Some Like to Shock (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 2) (14 page)

Women came and went in his life—not as often as the
ton
imagined—with never a single moment of regret on Benedict’s part when they ‘went’.

It was unfortunate that Genevieve was angry with him—and he knew her well enough to know that she was very angry with him, no matter what she might claim to the contrary!—but he could no more allow himself to feel regrets over her than he had any of those other women who had passed so briefly through his life.

Benedict had set himself two missions in life: to work for the Crown and to continue to search for the person responsible for murdering his parents, no matter how long it took, and the complication of a woman such as Genevieve Forster was something he most assuredly did not need or want.

Damn it, he had already allowed himself to be distracted enough by her this evening that he had neglected his other duties by not reporting to Eric Cargill as soon as Deveraux had imparted his information.

If Genevieve wished to be angry with him, then she could damn well stay angry with him, and to hell with her!

‘H
is Grace, the Duke of Woollerton, Lady Amelia Darby, Countess of Ramsey, and Lady Charlotte Darby,’ Jenkins announced two afternoons later as he showed three more visitors into Genevieve’s gold salon.

Genevieve’s already crowded gold salon. At least a dozen other members of the
ton
had already made visits this afternoon, two ladies and four gentleman still gathered there in conversation.

But none of those callers had been Benedict …

He had been noticeably absent both yesterday and today, despite having told her he would call upon her yesterday afternoon. Of course, their last conversation had not been
conducive to them being able to exchange pleasantries in front of an audience, but even so Genevieve could not help her inner feelings of disappointment that Benedict had so obviously taken her at her word, and not bothered to call on her at all.

She would certainly have much rather received a visit from Benedict today, despite the humiliation she had suffered at their last conversation, than William Forster, the Duke of Woollerton, accompanied by his fiancée and future mother-in-law!

She had been expecting them, of course, William having sent round a note earlier, informing her of the intended visit. Not asking for her permission, of course, or if it was convenient, but merely stating it was his intention to call this afternoon with the idea of introducing his future bride, and her mother, to the woman who had been married to his father and was now the Dowager Duchess of Woollerton.

Genevieve had suffered a familiar trepidation earlier today when she had received William’s note, instantly recognising the seal on the outside of the missive, and knowing that William must now have heard of her visit to Carlton House in the company of Lord Benedict
Lucas, and was no doubt intending to berate her by letter before appearing himself to add more stringent—and physical—recriminations. The announcement of his true intention had taken her completely by surprise.

But Genevieve had not allowed herself to become complacent, knew she could not completely rule out William’s visit as having two purposes, rather than just the one. Indeed, several of her visitors today had already asked as to her enjoyment of the evening she had spent at Carlton House, and so it would be naïve on Genevieve’s part to assume that William had not heard of that evening out, too, as well as the name of her escort, and to expect the worst.

She suppressed those feelings of unease as she dealt with the necessary courtesies and introductions, before taking a closer look, as Charlotte and her mother conversed with one of the other gentlemen present, at the young woman who was shortly to become William’s bride.

Genevieve’s feelings of misgiving, when William had informed her of the betrothal several days ago, now seemed completely warranted as she found herself looking at a delicate wisp of a girl, fresh-faced and blonde-haired
and blue-eyed, young but certainly not a beauty, and who did not look capable of saying boo to a goose, let alone standing up to the bullying William Forster once he became her husband!

‘You appear to have hurt your arm, madam?’

Genevieve briefly cursed herself for allowing her attention to wander as she studied the young Charlotte Darby, to a degree that, for once, she had not taken note of William Forster’s whereabouts until he now spoke softly behind her.

She turned to face him, her eyes coldly contemptuous as she looked up into those pale and triumphant ones. God, how she hated this man! Hated, as well as despised him. ‘As you are only too well aware, it was not of my own doing,’ she bit out disdainfully. ‘And the doctor believes there is a bone broken in my wrist.’ Her arm was once again resting in the lace shawl tied at her nape.

William raised a mocking brow. ‘How unfortunate.’

Her mouth tightened at his obvious satisfaction. ‘Indeed.’

‘Perhaps you should take better care in future?’ His eyes had chilled. ‘Indeed, I believe
I advised as much when I called six days ago? A warning you do not seem to have heeded in the slightest,’ he added hardly.

‘You are no doubt referring to my having been to dinner at Carlton House?’

‘I am referring to your choice of escort for that evening entertainment, madam!’

Genevieve refused to so much as blink in the face of William’s obvious displeasure, aware as she was that she was the one facing into the salon, and that William’s expression was the one now hidden from the other people enjoying refreshment and chatting amiably. ‘As I informed you some days ago, I fully intend to behave in whatever manner I choose. As I also intend to choose my own escorts.’

His pugnacious jaw tightened. ‘I expressly forbade you to go anywhere near Lucifer again until after my wedding to Charlotte has taken place!’

‘You have no right to forbid me to do anything any more, William. Not that you ever did!’ It was this man’s bullying of her that had not only resulted in the broken bone in her wrist, but also caused her to irritate Benedict by turning him away from her door, for fear he might see that injury to her arm. ‘Neither
is this the time nor the place for such a conversation.’

‘Would you rather I called back later today, so that we might continue this conversation in private?’ His eyes glittered.

Genevieve looked at him coldly. ‘I am sure I have made it more than obvious that I would not be in the least concerned if you were never to call upon me again,’ she returned insultingly.

William eyed her scathingly. ‘Perhaps if you learnt to behave yourself.’

‘I am not a child, nor will I any longer be told by you or anyone else what I may or may not do, or with whom I may do it!’ Her cheeks were flushed with temper.

He eyed her consideringly. ‘Your … friendship with Lucifer appears to have given you the courage you previously lacked,’ he finally drawled. ‘Let us hope, for your own sake, that this friendship soon comes to an end.’

Her cheeks felt warm. ‘I do not consider that my friendship with Lord Benedict Lucas as being any of your business!’

Contemptuous amusement suddenly glittered in those already pale grey eyes. ‘Grown bored with you already, has he?’ William
guessed shrewdly. ‘Thrown you over for some other, more obliging woman?’

Genevieve had absolutely no idea how Benedict felt towards her now, although his noticeable absence these past two days would seem to imply that he had indeed grown tired of both her and their tenuous friendship. ‘If that is the case, then it is not because of anything you have said or done to me.’

‘What does that matter, as long as it is over?’ William chuckled unpleasantly.

‘You—’

‘Lord Benedict Lucas, your Grace.’

Genevieve turned sharply at Jenkins’s announcement, just in time to watch as Benedict strode confidently into the suddenly silent room, instantly making her heart rate increase at she took in how dark and broodingly handsome he looked in his usual completely black attire and snowy white linen.

The darkness of Benedict’s gaze moved lazily over the other members of the
ton
now openly gaping at him, until it alighted on her and stopped, before then moving on again to narrow on the scowling and obviously displeased gentleman standing at Genevieve’s side.

‘Lucifer!’ William hissed under cover of the
return of the murmured conversation in the room, as Genevieve’s other guests obviously became aware that they were staring impolitely at this new—and unexpected—arrival in their midst.

Genevieve’s gaze gleamed with triumph as she turned to look briefly up at William. ‘So it is,’ she murmured with warm satisfaction. ‘If you will excuse me? I really must go and greet my new guest.’

‘Do not make the mistake of thinking you have heard the last of this, Genevieve,’ William warned softly.

Her eyes flashed. ‘I advise that
you
do not make the mistake of thinking I will allow myself to be cowed by any more of your threats!’ She walked away without so much as a backward glance, her attention now focused completely on the pleasure of seeing Benedict again.

He was here.

It was all that mattered …

Benedict’s feeling of impatience—already irrationally high after two days of deliberately staying away from Genevieve, a totally futile gesture, when he had done nothing but think about her instead—had deepened the instant
he entered Genevieve’s salon and saw all of her other visitors already gathered there.

The darkness of his mood lifted slightly, however, at the look of genuine welcome upon Genevieve’s face as she now crossed the room towards him, her pale cream gown a perfect foil for her red curls and ivory complexion, as was the gold-and-cream décor of this elegantly furnished salon.

To Benedict’s eyes, Genevieve’s face seemed paler than usual, however. Because her arm was still paining her? Or because of the gentleman she had been in conversation with when he entered the room?

Benedict’s narrowed gaze shifted back to that gentleman. William Forster, the Duke of Woollerton—and Genevieve’s stepson from her marriage to Josiah Forster. Which seemed slightly farcical, considering that the florid and overweight William Forster was noticeably several years her senior. Benedict did not know the other man well, but the little he did know he did not particularly like, and if Woollerton was the reason behind Genevieve’s pallor, then that dislike was likely to increase.

‘I am so pleased to see you again, Benedict.’

Benedict turned his attention from William Forster as Genevieve greeted him warmly
once she reached his side, his expression softening as he looked down into the obvious welcome in her deep-blue eyes. ‘And I you,’ he returned gruffly, continuing to hold her gaze as he raised her hand to his lips.

She smiled up at him shyly. ‘In truth, I was unsure as to whether or not I would ever see you again.’

Benedict drew his breath in sharply as he was once again overwhelmed by her honesty. ‘I assure you, there was never any doubt of it being so,’ he murmured huskily as he maintained his hold upon her hand.

Her eyes brightened as she continued to gaze up at him. ‘I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear it.’

She did not have to when that pleasure shone in the depth of her blue eyes. ‘Damn it, why were we not alone when you said that!’ Benedict rasped gruffly. ‘I hate such social inanities as this with a passion!’ He scowled darkly at the other guests, totally startling the Countess of Ramsey, as she had chanced to cast them a sideways glance before quickly looking away again, two bright spots of embarrassed colour now in her cheeks.

Genevieve laughed softly. ‘That remark was
not at all complimentary to my own charms, Benedict!’

He smiled ruefully. ‘And after you advised me to bring my manners with me the next time we met!’

Her laughter faded. ‘I fear we were at cross-purposes the last time we spoke together, Benedict.’

He gave a shake of his head. ‘I believe I am completely to blame for that. For which you have my heartfelt apologies.’ He looked down at her intently. ‘You look pale, Genevieve—is your arm still paining you?’

‘Not at all,’ she assured warmly. ‘In fact, when the doctor called this morning he assured me that I am healing well, and may even dispense with this silly sling about my arm for several hours a day, when I am either sitting or lying down.’

Benedict raised dark brows. ‘That sounds … interesting.’

‘Benedict!’ Genevieve looked about them self-consciously as the warmth coloured her cheeks.

He chuckled huskily. ‘But you blush so very prettily, Genevieve.’

She cast him a reproving glance, an effect totally ruined by the mischievous laughter
gleaming in her eyes. ‘I believe you must let go of my hand now, Benedict,’ she advised softly as she turned to look at her other guests and realised they were still being closely observed, despite the efforts being undertaken not to reveal that observation.

‘Must I?’

She nodded. ‘I believe people are staring at us.’

‘Let them.’

‘I would be glad to, I assure you, but I believe we are only giving my other guests reason to gossip.’ She cast down long lashes against her cheeks.

Benedict scowled at those other guests as he reluctantly released Genevieve’s hand, his gaze settling on Woollerton. ‘Your stepson looks as if he has recently swallowed something sour!’ The other man looked positively dyspeptic as he glowered across the room at the two of them. ‘A second visit in one week, Genevieve; I thought you said that the two of you were not on such socially amiable terms?’

‘We are not.’ Genevieve’s mouth had tightened. ‘I believe he merely felt obliged to introduce Lady Charlotte and her mother to me.’

Benedict did not in the least care for the way in which Woollerton was looking down
his nose at Genevieve, as if she were an unpleasant insect he wished to crush beneath the heel of one of his highly polished boots. ‘Is he intending to invite you to the wedding, after all?’

‘I suppose he will have to, if only for appearances’ sake.’ Genevieve gave a pained frown at the realisation. Bad enough that she’d had to suffer William calling upon her again this afternoon without the possibility of having to keep up this socially polite farce for hours upon end at his wedding next month. ‘Perhaps you would care to escort me there, if that should be the case—please, forget I said that.’ She gave a self-conscious shake of her head as her gaze now avoided meeting his. ‘There is no guarantee that the two of us will even still be talking to each other by next month,’ she dismissed lightly.