Lord of Scandal...
Suddenly the scarlet curricle was right beside them
and Ben Hawksmoor was close enough for Catherine to touch. The pavement
seemed to shift slightly beneath her feet. She wanted to turn and run
but she stood still, rooted to the spot. With a sense of inevitability,
she looked up to meet Ben’s cool hazel eyes. He was looking at her with
disturbing intentness.
“Catherine?” Lily said questioningly, and Catherine
jumped and dragged her gaze away from Ben’s. He bowed to Lily, smiling.
“Miss St Clare.”
“Lord Hawksmoor.” Lily sounded ruffled, but not on her
own account. She was looking from Catherine to Ben with a frown on her face.
“Have you met? I didn’t think-”
Ben turned back to Catherine. His smile was warmer for
her, intimate enough to make her stomach clench.
“Madam…” There was the very faintest hint of a question
in his tone. Catherine realised that he would think that she, like all the
other eager ladies in the crowd, had come deliberately to see the race.
“I did not know you would be here,” she blurted out,
and blushed at her own gaucheness. “That is, I did not come especially to
see you…”
That was even worse. She could feel herself getting
hotter and hotter to see the amusement in Ben Hawksmoor’s eyes. He had
passed the reins to his groom now and jumped down onto the pavement beside
her. He took her hand and drew her a little apart, ignoring the calls of the
crowd for the race to start.
“I am desolated to hear you did not seek me out,” he
murmured, the spark of humour still in his voice, “when I would go a deal
further than Oxford Street to see you again, Catherine.”
Catherine closed her eyes for a second against the
potent awareness coursing through her. He had the most attractive voice she
had ever heard, smooth, mellow and hopelessly seductive. For a moment she
felt frighteningly adrift.
“I doubt that,” she said, rallying. She looked about
her at the throng of people. “You do not need my approval when you have all
this.”
Ben turned so that his broad shoulders blocked out the
crowd. His physical presence was so powerful that Catherine felt a little
light-headed. She had his whole attention now. The race, the crowd, the
Regent himself, none of them mattered. They could have been alone.
“You mistake.” He spoke softly. “You are the only thing
here that interests me, Catherine.”
Catherine’s mind went completely blank. She had little
experience of flirting or playing games and she knew that was what he was
doing. He had to be. He could not be sincere.
“That,” she said, “is absurd.”
He smiled again and the lines deepened at the corners
of his eyes in a way that made her stomach flip.
“You won’t flirt with me?”
She took a deep breath. “No.”
“A pity. But this time I meant what I said.”
Catherine realised that her hand was still in his. She
tried to free herself but he refused to let go. He was running his thumb
over the back of her hand now in small, distracting strokes. Catherine could
feel the insistence of his touch through the material of her gloves.
“You did come here to see me, didn’t you?” He murmured.
Catherine’s gaze jerked up to meet his laughing hazel
eyes. “You have a monstrously high opinion of yourself,” she said.
He gave her a rueful half smile and her heart turned
over. “Have I?”
She watched his smile fade and another very different,
more disturbing emotion take its place. Then someone dug an elbow in
Catherine’s ribs and she realised they were surrounded by a crowd growing
more restless by the minute. She forced herself to look beyond the
compelling demand in Ben’s eyes.
“You are keeping his Highness waiting,” she said.
Ben grinned. “It is worth it.”
“You take too many risks.”
“Always.” He gave her that dangerous, flashing smile,
released her hand and swung himself back up onto the box of the curricle.
The crowd gave an ironic cheer.
“A kiss for luck!” Someone shouted.
Ben leaned down. His gloved fingers touched her cheek.
“May I?”
She barely heard the words above the pounding of her
pulse but she must have made some sound, for he tilted her chin up and then
his lips brushed hers, lightly, a brief but insistent pressure. He was cold
and tasted of fresh air and her mind reeled. He straightened and Catherine
opened her eyes to see the blaze of triumph in his. “Thank you,” he said,
and his voice was a little rough.
The winter sky
was too bright. The light hurt her eyes. She felt shaky. The crowd roared
its approval.
He stepped in close. “Shall we set your gratitude
aside now, Catherine – and speak of what we both want?”
Catherine’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. Her
fingers gripped her reticule tightly. So now the game was at an end and he
had decided it was time to be direct. Perhaps that was how a gentleman
conducted business with his inamorata. There was no need for pretty
words or declarations of love because it was business after all.
Nevertheless the look in his eyes practically robbed
her of breath. It did not speak of business. It was very hot and very
intense and it spoke of desire. It called up an answering tug of feeling
within her that made her feel dizzy.
“I…” She cleared her throat. “It is not so simple...”
Ben rubbed his thumb thoughtfully over the palm of her
hand and the caress sent shivers coursing through her whole body.
“There is always a way to get what one wants,” he
said. “Is it a matter of money? It generally is.”
“No!” Catherine’s exclamation was out before she could
help herself. She blushed and cast her eyes down.
“No need to sound so indignant, sweetheart,” Ben
drawled. “It cannot be a matter of love – not with Withers - and everyone
has their price. So what is yours?”
Catherine started to edge along the corridor towards
the top of the stairs. He followed her, still amused, still predatory.
“Would you like a carriage and pair?” He suggested. “A
pearl and diamond bracelet? Or are you more ambitious than that?” He
considered her thoroughly and his scrutiny made the hot colour burn along
Catherine’s cheekbones.
“Yes,” he said. “I think you might well be expensive.
A town house and a diamond necklace at the least.”
Catherine thought of the piles of jewellery her mother
had left her, locked in the bank, and could not quite repress a smile.
“A lady would tell you that a diamond necklace requires
ear drops to match,” she said. She shook her head. “But no, my lord, I do
not require such things.”
Ben saw the smile and raised a brow. “Then you are
unusual.”
“That is certainly true,” Catherine agreed.
He stretched out a hand and took the material of her
domino between his fingers. It was a deep ruby velvet in colour, very simple
but very expensive.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said slowly. “I may tell
you plainly that I cannot afford such luxury anyway. But maybe that does not
matter. Perhaps you came to me for something else? Revenge?” He smiled. “Or
pleasure…”
Catherine’s breath locked in her throat. This was
getting very dangerous. Revenge on Withers… She could see that he might make
that assumption. She had shown her disdain of Withers’ possessiveness
before. It had been that very defiance and her decision recklessly to flirt
with Ben himself that had got her into this pickle in the first place.
As for pleasure… She swallowed convulsively. She only
knew in the vaguest possible terms what he might be offering but still it
was sufficient to make her catch her breath. The memory of his kisses
clouded her mind, filling her with a strange longing. To be held by him, to
be loved by him. It was well nigh irresistible.
“You do not understand,” she said, drawing away.
He let her go.
“Then explain to me,” he said softly.
