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He raised her hand, brushing her fingertips across his lips as he spoke, his breath warming the sensitive skin between her fingers, smoothing over the back of her hand.
‘She married a wealthy Duke-to-be who played the London game and ended living in a social wasteland with a Scottish heathen at war with his father and who was up to his neck in estate matters. I thought once Jamie came it would create a bridge between us, but then Jamie changed everything for me. I cannot explain—the moment I took him in my arms I knew everything was different.’ He laughed, looking years younger than he had this past week. ‘It was like hitting a wall. My resentment against my father, the demands of Lochmore, Bella’s frustration—all that faded and I realised nothing mattered as much as Jamie.’
‘Poor Bella,’ Jo said, and, absurdly, she meant it.
‘Poor Bella, indeed. Unlike my shameful flaw there was nothing I could do to mask my love for Jamie. Perhaps if we had been in London she would have found our differences more bearable. I hoped Jamie would bridge that gap between us, but I think that very expectation only made it worse. When she went down to Uxmore that last summer and left Jamie and me here I was so relieved that when the news came of her illness and death all I could feel was guilt that I had so thoroughly enjoyed my time alone with Jamie.’
His hand stilled on her hip, she could feel the tension gathering in him and searched for some way to stave off the intrusion of reality. But he spoke first.
‘What about your Alfred? Or did the accident occur too soon for disenchantment to set in?’
She wondered what she could say. She wanted to repay the gift of honesty, but not scare him out of the temporary intimacy they shared.
‘There was no disenchantment because there was no enchantment. You will think me horrid—I did not marry Alfred because I loved him, but because he loved me. It was the opposite—I learned to care for him because he valued things in me others hardly even noticed. So when he died I told myself I must not lose that completely. I also feel guilty because I never loved him as he deserved. Not even as much as I think I was capable of.’
In the silence she heard the murmur of the fire and the pattering of rain. His fingers stroked her hip as they might Flops, methodically but absently. Then they stopped and she gathered her resolve. Time to regain reality. But when she moved towards the side of the bed she found herself suddenly on her back, Benneit propping himself above her, his leg sliding between hers, his erection hard and hot against her thigh. He was in shadow, but his eyes were as sharp as a panther’s, narrowed and predatory. Even his words were a growl.
‘You aren’t leaving yet. We are not done here.’
The transition from empathy to blazing desire was so extreme her body ached, her skin tight and tingling as if it had shrunk on her. She could not stop her legs clamping around his, her hips trying to rise. Her hands rose as well, pressing against the stubble on his lean cheeks, feeling the bone beneath.
For now he was hers. His body wanted her—as strange as it was, she knew it was absolutely true and marvellous. Somehow, for now, Benneit wanted her with a passion that equalled hers.
‘What shall we do, then?’ she asked, breathless, and he smiled, a panther’s smile.
‘You shall do nothing. You have earned your rest. I will do everything.’
‘But I enjoy doing,’ she murmured, touching the sharp-cut line of his jaw, the sweep of his shoulder and collarbone. Beautiful.
‘Later. I want you addicted to this before morning comes and I can’t concentrate when you’re touching me,’ he murmured against her nape, his own hand trailing lower. ‘So for now I want you to keep those dangerous hands of yours to yourself, little pixie. Close your eyes and drift...’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Benneit woke into softness. The bed was soft, the cover above him was soft. His skin felt soft. He only wished she had not left before dawn so he could sink in to her again. He didn’t want to wait until nightfall again. He wanted to tell her how good he felt with her. Not good—wonderful. He felt he could walk into the crypt and take a nap there and... Well, not quite that good, but close. There was no point in chasing ghosts, as Jo had said.
