Page 45 of A Taste of Miss Honey

Izzy blinked, confused. “Why, what time is it?”

“Ten o’clock, miss.”

“Ten!” Izzy stared at her. “It never is!”

It was unheard of for her not to be up before eight, and only that late if she had a lie in. Ten was decadent beyond belief.

Izzy stared at her, she would never get used to all the fuss and bother of having to dress with such a degree of nonsense. Still, she did wish to look her best. “I’m sorry, Janet, I had no idea it was so late. I’ll be done with breakfast in a trice,” she promised, hurriedly stuffing the cake into her mouth.

Janet laughed and shook her head, resigned to rushing about. “Nevermind, Miss. You’re not used to late nights, I’ll warrant. Shame the weather isn’t better. I don’t reckon we’ve seen a glimmer of sun so far this year. You’d best take that pretty muff to keep your hands warm.”

Izzy could not argue the point, but she didn’t care a jot for the weather. It could snow for all she cared. She was going to see Bo—Mr Midwinter—again, and she meant to discover exactly what he was playing at.

Though it galled him to do as he was told, Ben arrived at Cavendish House at eleven a.m. precisely. Jumping down from the high-perch Phaeton, he handed the reins to his tiger, a small, wiry fellow by the name of Ray—or Renard, the French word for fox. The nickname Ben had christened him with had less to do with his colouring, which was more sandy than red, and more to do with his narrow, sly-looking face and his ability to creep through the dark without a sound. It was an admirable quality for a smuggler, and his knack with horses made him an exceptional tiger. Benedict trusted him more than he trusted most people, which was to say, only up to a point.

He strode up the stairs and gave a peremptory knock on the door, which was answered almost at once.

“Miss Honeywell is expecting you, sir,” the butler told him, and Ben nodded, expecting to be kept waiting for a time, but quick footsteps on the stairs heralded an arrival, and he looked up—and all the air in the room seemed to disappear.

It had been bad enough last night, though he had heard in the nick of time that Lord Beaumarsh had returned to town with his new wife and her unmarried sister. If he had not known that, if he had come upon her unexpectedly, he did not know what he might have done. As it was, it had been all he could do to remain aloof. But now…

As she walked downstairs, her eyes shielded by those pretty spectacles, appeared wary, with all her former warmth restrained, as if a fire guard contained the heat. She looked every inch the fashionable young lady, wearing a carriage dress of pale lavender silk, with a matching pelisse trimmed with swansdown. A dove grey satin carriage bonnet framed her lovely face, trimmed with a cluster of silk violets and tied beneath her chin with wide lavender silk ribbons. Her slender hands were encased in fine ivory kid gloves, and she carried a muff trimmed entirely with white and lilac feathers. In short, she looked perfectly edible, and the memory of the kiss they had shared burst to fiery life in his mind. He remembered the taste of her, the feel of her body, the silken glide of her skin as he trailed his tongue over her lush breasts, and the way she held nothing of herself back. Not so now. She looked elegant and remote, and he’d best ensure it stayed that way. He must stay away from her for her own good. Not that she’d see it that way. Yet desire shot straight to his groin, and he fought not to betray so much as a flicker of what he felt as she made her way towards him.

“Good morning, Mr Midwinter. You are prompt. Shall we go?”

Ben inclined his head. “I am yours to command,” he said, hearing the slightly husky quality of the words and reminding himself sternly he was here for one reason and one reason alone: to warn her off.

She swept past him, out of the door the butler held open for her and waited by the carriage. Ben slanted a glance at Ray, who returned a bland look that suggested to Ben he’d be in for a deal of backchat when this ordeal was over.

Ben offered her his hand, denying he felt anything as she placed her fingers in his and he helped her up into her place. She stepped up with effortless grace, settling herself down as if she had not the slightest qualm about seeing him again, or about being seated so high above the ground.

Taking his place beside her, Ben nodded to Ray, who released the spirited steel grey horses and hurried around the back of the carriage to take his place. With a light flick of the reins, the horses moved off. Ben stole a glance at Izzy, wondering what she thought, if perhaps she was afraid of driving with him. High perch Phaetons were notoriously dangerous, but only if the driver was a half-wit. If one hadn’t the necessary skills, one ought not to make the attempt. They drove in silence for a few minutes as Ben navigated his way back out onto the street. It was quiet yet, but the fashionable set were on the move.

“A beautiful pair of horses,” she said as the carriage took them over the cobblestone of Berkeley Square. “Expensive, I should think.”

Ben’s lips twitched despite himself. “It is vulgar to speak of money, Miss Honeywell, did you not know that?” He resisted the desire to look at her, too afraid of what he might see in her eyes.

“Vulgar indeed, but a man who wore so many glittering rings on his fingers did not strike me as one who was shy about such things.”

“I’m shy about a good many things.”

He kept his voice cool, hoping she’d take the hint and knowing she wouldn’t.

“Smuggling must pay better than I realised.”

Ben’s hands tightened slightly on the reins and the horses tossed their beautiful heads, blowing clouds in the chill air.

“Have I offended you so badly that you wish to see me hanged, Miss Honeywell? Or do you bandy such words about so carelessly because you are too ignorant to see the danger?”

He spoke with Benedict Midwinter’s usual careless indifference, which he knew made the words strike harder. Whether he truly was that man, or Boreas, or some tangled mess of both, he truly did not know any more.

“I wish to know the truth and as we are in no danger of being overheard, I will thank you not to believe me so unutterably stupid as to not recognise you. I understand you are mixed up in something dangerous. No doubt half of this ridiculous escapade was in order to protect me from myself because you think me too stupid to understand the situation. Yet if you wished to parade in front of me and expect me to play along, you might have had the decency to warn me. A note would have done if you were too shy to speak to me face to face. You’re good at those.”

He heard the anger and bitterness in her voice and hardly wondered at it, but regret sat heavy in his chest. She would like him no better when this jaunt was done, but there was no help for that.

Though it was still early and the weather too unpleasant for the great and the good to be out in number, the streets were becoming increasingly busy, and Ben was forced to concentrate as some young idiot in a curricle lost control of his horses and cut in front of him. Cursing, Ben deftly slowed his pair before guiding them neatly around the fool who had almost got himself tangled with a sedan chair.

Glancing at Izzy, he noted her hand clutching the edge of the seat but showing no other outward sign of anxiety. He turned his attention back to the road, but though he did not see her, he felt her nearness. Her perfume reached him on the cold, crisp air, something delicate and floral, reminding him of the scent of her skin, of the place where her neck met her shoulder and he had breathed her in as if he could fill himself with the delicious perfume and carry it with him. She shifted on the seat beside him, and the rustle of her skirts and petticoats took him back to that night too, of how hard he’d had to fight not to reach for the acres of material and drag it up and up and…