Some Like to Shock. Кэрол Мортимер

with you, Genevieve, he should not need to do so. Unfortunately, your Greek god has grown weary of the chase, and those flowers and chocolates you received earlier today would have been his first and last “gallant” gesture. Sandhurst now prefers that his courtship be less … protracted and the woman willing to bed him as quickly as possible, along with any number of his less savoury friends, so that he might watch and so add to his own entertainment.’

      Genevieve’s gaze wavered uncertainly at this graphic description of debauchery. Could Benedict Lucas—Lucifer—be telling her the truth? Had Sandhurst really put something in her champagne in order to render her willing to do unspeakable things, with both him and his friends? It sounded highly unlikely to her innocent ears, but at the same time she had to admit, much as the ton loved to gossip about Lucifer, she had never heard them question his honesty.

      Had Genevieve been taken for the fool this evening by Sandhurst?

      Could her silly flaunting of Sandhurst’s attentions under Lucifer’s arrogant nose have resulted in her not seeing what was directly in front of her own?

      After all, what did she really know of Charlie Brooks, except that he was an earl, and a charming and handsome rogue? And a gentleman the marriage-minded mamas of the ton preferred that their innocent daughters avoid.

      Genevieve had assumed the latter was because Sandhurst had made it perfectly clear that he had no serious intentions in regard to marriage. But her assumption might have been wrong, and in fact those young innocents may well be kept out of Sandhurst’s reach for fear they might suffer the ruin and disgrace Lucifer had just described to Genevieve so vividly.

      Benedict knew exactly the moment that Genevieve began to accept that his claims in regard to Sandhurst might have some truth to them. Her face became even paler, her eyes flashing a dark and stormy blue, her full and enticingly delectable bottom lip trembling slightly.

      He forced himself to relax some of the tension in his own shoulders. ‘Come now, Genevieve, there has been no real harm done,’ he cajoled. ‘No one was hurt. I succeeded in rescuing you before you had chance to drink any of the champagne, and so both you, and your reputation, remain unsullied.’

      If anything, her eyes grew even more stormy at his assurances. ‘And you think that should be an end of the matter?’ Her voice was deceptively soft.

      Benedict eyed her warily. ‘Is it not?’

      ‘Not in the least,’ she bit out with a scathing determination.

      A determination Benedict readily admitted to finding slightly unnerving. ‘Genevieve—’

      ‘I believe you said this was our dance, my lord?’ she prompted lightly.

      He blinked at the sudden change of subject. ‘It is almost over …’

      ‘Then we will stand and talk together until the next one begins.’ She tucked her little gloved hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Unless, of course, you fear your own reputation might suffer if you were to be seen escorting a lady who left the ballroom with one gentleman and returned on the arm of another?’ She arched challenging brows.

      ‘I have no interest in what others may or may not think of me.’ Benedict stared down at her impatiently.

      ‘Then perhaps you do not dance?’

      He gave a humourless smile. ‘I believe I am right in saying that my tutors saw to my being well versed in all of the social graces, as well as the education of my mind.’

      ‘Then perhaps it is that you do not care to dance with me?’

      Benedict knew he would enjoy nothing more than to hold Genevieve in his own arms after watching her for the past hour or more, as she was twirled about the ballroom by one gentleman or another, so allowing Benedict the freedom to admire her beauty and grace. To know that even now his own body responded, hardened, just looking at the delicacy of her bared throat and the soft swell of her breasts.

      ‘I have every intention of dancing with you, if only to show the cats of the ton that you have not left Lady Hammond’s home with Sandhurst as they all no doubt expect you might have done,’ he concluded tersely. ‘But first I would like your promise that you will stay well away from Sandhurst and his disreputable cohorts in future.’

      She looked up at him through the long sweep of her lashes. ‘And why should you care one way or the other what I choose to do in future?’

      ‘You ask the most damnable questions!’ Benedict glared his impatience. ‘Perhaps it is that one of your closest friends married one of mine earlier today, and as such I feel a certain responsibility—What?’ he demanded as Genevieve smiled.

      ‘It is very sweet of you to feel protective towards me.’

      ‘Sweet?’ Benedict gave a pained wince. ‘I am certain that is not a sentiment anyone has ever dared to level at me before this evening!’

      Those blue eyes glowed with mischief. ‘Perhaps other people do not know your kindness as I now do?’

      ‘You do not know me, either, Genevieve,’ he bit out impatiently. If she did, then she would know that at this moment Benedict’s feeling towards her were almost as disreputable as Sandhurst’s, inasmuch as he would enjoy nothing more than to drag Genevieve off to some secluded spot where he might make love to her!

      She gave his forearm a conciliatory pat. ‘Do not worry, Lucas, your secret is perfectly safe with me.’

      Benedict scowled even as he stiffened warily. ‘What secret?’

      ‘Why, that you are not really the big dark Lucifer at all, but more like one of those darling little cherubs seen in a Rubens’s painting.’ Her eyes were wide with innocence.

      ‘I am like—! You—I—’ Benedict found himself spluttering with an inelegance totally contrary to his normal cool control. ‘You are daring to liken me to one of those sickeningly chubby little cherubs?’

      Genevieve barely managed to contain her laughter at Lucifer’s obvious disgust. ‘Well, you are not in the least chubby, of course, and you do not have golden hair …’

      ‘I assure you, madam, you are wrong in thinking there is any resemblance whatsoever between myself and a fat cherub!’ He glared his displeasure. ‘Genevieve …?’ He eyed her suspiciously as she could no longer contain her laughter.

      ‘If you could only see the indignation upon your face!’ She continued to chuckle huskily, her eyes gleaming with unholy glee.

      ‘You were teasing me …?’ He gave a disbelieving shake of his head.

      ‘Of course.’ Genevieve nodded, still smiling as she realised from his reaction that it was not something which occurred very often in regard to this particular gentleman.

      Her teasing had also succeeded in distracting his attention away from her earlier remarks in regard to Charles Brooks; that gentleman had certainly not heard the last from her on the subject of his daring to attempt to make a fool of her.

      If her years of being unhappily married to Josiah Forster had succeeded in doing nothing else, then it was to instil in Genevieve an appreciation for the freedoms of choice she now enjoyed as his widow. Charles Brooks had attempted to circumvent that freedom this evening with his machinations and it was not something Genevieve intended to easily forgive, or forget.

      ‘It is past time we danced, I believe.’ Benedict Lucas did not wait for her reply before sweeping into the throng of other couples braving the noisy and crowded dance floor.

      He danced divinely. His imposing height made him at least a foot taller than Genevieve, the muscled length of his body mere inches away from her own as they danced the daring waltz together, one of his hands firm against the back of her waist so that he might guide their steps about the dance floor, the other lightly clasping her gloved fingers, with Genevieve’s hand resting lightly against the broadness of one of his shoulders in his beautifully tailored black evening jacket. He smelt divine,