better?” Marcus asked.

“A child still in the schoolroom could do better.”

“Well then,” Griffin said with glee, “I think I will issue a challenge. If you are so sure that you can do better, I insist that you write Lady Gillian a poem and present it to her. See if she will receive it any more favorably than she did the one we wrote.”

“Consider it done,” Benedict grumbled.

“I can hardly wait to hear your report.”

Benedict could barely tolerate his friends company in his current mood. He had always gone to great lengths to show his mother respect and maintain her favor, so the way he had hurt her tonight was bothering him immensely. And it was their fault, he rationalized.

His eyes scanned the ballroom once more, hoping to find Lady Gillian so he could ask her to dance. When a careful perusal of the room resulted in nothing, he turned to Warren, who was the tallest of the bunch and asked, “Can you spot Lady Gillian?”

Warren silently scanned the crowds. “Indeed I cannot. I wonder where the chit has gotten off to.”

That was exactly what Benedict was wondering. A panic began to fill him, for he had last seen her on the arm of the handsome stranger, and he knew, having once been a rake himself, exactly what the man was capable of doing to an innocent and beautiful lady. He had to find her and make sure she was safe.

He raced across the room, walking at a brisk pace, to the French doors that were leading to the balcony. He knew that many a women were ruined under the light of the silver moon. His heart was beating frantically, fearful of what he anticipated seeing as he stepped out into the cool of the night. Several couples stopped conversing long enough to give him a curious stare, but it appeared that no untoward activity was occurring, and Lady Gillian most definitely was not among them.

He exhaled slowly, relieved that she was not out there with that rogue. But, his relief was short lived, for he knew there were many other possibilities. His mind instantly conjured up the library. How many women had he, himself, stolen a kiss from in the quite solitude of one library or another? Too many to count.

His anxiousness increased as he approached the library and found the door closed. He forced his ragged breathing to still as he leaned his ear against the door and attempted to hear what was going on inside. When he couldn’t hear anything, he laid his hand on the knob and slowly twisted it in an attempt to silently crack the door. He did not wish to barge in and make a cake of himself if Lady Gillian was not inside.

He thanked the heavens that the Barringtide’s hinges were well oiled as the door opened a crack without making a peep. He leaned in closely and heard a tinkling laughter fill the room. Lady Gillian’s laughter, to be exact. His mind instantly conjured up images of the devilish rogue flirting outlandishly with the girl to illicit such a response. He was just about to force his way in when he heard a second voice, a woman’s voice.

“I think he is rather handsome, despite his awful clothing.” Benedict tried to place the voice without success as more giggling ensued. Was the girl referring to him?

“It’s a wonder that somebody hasn’t attempted to aid the man. He is making himself a laughingstock amongst the
ton
,” said another unfamiliar voice.

“Apparently they have.” Lady Gillian was speaking now. “His friends told me themselves that they are the reason to thank for his current appearance. Apparently he was worse before they stepped in to help.”

“Marcus said that?” asked a vaguely familiar voice. “My brother has an eye for fashion, I can hardly believe he couldn’t do better. Perhaps he wasn’t involved.” Ah ha! The voice belonged to Marcus’s little sister, Serena.

“I’m pretty certain he has taken at least some of the credit, along with Lord Dawkins and Lord Straton.”

“Lord Straton was involved?” yet another lady asked shrilly. “Can he not keep his nose out of anyone’s affairs? I have half a mind to give him the cut direct the next time he tries to interfere in my own life. The man is a menace.”

Benedict wanted to laugh. It seemed that whoever the lady was, she was certainly no fan of Griffin’s, which gave him a perverse sort of pleasure. He didn’t allow himself the pleasure of contemplating on that thought long, however, because he didn’t want to miss a single word of the conversation going on in the library. Putting his ear up to the crack, he strained to hear what was being said.

“Lord Straton is just concerned that you will be taken advantage of in your vulnerable state,” Miss Graham attempted to appease the girl whose voice he didn’t recognize.

“La! I am not vulnerable, and he would do well to realize that before I am forced to be rude to him.”

“You wouldn’t do that. The man is positively handsome and well connected,” Lady Gillian pointed out and Benedict seethed. She thought his friend was handsome? To the devil with Griffin, he inwardly cursed, as jealously nearly blinded him.

A deep sigh could be heard, followed by, “That is undoubtedly true, and the only reason I haven’t turned the man out by now. His handsomeness makes him hard to ignore.” Another round of giggles followed and Benedict failed to see what was so humorous.

When the room fell silent, Benedict decided to leave before he was caught eavesdropping on the girls. It was apparent that Lady Gillian was not in immediate danger, and his assistance would no longer be needed to keep her safe.

He was about to turn from the door when he heard Miss Graham say softly, “He wasn’t always that way, you know.”

“You mean Lord Straton hasn’t always been an arrogant and overbearing brute?”

“I was speaking of Lord Danford. I can’t help but feel sorry for the man. He used to be quite the rake before he left the country years ago. There was always an overplus of ladies vying for his attention, and when word of his father’s death got out, I know of at least a handful of mother’s who began scheming on how they could get their daughter to wed him. Now, it seems that no one is anxious for their daughter to be associated with him, all because of his unfashionable attire.”

“And mothers are hesitant to allow their sons to embark on their grand tour, afraid that time spent out of the country is to blame for the unfavorable change,” another one of the voices he didn’t recognize added.

“I detest the unfairness of it all,” Lady Gillian fumed. “A man can be involved in several unscrupulous pursuits, consort with his mistresses and drink himself under the table and the
ton
will simply turn a blind eye, but the minute one steps out in public with his appearance not up to snuff, the man is suddenly beneath everyone’s touch. It’s not logical.”

“Of course it’s not, but it’s the way of our world. You better be careful whom you voice your opinions to, lest they find you very forward thinking and label you a radical.”

“You are right, Lady Lydia, but it doesn’t have to stop me from being polite to the man.”

“Just be careful that you don’t give him the wrong impression.”

“I will. I just feel deeply sorry for him.”

Benedict fumed at her words—he didn’t want her pity. He slowly backed away from the door and retreated down the hall, pulling himself into an alcove and exhaling in frustration. He heard footsteps and the rustling of skirts in the hall and tilted his head ever so slightly so he could see into the hall without being seen. He watched as Miss Graham and two of her friends walked by, heading in the direction of the ballroom, but Lady Gillian was not with them.

As soon as they disappeared from sight, Benedict withdrew from the alcove. He had a few choice words for Lady Gillian, and he knew exactly where to find her.

***

Gillian turned to watch the glowing embers of the fire as her friends exited the library. She needed some time alone to think before returning to the ball. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt so defensive of Lord Danford, except that she’d had glimpses of the man behind the clothing and found him to be captivating.

The clicking of the door caused her to startle and she turned expecting to see one of her friends had returned, only her eyes beheld Lord Danford instead, his gray eyes dark and a devilish look on his face.

Gillian put one hand to her breast, hoping to still her racing heart. “Lord Danford, it would not be well for us to be found alone like this.”

He held up a brass key as he stalked slowly towards her. “No one will find us. I have locked the door.”

Gillian watched nervously as he moved closer, feeling as if he was a predator and she was his prey. As he neared her, she felt her heart beat frantically, and she began to feel faint. The shadows from the fire danced across his menacing face and for a moment she thought he looked like the devil himself.

Her breath hitched as he came close, and she stumbled backwards, her back hitting painfully against the papered wall. An angry gleam flashed in his eyes as he reached his hands up and placed them on the walls beside her face, blocking her in. His face lowered towards hers, so closely that she could see the short, dark stubble across his jaw.

“I do not need your pity,” he hissed, his warm breath fanning across her face as he spoke.

“Whatever are you talking about?” she asked, his nearness causing her brains to jumble.

“I overheard your conversation just now, and I do not wish for you to be polite to me only because you feel sorry for me.”

Gillian felt the blood rush to her cheeks at his words. “You were eavesdropping on us,” she accused, her voice shaking with anger. “How dare you!”

She took several angry breaths as she waited for him to respond, to apologize for his actions and move away from her person, but he did neither. Instead, he lowered his mouth dangerously close to hers and whispered fiercely, “Next time you are tempted to feel sorry for me, I want you to remember this.”

His lips pressed forcefully against hers and Gillian gasped. An odd tingling coursed through her body, and her knees went weak as he grasped her head with his large hands and began twining his fingers in her hair. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as several pins fell from her coiffure and clattered to the ground.

“Lord Danford,” she mumbled in a weak protest while he pressed scorching kisses to her jaw.

“Benedict. Call me Benedict,” he urged.

She couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t remember what she was going to say while he was touching her in ways no man ever had. “Benedict,” she managed to breathe airily before his mouth returned once more to hers.

His lips moved expertly and hungrily over hers, and Gillian surprised herself by responding just as eagerly. Every thought fled her mind as he kissed her with a passion she didn’t know existed, until he suddenly pulled back, withdrawing his contact from her body fully. Gillian reached up to touch her bruised lips while Benedict stared at her, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with passion.

Anger warred with desire as she watched him watching her, neither of them speaking. When he finally spoke, the anger won out. “Don’t ever waste your pity on me again. If you’re tempted to feel sorry, feel sorry for yourself because no man will ever illicit the same passionate response from you that I just did.”