The Scandalous Proposal Of Lord Bennett. Raven McAllan

between wakefulness and sleep we do things we otherwise might not,’ Ben said and laughed. ‘As I used you for my pillow. And you …’ He raised one eyebrow, and tilted his head to one side in a gesture of query.

      ‘And I let you,’ Clarissa said. She was sure he wasn’t alluding to that, but to where she had an uncomfortable idea her hand had slipped. ‘Ah.’ She’d never been more thankful to see a carriage door open and a liveried servant waiting to help her descend onto the inn’s forecourt.

      ‘Ah? Ah, you mean saved by the servant. I will give you that this time.’ Ben followed her out of the vehicle, and took her arm. ‘Let’s eat.’

       Damn him. Does he always have to have the last word?

      ****

      Ben watched the manner in which his wife took such dainty mouthfuls of food, and to his chagrin imagined her lips and teeth around him. It was enough for him to need to adjust himself underneath his clothing. Why did it happen to him? Only once in his life had he acted with chivalry, and without any thought to what the consequences could be, and the result was he was leg-shackled. To someone who insisted she had no interest in him. Ben thought there was truly no justice. When he had come across Pendragon and Clarissa, his blood had boiled. How dare the man touch her? Deep in the depths of his mind, he was, he admitted, ashamed that his first thought had been ‘How dare he touch her when I dare not?’, followed by chivalry, with no thought of how perhaps a true rake would have bowed and left them to it.

      Or would one? Because surely the first rule of a rake was ‘willing women only’. Whatever, Ben was uneasily aware that his first ever chivalrous gesture hadn’t quite turned out the way he thought. It irritated him. He’d given up his way of life, let himself be seen as a cad who had, as many thought, reluctantly saved the lady’s reputation. Although he’d wager no one thought he’d completely change his ways as he intended.

      If my lady lets me. My lady? Not a hope at the moment. Nevertheless, he intended to do what he could to alter that state of affairs.

      Meanwhile, as he watched the totally innocent, but wholly erotic way she ate her food, Ben accepted he was smitten. It did not sit comfortably. Married men did not become enamoured of their wives. They did their duty, and went their own way.

       Why?

      Meanwhile, Clarissa finished her repast, and wiped her lips with her napkin. Ben swallowed. His mouth was dry and his stomach hollow. Even that little thing had his body on high alert.

      A clatter, a crash and the sound of people running across the cobbles outside brought his attention away from his wife. He got to his feet and strode to the window. Outside the road was clear. A couple of urchins ran along the dusty verge towards where the commotion seemed to come from. The inn’s yard.

      ‘What?’ Clarissa had come up behind him, and stood on tiptoe to try and see past his body. ‘What’s happened?’ Her soft hand as she held on to his shoulder to steady herself burned through his coat and imprinted its shape on his skin. A delicate scent teased his nostrils, and Ben realised it was that elusive something he’d been chasing ever since he woke up.

      ‘What is your perfume?’ he asked abruptly, and could have kicked himself. He must remember this was his wife not some demi-monde who had no need of fine words.

      Luckily, he thought, Clarissa seemed not to notice his tone, or she chose to ignore it. ‘Perfume? I don’t have any … oh, you mean my soap? ’Tis made by Mr Pears. It reminds me of my garden at my papa’s house. It’s one thing that makes my stay in the capital semi-acceptable. Oh, I meant to say, how lovely the garden at your town house is. You must let the staff know they can use it.’

      Ben was amazed. Here they were, speaking together like sensible, non-antagonistic people and having a proper conversation. He made a note to find out more about a soap that smelt of sunlight and long summer evenings in the garden. He recollected the rest of her statement.

      ‘All the gardens were my mama’s favourites when she was alive.’ Stupid. After all, how could they be if she were dead? ‘She would have said exactly the same with regard to the staff. I’ll make a note to let them know.’ He experienced the usual sharp pang of loss that hit him whenever he thought of his long-gone mama. She had passed when he was at Eton, and Ben still experienced the loss, as if it were the day before. ‘I feel they may be neglected somewhat. I’m sure she – I – would be happy for your input.’

      Her sigh stirred the hairs on his neck.

      ‘You don’t like the idea?’ He’d thought she’d be pleased. Truly the way a woman’s mind worked could be a mystery. For one fleeting moment Ben had a vision of his last mistress. Her mind worked in one way only – calculating what was in it for her. He had parted company with the fair lady when her demands began to be inappropriate. Right from the start he’d told her it was a temporary liaison and, whatever she’d thought, he’d had no intention of altering the status quo. And now he was married? Ben had an uneasy feeling life might not be the same, even though he thought he and his wife had come to an understanding.

      ‘The gardens?’ he prompted Clarissa when it seemed she wasn’t going to answer.

      ‘Oh yes, the gardens. Perhaps.’ Her offhand, indifferent tone of voice irritated him. The knock on the door came as a welcome relief. Ben was out of his depth, and he didn’t like the sensation.

      He liked the news even less.

      ‘What do you mean, some idiot’s driven into my coach?’ He roared the words, and blinked rapidly, as if the gesture would change the declaration uttered by the harried footman in front of him. ‘How the hades did you let that happen?’

      Clarissa placed her hand on Ben’s arm. How he stopped himself from shaking it off, he had no idea. He glanced at her impatiently. She stood her ground and returned his perusal.

      ‘My lord, have you never heard the expression do not shoot the messenger? Scraptoft here is only relaying what’s happened. He is neither responsible for it, nor able to alter the chain of events. He’s told you about the accident, and you need to go and see for yourself what’s to be done.’

      The footman flashed a grateful glance in her direction and Ben gritted his teeth. She was right, of course, but he didn’t like to be reminded of it in such a fashion.

      ‘Of course, my dear, you are, as ever, correct.’ He cursed the defensive tone.

      ‘I accept your apologies and acknowledgement, my lord.’ The words and intonation were dulcet, the look in her eyes not so. ‘I will arrange for our food to be delayed until your return.’

      Ben nodded curtly. ‘Thank you. My apologies, Scraptoft. It is, of course, not your doing. Forgive me – I was somewhat perturbed.’ He gestured to the man to precede him, and turned back to his wife once the other man had left the room.

      ‘I trust you can entertain yourself while I’m away?’

      Her eyes filled with mischief, and he could have sworn she choked back a laugh.

      ‘Of course, sir. I have a book.’

       Chapter Four

      Why, oh why, did she feel the need to goad him? Clarissa pulled the bell rope. It was answered by a fresh-faced young girl, who carried a jug of what Clarissa presumed was ale, and another she saw was wine.

      ‘I’m sorry as you had to wait, M’Lady, but what a commotion outside.’ The girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Everyone’s telling each other what ought to be done and only His Lordship seems to have any common sense, my mama says. The food will be along ever so soon.’ She bobbed a curtsey.

      As soon as she could get a word in edgeways, Clarissa asked for their soup and pies to be held back, and for a small – she emphasised small – collation to be brought at once. Why Ben had agreed on hot food she had no idea, for the day was warm, and cold meats and salads