The Bride Of Spring. Catherine Archer

in the bed.

      “What…” he sputtered.

      And all the while Aida continued to scream, intermittently adding statements such as, “My lady, my lady, my poor despoiled lady.”

      Even though Raine knew that this noise was indeed a very important aspect of her plan, that someone must come and see her here with Benedict, she wished above all things to tell Aida to cease in that caterwauling. She was so very tired from lying awake the whole long night, from being ever so careful not to actually brush up against the strange and oddly fascinating form of the man next to her.

      More than once she had been forced to stop herself from reaching out to touch his smooth golden skin as she had while undressing him. Yet she had done so. How she felt about Benedict Ainsworth had no place in this.

      For her to have perpetrated this hoax against him for any reason other than to protect William would be completely despicable.

      Even as these thoughts were passing through her mind, Benedict moved to the edge of the bed. He was watching Aida with that scowl still firmly in place, and it became more intense with each shrill syllable she uttered. He stood, dragging the linen sheet with him as he shouted, “Why do you not cea—”

      He was interrupted by the appearance of an obviously hastily clad older gentleman, whom Raine had seen going into the chamber next to hers on more than one occasion. “What is going on here?” the newcomer bellowed.

      Only then did Aida stop screeching. The sudden silence was somehow almost shocking in its intensity. Benedict and the man exchanged bewildered and slightly relieved glances before the man looked to where Raine still sat in the bed. The gentleman’s gaze then went to the sheet Benedict clutched about his lean hips as he obviously searched for his garments, which Raine had put in the chest at the end of the bed.

      Her attention followed the older man’s, and she saw the scarlet stain that had spread over it. Her gaze widened with horror. She had had no notion that the small vial of blood would look like so much upon the sheet.

      She blushed, but forced herself not to cower. She had done this to herself.

      Several more folk appeared in the open doorway as Aida spoke in what Raine considered a far too dramatic tone. “He has deflowered my mistress.”

      All eyes then seemed to focus on the bloodied sheet, before turning to Raine. She felt herself blush even more deeply, from the roots of her hair to her feet, though she knew that no one else would know this as she had the coverlet pulled all the way to her chin.

      Sweet Saint George protect her. She had indeed done this to herself, yet she had not expected the sight of that blood to be so very humiliating.

      Aida had insisted upon it, though, if she were to have any part of it. She had asked Raine how, without any evidence, anyone was to be convinced that she was no longer a virgin and that Benedict was responsible. Raine had had no rebuttal.

      As if reading her thoughts, Benedict looked down at the bloodstained sheet at that very moment, seeing what they were looking at with a gasp of amazement. He swung around to face Raine. When she saw the expression of suspicion that was beginning to replace his confusion she returned it with defiance.

      An elderly woman stepped into the open doorway, where a crowd was rapidly becoming larger. She spoke to the older gentleman. “Ulric, this man is obviously a brute as well as a knave. I have never seen so much blood. You must do something.”

      Raine had not known that it was possible for her cheeks to heat any more than they already were. Yet they did so.

      The man, whom Raine believed to be the lady’s husband, answered, “I will, my dear, as soon as I am able to ascertain exactly what has gone on.”

      Benedict gave Raine one last long measuring look, then swung around to face the others. His voice emerged as a command. “I will see to this now. You may all go.”

      The elderly lady sputtered. “I think you have a—”

      Benedict interrupted, albeit politely. “Your pardon, my lady, I wish to cause you no insult, but this is between the lady and myself.”

      She turned up her rather long narrow nose and reached for her husband’s arm, dragging him with her as she flounced out. “Come, Ulric. We shall see about this.”

      Benedict moved toward the door, looking far more imposing than Raine would ever have imagined a man clad in nothing but a sheet could. All the others who had gathered there backed away as he moved to close the door.

      That was, all but Aida. She stood nearby, wringing her hands. Now that she had accomplished what Raine had asked of her she had reverted back to the anxious demeanor she had adopted when Raine’s father died.

      Benedict paused in the act of closing the portal, looking at the maid with impatiently arched brows. She stared back at him. He indicated the narrowed opening. “Would you excuse us, please?”

      She started, her gaze going to Raine. “My lady—”

      “Will be fine.” His tone, though still low and calm, brooked no argument.

      Aida scuttled toward the door. As she passed within inches of him on her way out, he leaned over and spoke in a confiding tone. “That was a very fine performance you gave, if I do say so myself.”

      She raised horrified eyes to his now grim face. “My lord, I—”

      “Out!”

      Benedict slammed the portal behind her and took a deep breath, hoping to ease the pounding blood in his head before turning to face Raine.

      She tilted her chin. “You will please refrain from harassing my maid. She has been with us since my mother died. She is certainly flighty at times, especially so since father’s death, but loves us as if we were her own.”

      He looked at the woman in the bed for a very long time. He was somewhat moved by her concern for the maid when she would be wiser to concern herself with the trouble that might come to her own pretty head, but had no intention of letting her know that.

      He could actually see very little of the wench with the coverlet pulled up the way it was, but he was able to read the determination and defiance in her eyes. Benedict was quite aware of the fact that he had been duped by this woman and her servant. Why, he did not know, but he had every intention of getting to the bottom of it, no matter how reluctant this red-haired she-devil might be to share her motives with him.

      Though he had never been with a virgin, Benedict was quite aware that there was far too much blood here. And that screeching the maid had done had certainly been in aid of bringing as many witnesses as possible. He could still feel his ears ringing now that she was gone.

      And Raine Blanchett was the one who could answer why. He approached the bed with deliberation.

      Raine drew back as far from him as she could. “Do not touch me.”

      He could hardly believe the audacity of her to tell him not to touch her after what she had done. Benedict was not a violent man where women and children were concerned. But this damsel had driven him beyond all reason and restraint.

      Without pausing to think, he reached out and grabbed her arm, half dragging her across the bed. “You are not in a position to give any orders here, madam. I will do so, and the first order of the day is for you to tell me right now and in full detail why you have concocted this elaborate scheme to make it appear as if I have bedded you!”

      Only the delicate flaring of her nostrils as she met his eyes, her own wide with feigned innocence, gave away her agitation. “But you did bed me, my lord. You have the proof of it there.”

      He was only slightly mollified that she had the grace to blush as she indicated the bloody sheet. He shook his head. “There is enough blood here to have butchered an ox in this bed.” It was an exaggeration, he knew, but as likely as the explanation she suggested.

      He could see the wheels turning in the wench’s mind. Benedict stopped her before