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“Why do you like me?” she burst out. “I’ve been rude to you, I’ve behaved vulgarly. I am not particularly pretty or outstanding. I am no one special, in fact. I said you looked like a hawk, for heaven’s sake. Why do you still pursue me? Is it in the hopes of somehow punishing me for what I’ve said? Do you plan to court me and jilt me, humiliating me in front of Society? Is that it?”
“In my experience, gentlemen who break off courtships and engagements are more heavily censured than the lady.”
“Well, that’s notmyexperience.” Miss Atwood muttered. “I don’t understand, that’s all.”
The rain was easing off, so Benedict put down the umbrella, shaking off excess water. The reprieve wouldn’t last long, though – the skies were heavy with more rain. There’d be a downpour soon. He imagined that Hyde Park was already emptying.
“You ask me why I like you, Miss Atwood. Let me tell you. I don’t wish to brag, but I have always had things my own way, my whole life. That’s not to say I was spoiled, of course. My grandmother brought me up, and she was a fairly strict parent. I was taught morals, and manners, and all sorts of ideals that a young man ought to have. At the same time, I had no real obstacles. I was intelligent enough to attend university, and rich enough never to work very much. I am said to be charming and handsome, but even if I wasn’t, my money and title would make me welcomed in the highest circles in the land.”
Miss Atwood folded her arms. “This is a very long story, Your Grace.”
He smiled, shaking his head. Even now, when she was prickly and unfriendly, he was finding the desire to take her in his arms almost irresistible.
“You are terribly impatient, Miss Atwood. The point I am making is that nobody ever shows me their true faces. I have never had to struggle for anything, whereas others fight their whole lives to accomplish their goals. I could have the finest young woman in Society as my wife, I know that. I have more money than a man could spend in several lifetimes. And yet, I am not happy. Why is that?”
“You have too much money. You ought to give some of it to me.”
“Good lord, madam, are you going to let me get through this story without any more interruptions?”
Miss Atwood pursed her lips and folded her arms, waiting for him to continue. It was an almost pettish action, and one he had no right to find nearly as endearing as he did.
“Iam trying to say, Miss Atwood, that I have never met anyone like you. Of course, there’s no guarantee that you and I will choose to marry each other. That, however, is what a courtship is for.” Benedict took in a deep breath, not quite able to believe he was about to say any of this aloud. “I’ve never been sure I wanted to marry anyone at all, Miss Atwood. However, if there is a possibility that you are the rare woman who might tempt me, I would like to find out.”
She let out a bark of laughter. “Temptyou? Goodness.”
Benedict narrowed his eyes. She had relaxed a little, that wary expression gone from her face. This time, when he stepped forward, Miss Atwood did not step back.
In fact, she flushed. Color spread across her cheeks and her eyes darkened, all signs of interest that Benedict had long since learned to spot.
He stepped closer, until they were almost chest to chest -well, chest to nose, as Miss Atwood was nowhere near tall enough to be on eye level with him. He could feel the warmth radiating off her body. This close, Benedict could see Miss Atwood’s chest heaving. He saw her eyes widen, could hear the breath catch in her throat.
He touched her upper arm, gently at first, to gauge how she would react to the touch. She stayed still, frozen, staring up at him as if the world would end if she looked away.
Benedict let his touch wander, sliding up over her shoulder, dancing across the pale, exposed skin of her throat, letting one knuckle trail across her jaw.
He bent down and kissed her full on the lips.
It was a simple, chaste kiss – nothing to frighten a gently-bred young lady but certainly something to interest her – and he felt Miss Atwood respond.
She moved forward, fingers brushing across the silk of his waistcoat…
And then she pulled away.
Benedict was left wrong-footed. He was the one who usually ended such things, and he didn’t believe he had ever had a lady pull away so determinedly, right after all but melting into his kiss.
“Ican’t do this.” Miss Atwood said.
She had a remarkable way ofappearingdisheveled despite there being nothing really amiss with the way she looked. She patted absently at her dress, tucking non-existent tendrils of hair underneath her bonnet. She did not, during all of her fidgeting, look Benedict in the eye.
“It seems to me that you could. And you did, in fact.” Benedict said, trying for a bit of dry humor to ease the sudden atmosphere which had grown up between them.
Miss Atwood was shaking her head firmly.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then enlighten me, please.” Benedict stepped back, giving the girl as much space as she might want, and folded his arms. “You are certainly confusing me, Miss Atwood. I need hardly point out that you kissed me back.”
“Ishouldn’t have kissed you at all.”
