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He was alone, as he always was, with his scepter, as he always was. Benjamin prayed he might be swept away by another party, and the angels were on his side. As soon as the tip of his cane made contact with the green carpet of the drawing room, he made for Charlotte’s father.
“We can steal ourselves away,” Charlotte whispered to Benjamin, “If it would help you somewhat. We can head off to speak with—”
“No,” Benjamin replied flatly. He smoothed out his lapels. “He doesn’t know who I am; you will remember. For this evening, we are strangers, as he thinks we are in life. That is enough.”
Somehow, Benjamin found himself at dinner. Truth be told, he hadn’t the first clue what to expect from the Richmond soirée, having never attended an affair of its sort before. He had scoffed a pie before coming, so he merely picked at the soup as it was served—a cold, mint-green squash slop that didn’t seem any more appealing than his kidney pasty.
By luck or design, he had been assigned a seat beside Charlotte. They made easy, vapid talk for the first two courses, waiting for the conversation between guests to spark properly before speaking truly amongst themselves. The dinner hall swelled with laughter and chatter as the meats were served, and Charlotte turned to him.
“We have managed to skirt disaster so far.” She lifted her glass before her mouth, speaking low. “I meant what I said earlier. If you wish to leave to avoid His Grace—”
“Charlotte,” Benjamin hissed quietly. He shot her an apologetic look. “It’s all right. Don’t worry yourself on my account.”
“Who said anything about it being on your account?” Her voice was teasing. She looked at his full glass of champagne. “Why is it you do not drink?”
Benjamin had halfway sliced through a fillet of veal. “I drink.”
“Not fortified drinks.”
“I don’t have a need for them.”
Charlotte took a sip of her bubbling wine, which coated her lips. She licked it away, and Benjamin cursed her tongue. “People aren’t in the business of drinking out of need, from what I understand.”
“There are men who need to drink, Lady Charlotte. I was one of them.”
She tipped her head back. “Oh,” was all she voiced. “Forgive me.”
Benjamin waved her apology away. “I’ll forgive you if you can find a way to stop your father from staring at me.” The twinset of silver-haired dukes had been ogling him for most of their meal. “I didn’t know I was such an oddity.”
“It is most assuredly nothing to do with you. There is nothing odd about you.” She sighed. “Outside of our... familiarity with one another. My brother is quite impressed with you, for all it is worth—a lot of nothing.” She bit her lip and laughed. “Then again, I think he would adore any man who promised to take me off his hands.”
“Your family seems a battlefield to navigate.”
“Not when you become acquainted with them.” Benjamin had withdrawn, and he could tell she knew it. She nudged her seat a little closer to his, and it squeaked against the hardwood floor. He wondered how many glasses of champagne she had imbibed without his looking. “Mr. Huxley,” she lilted low, “My father and the Duke of Gamston would be cool with any man who should vie for my heart—doubly so given their desire to see me as the Duchess of Gamston, as you well know. It is a trifling matter but not a personal one. When they come to know you, they will adore you as much as—“ She cut herself off and closed her eyes. “As much as anyone.”
There was no doubt. Lady Charlotte Fitzroy was tipsy, and there was aught he could do about without sparking some sort of scene. Benjamin breathed a genuine laugh, returning to her at last. Then, she surprised him. He felt something nudge against his fingers beneath the table. He glanced down. Her hand had found its way to his knee—a single finger, the smallest in her possession, tracing a line along the side of his overturned palm.
He feared what else she might grab for her lack of inhibition, and he feared what he might do should it come to pass. Already his drawers tightened for her touch. Her wrist dragged against the fabric of his trousers as she searched blindly for the rest of his hand. He would not survive more searching, overcome at once by a sudden, wild need for her. It had been so long since he had enjoyed the touch of a woman… that it should be hers, forbidden, only made matters worse. She couldn’t know what she was doing to him. She did not hold him in affection. If she did, she would not be playing such a dangerous game.
Benjamin shifted in his seat, but her fingers followed. He seized her hand at once, fingers lacing with hers so he could hold her away. God in heaven, it made her smile.
Dessert could not come fast enough.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Had the room always been such a terrible shade of green? Charlotte really couldn’t say. In fact, she couldn’t say anything of much substance, not while the world was spinning as it was. Dratted champagne—or whateverpassedfor champagne under her brother’s watch of the house’s stores.
Really, she hadn’t thought to imbibe quite so much. A glass and then another, and suddenly her arms were all... prickly. She quite wanted someone else to prickle her, to tickle her, with whichever instrument he saw fit. She pushed the thought away and turned to her sister.
“It has been an eternity since we’ve enjoyed a wedding in this family.” She brushed the hair from her tingling face. “Dress in blue for me, Ellie.”
Eleanor scrunched her nose, leaning back into her armchair. “Whatever do you mean?”
Charlotte’s eyes suddenly welled with tears. “Oh,pleasedo not marry before I do!” She must have spoken a little too loudly, for the parlor swiveled to look at her. One large, gilded eye. She placed a finger before her mouth and shushed them.
Eleanor’s hands were on her knee. “Are you quite all right, sister? Your face is pink all over.”
“It isthe newest mode.” She posed for Eleanor, then leaned in close. “Pollock will be a baron.”
