Seven Years to Sin(5)

She began to quiver under the weight of Caulfield’s gaze. Although she longed to run from the purloined intimacy, she was unable to move. It was impossible, but it seemed as if he looked right through her, past the fa?ade forged by her father’s hand.

The bonds holding her in place broke only when Caulfield did. His serrated groan at the moment of crisis acted like a spur to her flank. She ran then, clinging to her shawl with both arms crossed over full and aching breasts. When Temperance dashed out of a bush to greet her, Jess sobbed with relief. Scooping up the pug, she rushed toward the trail leading back to the manse.





“Lady Jessica!”

The calling of her name as Jess returned to the relative safety of the rear garden caused her to stumble. Her heart raced anew at being caught. She spun in a flurry of pale blue satin skirts, searching for the caller and mortified at the thought it might be Alistair Caulfield with a plea for discretion. Or worse, her father.

“Jessica. By God, I’ve been searching all over for you.”

She was relieved to see Benedict approaching from the direction of the house, but relief bled into wariness. He maneuvered through the yew-lined garden paths with such a brisk, determined stride. A shiver moved through her. Was he angry?

“Is something amiss?” she queried carefully as he neared, knowing it must be to cause him to seek her out at this hour.

“You have been gone at length. Half an hour ago, your abigail said you’d left to walk Temperance, and you had already been absent for a quarter hour when I inquired.”

Her gaze lowered to avoid any appearance of challenge. “I apologize for causing you concern.”

“No need for apologies,” he said in a clipped tone. “I simply wished to have a word with you. We are to be wed today, and I wanted to allay any nerves that might plague you before the event.”

Jess blinked and looked up, startled by his consideration. “My lord—”

“Benedict,” he corrected, catching up her hand. “You are chilled to the bone. Where have you been?”

The concern in his tone was unmistakable. She wasn’t certain at first how to respond. His reaction was so different from the one her father would have had.

Thrown off guard by her own confusion, she began to reply almost without thinking. As she relayed the tale of Temperance leading her on a merry chase after a squirrel, Jess studied her future spouse with more care than she’d invested in a very long time. He had become a staple in her life, an obligation she accepted without need for deep contemplation. Inasmuch as she was able, she had grown comfortable with the inevitability of sharing a life with him. But she did not feel comfortable now. She remained flushed and agitated by the way Caulfield had used her to further his own pleasure.

“I would have walked with you, if you had asked,” Benedict said when she finished. He gave her hand a squeeze. “In the future, I pray you do so.”

Emboldened by his gentle manner and the lingering effects of the wine she’d drunk too liberally of at supper, Jess pressed on recklessly. “Temperance and I found something else in the woods.”

“Oh?”

She told him about the couple in the gazebo, her voice low and faltering, her words tumbling over themselves because she lacked the vocabulary and confidence. She did not speak of the coin exchanged between the countess and Caulfield, nor did she divulge their identities.

Benedict didn’t move the entirety of the short time she spoke. When she finished, he cleared his throat and said, “Damnation, I am horrified that you were exposed to such unpleasantness on the eve of our wedding.”

“They did not seem to find the encounter unpleasant at all.”

He flushed. “Jessica—”

“You spoke of allaying my nerves,” she said quickly, before losing her courage. “I should like to be honest with you, but I fear overstepping the limits of your forbearance.”

“I will advise you if that limit is reached.”

“In what manner?”

“Beg your pardon?” Benedict frowned.

Jess swallowed. “In what manner will you advise me? With a word? A loss of privilege? S-something more … definitive?”

He stiffened. “I would never lay a hand to you or any woman; I would certainly never fault you for honesty. I expect I will be far more lenient with you than with anyone else of my acquaintance. You are a great prize to me, Jessica. I have waited impatiently for the day when you would be mine.”

“Why?”

“You are a beautiful woman,” he said gruffly. Astonishment swept through her, followed by a rush of unexpected hope. “My lord, would you be displeased to know that I find myself praying for the physical aspect of our marriage to be … pleasurable? For both of us.”

God knew she would not be able to dally as Lady Trent did. Such behavior was not in her nature.

He displayed his unease with the topic by pulling at the elegant knot of his cravat. “I have always intended to make it so. I will make it so, if you trust me.”

“Benedict.” She inhaled the scent clinging to him—spice, tobacco, and a fine port. Despite wading through a discussion he would certainly never expect to have with his lady wife, his responses were as direct as his gaze. She liked him more each moment that passed. “You are taking this conversation so well. I cannot help wondering how far I can press you.”