Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2) (12 page)

As for the Prince Regent himself!

He had made a great show earlier, when Benedict had presented her to him, of lingering over the kissing of the back of her gloved hand, his eyes merrily glinting up at her in male appreciation as he did so. Corpulent and red-faced, and no longer a young man,
he should not have been in the least attractive, yet there was an air about him still, of good humour and gaiety, that was so very appealing.

‘Prinny himself advised I take care of you,’ Benedict reminded drily.

He had indeed, and the concern the Prince Regent had shown for the lace shawl noticeably draped about Genevieve’s injured arm had appeared to be heartfelt.

Even so … ‘I do not think he meant for you to actually feed me,’ Genevieve muttered awkwardly.

‘It is far less … shocking than the things others are doing at his dinner table.’ Benedict looked about them pointedly.

It was true that the amount of alcohol which had been drunk, together with the copious amounts of food, was obviously taking its toll. The laughter and conversation had grown to almost a roar, one gentleman further down the table having unbuttoned his pantaloons, apparently on the excuse of showing the lady at his side his ‘war wound’. The lady seated on Benedict’s right was having her thighs fondled by another gentleman who had crawled under the table, all apparently without that lady missing so much of a word of the conversation
she was having with the man seated to her right.

As Prinny’s dinner parties went, Benedict knew this was nowhere near as licentious as it would become later. Nevertheless, he deeply regretted bringing Genevieve to such a raucous dinner party as this one. For all that she liked to pretend she was a sophisticated and widowed duchess, her wide-eyed and fascinated expression as she observed the carryings on indicated otherwise.

‘I should not have brought you here.’ Benedict sat back with a scowl, his effort of sitting forwards and feeding Genevieve, and therefore using his body to shield her from some of the worst excesses on view, obviously serving little purpose when the couple opposite were engaged in—Lord knew what they were engaged in. ‘I believe it is time we left.’

‘Why, Benedict, I do believe you are discomforted by the behaviour of our dining companions?’ Genevieve looked at him with laughing blue eyes.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Do not look so mischievously satisfied that might be the case, Genevieve—or I too might disappear beneath the table and discomfort
you
!’

‘Discomfort me …?’ she repeated interestedly.

He drew his breath in with a hiss. ‘I do not believe this … company to be entirely suitable for you.’

She widened innocent eyes. ‘Surely we cannot leave now, with the meal still only half over? Would the Prince Regent not be offended?’

Benedict’s scowl deepened. ‘You are right, of course; we could not leave without bringing our departure to his notice when we make our necessary farewells, and he is sure to object.’ He glanced about them impatiently, wondering if Prinny’s entertainments were usually this scandalous—and knowing that they were. He had just never taken notice of it until in Genevieve’s more innocent company.

Besides which, he had not managed as yet to speak with the gentleman Eric Cargill had asked him to contact this evening, and the real reason for his having accepted Prinny’s invitation …

Nor was Benedict sure that he was going to be able to do so, not when it would necessitate leaving Genevieve alone whilst he talked to the other man. Several gentlemen—other than Prinny—had eyed her as if she were a
tasty morsel they wished to gobble up and devour in a single bite. And if any man was going to take a bite out of Genevieve this evening, then Benedict had every intention of it being himself!

Indeed, this whole evening had become one of physical frustration and discomfort for Benedict, because he had been disturbed by Genevieve’s presence at his side since the moment she had greeted him at her home earlier. She looked so beautiful in the lemonsatin gown, which made her skin appear as pale and translucent as the pearls drops once again adorning her hair. There was a glow of excitement in her eyes, making them sparkle and shine, the flush to her cheeks adding to that glow. As to the laughter that never seemed far from those delectable lips as he fed her mouthfuls of food …!

They were the same delectable lips Benedict now ached to feel about his aching and throbbing cock as it pressed more and more insistently for release against the front of his pantaloons.

None of which was helped by the improper antics of those sitting close to them!

‘You seem troubled, Benedict?’ Genevieve placed her hand lightly upon the rigidity of his
muscled thigh as she turned to him, her expression becoming even more concerned as he gave a low groan. ‘Is there anything I might do to relieve your discomfort?’

From any other woman, Benedict knew such a question would most certainly have carried a flirtatious innuendo, but from Genevieve it was no doubt exactly as it seemed: concern for the no doubt pained expression upon his face.

He drew in a deep breath. ‘I do not believe anyone would object if we were to step outside on to the terrace for some air before the next course is served.’ He threw his linen napkin abruptly down on the table before standing up—instantly giving Genevieve an eye-level view of the tented front of his tailored pantaloons.

She glanced up at him beneath heavy dark lashes. ‘Are you sure that it is air you are in need of, Benedict?’

Perhaps he had been wrong, and there had been innuendo in her earlier remark, after all?

His jaw was now so tightly clenched he felt as if his teeth were in danger of snapping off at the roots. ‘I believe a breath of fresh air will do to start with!’

She placed her folded napkin carefully upon
the table before standing up slowly. ‘And to finish …?’

‘That, my dear Genevieve, will depend entirely upon you!’ Benedict took a firm hold of the elbow of her uninjured arm to escort her across the room and out through the French doors, which had been left open, no doubt in an effort to prevent the room from becoming too overheated with so many people crowded into it.

Obviously it had not worked in Benedict’s case; he was overheated to the point of bursting by his need to make love to Genevieve again!

A
s they stepped outside, Genevieve was unsure as to which was her more predominant emotion: nervousness at being outside alone on the terrace with Benedict, or her need to laugh at his obvious discomfort—both with her having witnessed the scandalous behaviour of some of their dining companions and the unmistakable state of his own arousal. She firmly believed this to have been behind Benedict’s driving need to escape the dining room, if only for a few minutes’ respite. Indeed, his last comment to her would seem to confirm that it was …

‘I trust you are not about to laugh, madam?’

Benedict’s disgusted tone was Genevieve’s undoing and she instantly burst into the laughter
she had been fighting against since they both stood up from the table. ‘I am so sorry, Benedict.’ She finally sobered enough to look up at him in the bright glow given out by the hundreds of candles burning in the dining room behind them, only to burst out laughing again as she saw the look of haughty reproach on the harsh planes of his aristocratically handsome face as he looked down the long length of his nose at her.

‘I trust you will forgive me if I find your apology less than sincere,’ he murmured after several more minutes of her obvious amusement.

‘But it was. Truly it was.’ It took all her effort to hold back her humour for a third time. ‘Some of our fellow guests
are
behaving extremely badly.’

His nostrils flared. ‘If you were meaning to imply that it is viewing their antics which is to blame for my inappropriate condition—’

‘I was not, Benedict.’ She placed her hand on his tensed forearm as she looked up at him shyly through the sweep of her lashes. ‘Really, I was not.’

He drew his breath in sharply. ‘Genevieve—’

‘Benedict?’

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw.
‘Do you have any idea how close I am to dragging you off somewhere and taking you right now, this minute, quickly and explosively, but hopefully also to both our satisfactions?’

Genevieve gave a slight squeak at his honesty. ‘You would not dare, Benedict!’ She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

‘Would I not?’ Benedict gave a self-disgusted groan, closing his eyes before passing a hand across them.

‘Would you …?’

He lowered his hand, but kept his lids closed over those jet-black eyes. ‘At this moment I wish for nothing more than to be alone with you, preferably with a bed near at hand, so that I could do the job properly.’

‘The “job”, Benedict …?’ Genevieve pressed her lips firmly together as laughter threatened once again.

Not at Benedict, but from the euphoria of knowing it was desire for her, Genevieve Forster, that had totally penetrated this handsome gentleman’s defences, to the point that Lucifer’s cold and legendary control was now balanced upon a knife’s edge. That knowledge empowered her, tempted her, to learn more.

He gave a self-disgusted snort as he looked down at her once again. ‘Do you have any
idea how many ways, and in how many positions, I would enjoy making love to you at this moment?’

‘No,’ Genevieve answered honestly—how could she have, when she was completely innocent of how many different ‘ways and positions’ there were in which to make love? ‘But it does sound … interesting?’

A nerve pulsed in that tightly clenched jaw. ‘You are playing with fire again, Genevieve.’

Yes, she believed that she was. And it was all the more surprising, in view of the fact that Lord Benedict Lucas, Lucifer, was known as being a cold and unemotional gentleman by the majority of the
ton
. But Genevieve trusted him in a way she had never trusted any man. ‘Would you prefer that I did not …?’

‘No!’ Benedict’s nostrils flared. ‘Perhaps no one will notice if we steal just a few more minutes of privacy!’ He stepped forwards to draw her purposefully into his arms, careful to avoid her broken wrist as he did so, the long length of his arousal now pressed intimately against the warmth of Genevieve’s thighs as he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his own.

She tasted of wine and honey, her lips soft and yielding beneath Benedict’s as he drank
his fill of them, not assuaging his desire for her in the slightest, but instead increasing it, to the point that he could feel the pulsing surge and swell of his cock. He gave a low groan in his throat as he felt Genevieve’s fingers gently threading into the dark thickness of the hair at his nape, before she deepened the kiss by parting her lips and slanting them more accommodatingly beneath his.

It was, at one and the same time, both heaven and hell.

Heaven, because Benedict had been longing to kiss her again since the moment he had first arrived at her home earlier this evening and looked at her glowing beauty as she obviously anticipated the excitement of the evening ahead.

And hell, because the terrace of Carlton House really was not the place for Benedict to be able to make love to Genevieve as fully, and as thoroughly, as he might wish to do.

Might? There was no ‘might’ to him at all at this moment, Genevieve’s vivacity and sensuality having broken through his defences, so completely and utterly, that it robbed him of any strength or willpower to resist her to the point that nothing else mattered at this moment, but the need to continue kissing her
as he enjoyed the perfect fit of the softness of her breast in the palm of his hand.

Genevieve ceased to breathe as she felt the heat of Benedict’s hand cupping her breast, squeezing, kneading her aroused flesh, before seeking out the swollen and engorged tip with the soft pad of his thumb, those slow and rhythmic caresses inciting an answering throb that centred between her thighs.

An aching need, which although utterly new to her since meeting Benedict, she already knew he could assuage, that he had already assuaged several times four days ago, with the merest touch of his fingers against that swollen nubbin nestled amongst the red-gold curls between her thighs.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting—Ah! Excuse me for intruding. I had not realised! Well. I—you will both accept my apologies, it is to be hoped?’

Genevieve had pulled quickly away from Benedict at the first sound of another man’s voice—a slightly accented, foreign voice?—on the terrace behind them, glad to have her back towards that gentleman so that he should not see the deep blush that now coloured her cheeks, or witness that Benedict’s hand still cupped the swell of her breast.

Benedict gave a soft groan as he rested his forehead against hers. ‘Sorry for ruining our evening, pet,’ he murmured so that only she could hear.

Genevieve was equally as sorry to have their interlude together so rudely interrupted. ‘The evening is not yet over, Benedict,’ she returned equally as softly.

He squeezed his eyes closed briefly before opening them again. ‘I am afraid it is over for the moment. I suggest you excuse yourself and go to the ladies’ retiring room, whilst I remain here and deal with this unmannered buffoon.’

Genevieve chuckled softly. ‘Please try to be gentle with him, Benedict!’

He arched one dark brow. ‘Strangulation is out of the question, then?’

‘I believe so. Especially so, considering where we are.’ She nodded, her eyes once again glowing with laughter. ‘Even the Prince Regent would not be able to condone murder taking place upon his own terrace!’

Benedict released her before straightening with obvious reluctance. ‘I will rejoin you in the dining room in just a few minutes.’

‘I shall look forward to it.’ She gave him a last meaningful glance, before turning to bestow a haughty nod to the foreign gentleman
who had interrupted them as she moved past him and returned to the dining room with a brisk swish of her skirts.

Benedict’s eyes narrowed as he looked across at the man standing slightly in the shadows of the house. ‘I believe you have some information for me,
monsieur
?’