Ben watched her as though he was taking in every word and sorting it in his mind, making sense of her. Understanding her. She peeled back another layer, trusting it in his hands.
“We ended things quickly, but he introduced me to other people in town, men who preferred the company of other men, and women of the like. Apparently it is quite common among the gentry, but is never acknowledged. Men and women will marry as they always have, produce heirs and carry on with lovers.”
Rose exhaled slowly and awaited Ben’s judgmental remark about high society, or Britain in general, but he said nothing, so she continued. “I’d known no one who engaged in relations with those of the same sex, and I was intrigued. Perhaps I was looking in the wrong direction.”
She’d never told anyone about her sapphic curiosity, but she couldn’t withhold this story from Ben. She wanted him to know her completely, to judge her for the entirety of her character, not only what lay on the surface. “But I found the women I met no more enticing than the men.” Her shoulders drooped, unable to keep the weight of disappointment from her posture. “I was told there are some people who are not attracted to men or women. Perhaps I am of that sort.”
“Then you don’t intend to marry?”
What use was there holding anything back from him? She would be gone in a week, leaving her secrets behind in Ben’s care. “My friend Timothy, Lord Trembly, prefers the company of other men, but he is expected to carry on the family name and title. If we were to marry, he would support my family and restore my place in society, and he would be secure knowing that I would protect his secret.”
Ben’s lips parted. “Would you do that? Marry someone you don’t love?”
“I do love him, but not in the way of poets or novels.” She shrugged. “Perhaps being with Timothy would be the best option, as it seems I am not destined to feel attraction to anyone.”
Except Rosedidfeel attraction, if that was how she could define this feeling—a thrill at Ben’s proximity, a rush when he stared at her mouth, or when his throat worked as she put her syrup-covered finger to her lips. Was this what desire felt like? It wasn’t entirely pleasant, as she fought the urge to squirm in her seat. And yet, she wanted to touch her lips again and again, to watch him react. To feel the power he gave her.
“Would that make you happy?”
Rose laughed, a gut-deep chortle that would never be heard in a London drawing room. “Happy? No. Content, perhaps. And my family would be secure. My sister could have a proper season and find love.”
Ben said nothing, simply watched her as though attempting to make sense of this information, and Rose recognized that having said these words out loud, she was terrified of returning to England. Not for fear of Timothy or what their marriage would be, but of never knowing what she could have had.
“Do you have a lover?” Her eyes widened along with his, both of them startled by her impertinent question.
His nostrils flared. “No.”
Rose stiffened as she searched for something that would return them to where they had been a moment before, comfortable in each other’s presence. “Please don’t be offended. We were discussing my affairs, and—”
“My affairs are none of your business.” The softness in his voice had disappeared.
“I didn’t mean—”
The scrape of Ben’s chair against the floor interrupted her words as he got to his feet and donned his cap. “Thanks for the pie, Abby,” he called out, ignoring Rose as he walked to the door.
Abby poked her head out from the kitchen. “I’ll bring some home tonight, if we have any left over.”
Rose gave her cousin a half-hearted wave and followed Ben out the door, stopping in her tracks when she saw him pacing in front of the shop. “What are you doing?”
He grunted. “You don’t know your way home.” Ben lifted his chin and began walking, so Rose stumbled to catch up.
“I’m sorry.” Ben’s face was so impassive she wondered if he’d heard her words at all. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Did I offend you?” She hesitated, but he didn’t answer. “Clearly, I offended you. I only—”
Ben stopped and whirled around to face her; Rose had to press her palms to his chest to avoid slamming into him. “Do you ever stop talking?”
An indignant flush rushed to her cheeks, and she pushed back, trying to ignore the strength of his chest beneath her hands. “Perhaps if you would take up the mantle of conversation now and then, I wouldn’t feel so obligated to fill the space.”
“What is wrong with beingsilentfor a few moments?”
“What is wrong with being warm and welcoming?” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her brows in challenge.
With a sigh, Ben looked towards the street. “If you’re looking for someone to swap secrets, I’m not that person. Go find Abby. She’ll talk your ear off.”
Something in Rose’s gut twisted. “Abby has Cass, and Cass doesn’t like me.”
“Cass likes you just fine.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Cass likes me about as much as you like me, namely very little, apparently.”
