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Chapter Twenty-Five
Benneit paused before entering the study. The blessed silence that fell on the castle after the last of the guests departed was purely external. Inside his head a dozen voices were sparring and all of them were coming off the worse for wear. He pushed them all into the background and entered the study. It was time to face his little nemesis.
‘I would like a word with Mrs Langdale, please, McCreary.’
A look of blank panic widened her eyes, but McCreary was out the door before she could speak.
Benneit closed the door and stood for a moment, surveying her. She wore a pale yellow gown that gave her skin an ivory lustre. Evening primrose, he thought inconsequentially, pleased with how lovely she looked in her new wardrobe. And how much lovelier she looked without any clothes at all.
He must be quite mad to even contemplate what he was contemplating. Because as he watched her slightly averted face and the tension in her slim shoulders, he knew he was far from done. He knew it was unfair to her. To all of them. The sensible course of action would be to accept what happened as an aberration and resume an amicable but respectful distance. Since his marriage to Bella he had been determined to pursue the sensible course of action and Jamie’s birth had transformed that decision into a moral necessity. But still...
‘I will not apologise for last night, Jo.’
‘Neither will I.’
Her chin rose and he was so tempted to pull her out from behind the desk and coax her upstairs. Reminding himself that was not wise, he changed course.
‘I must go with the engineers to Kilmarchie today and must stay there tonight, but tomorrow we are invited to the McCrieffs’.’
‘So I understand.’
‘It is only for the one night. We are likely to be back here by the following afternoon.’
‘Good. Enjoy yourselves.’
‘The invitation includes you as well. The three of us.’
‘Surely there is no reason for me to come.’
She still did not look up from the ledger. He didn’t know why he was pressing. It was wrong to take her to the McCrieffs’. But he wanted her with them. With him for whatever time was left them together.
‘I won’t force you. But Lord Aberwyld extended the invitation to you as well, by name. Besides, I have engagements with the engineers and builders in Kilmarchie in the morning and so I must travel to McCrieff directly from there. Jamie will be coming by carriage and will be upset if you remained behind and...’
‘Oh, very well. You have made your point,’ she interrupted, frowning. ‘Is there anything else, Your Grace?’
‘No.’
‘Good luck in Kilmarchie, then, Your Grace.’
He finally moved forward and she leaned back in his chair as he came around the desk. It really was uncanny, her ability to show absolutely no expression, but he knew her well enough now to see the small signs—the dilating pupils in the grey-ocean eyes, the careful flattening of her soft lips. He placed his hand on her wrist where it lay on the ledgers, his fingers seeking and finding her pulse. It echoed his, an angry beating at the walls. He might not be able to read her emotions, but he could read her body. This pixie was as passionate as she was deep.
‘I am not leaving until we clear the air.’
‘There is nothing to clear. You have nothing to apologise for. I am neither an innocent nor a fool.’
‘I agree. I won’t lie and say I regret what happened or that I do not wish to repeat it. But while I am gone I want you to consider what you wish during the time that remains of your stay here. I will respect whatever choice you make.’
He stroked his thumb over her wrist and she leaned further back in his chair, strands of flaxen hair clinging to the dark embroidery. He pulled the two visible pins from her bun before she could react. Her hair slid down to rest on her shoulder.
‘Benneit!’
He ignored her hoarse exclamation, pulling the last pin from the tangle and placing it on the desk.
‘I want this image in my mind tonight.’ His voice was as hoarse as hers, his throat tight as heat streaked through his body at the thought of unfurling her further, from the yellow dress that reminded him of the primroses that sheltered below the wisteria vines in the garden at The House. He raised a long strand of her hair, breathing her in, his cheek just an inch from the heat of hers. He could feel his voice echo against her throat, his breath shallow.
