“Dead ones.” Her green eyes, wide with horror, were unbearably adorable. Affection swelled in his chest, and Ben attempted—and failed—to tamp it down. “Posed in ghastly positions as though they were still alive.”
“Wretched,” he agreed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You don’t have taxidermy in England?”
“We do.” Her voice was breathier as he dragged his lips across her cheekbone, then to the hollow below her ear. “But of foxes and stags. Far nobler than the… what do you call the beast that looks like a cow but is uglier?”
Ben chuckled as he unbuttoned the top of her dress, his breath fluttering against her collarbone. “A buffalo?”
“Yes. Have you seen one in person?” She gripped his biceps and pulled him closer, as though protecting him from the long-gone threat of the ugly cow.
“Many.” His fingers dipped below the lace edging; her skin was somehow softer than the silk. “There are entire herds of them in the Dakotas.”
“Did you see them when you came east?”
Ben hesitated, his digits freezing just above her bodice. He had seen the bison through dry, red eyes, his chest and throat aching and heart empty. The stark plains, endless repetitions of gray on brown, passed without meaning as he ran from the life he wanted, the lives he destroyed—
“Ben…”
He pulled in a harsh breath, blinking hard until Rose’s searching expression came back into focus. “Ben?” she repeated as she cupped his cheek.
How was it possible for her to be sogood? She represented everything he wanted to hate—the wealthy, privileged elite who were immune to the ills of society because of the fortune of their birth. But Rose had suffered, had endured heartbreak, and despite that, her heart was open. Where he had buried himself in work and refused to let anyone in, she remained vulnerable.
With a low growl, he stepped back and walked to his desk, attempting to ignore the hurt that flashed in Rose’s expression at his withdrawal. “You convinced his aide of our cause?”
Rose waited a beat before responding. “Not exactly. But he wants to hear more.” Her footsteps echoed behind him, her presence amplified by his traitorous ears. “He’s asked me to take luncheon with him on Tuesday.”
Ben spun, stumbling as an invisible fist closed around his throat. “Luncheon? With Linden’s aide?”
Rose blinked and lifted her chin. “Yes, with Mr. Ruffgate.”
“Well.” Ben rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. It was suddenly warm, too warm in the parlor, and he moved around Rose to open a window. “I suppose you would prefer his company.”
Her silence rang in his ears, despite the noises drifting in from the street. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice hollow.
He dropped his palms to the window sill and looked out onto Willow Avenue, the familiar sights providing a cold comfort. “You’re accustomed to society gentlemen. I’m not shocked that you found a suitable man so easily.”
Ben started as her hand clapped down on his shoulder and spun him around. Her green eyes blazed, evergreen fires fixed on him. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged.
“You walked away the moment I mentioned luncheon. Why does it bother you?” She recoiled. “You don’t believe that Iwanthim to pursue me, do you?”
Ben’s jaw twitched, betraying his attempt to appear nonplussed. “I wouldn’t be surprised, that’s all.” Not surprised, but devastated nonetheless.
“That’sshit,Ben.”
“You like that word.”
“Don’t distract me.” She stepped closer until her soft smell surrounded him. “Are you making a claim on me? Because until last night, I had no confirmation that you feltanythingtowards me other than disdain.“ Ben opened his mouth, but she lifted a hand imperiously. “Andyou fled the bed this morning without having the bollocks to speak to me.”
He scowled. “Bollocks? What—”
“What am I to you, Ben? Because as far as I see, you have no right to claim me. I am not an object to be held and passed to another man’s keeping.Imade the choice to see Mr. Ruffgate again, not because I am looking for a match, but because I wanted to helpyou.”Her slim finger pressed against his chest, just above his heart, and he felt its pressure in his bones.
“I meant it when I said I couldn’t be what you wanted.” He couldn’t even be whathewanted.
She threw her hands out and looked toward the ceiling. “Again, why do you get to decide what I want? Christ, Ben, I thought you were a feminist!”
His brow lifted. “You know that word?”
