Some Like to Shock. Carole Mortimer

issue of more threats to her physical well being if she did not obey him. To the point that she had begun to chatter nonsensically the moment she found herself alone in Benedict’s company.

      And he looked so splendidly handsome in the moonlight, too. A black evening cloak thrown elegantly over his usual black attire and snowy white linen, and the unadorned black mask that covered the top half of his face beneath his top hat, only added to his usual air of danger and mystery.

      She forced a smile to curve her lips. ‘Why on earth should you imagine that anything might have happened?’

      ‘Perhaps because I have come to know you a little these past two days?’ His mouth was a firm line beneath that mask. ‘And the Genevieve I have come to know, whilst lively in her conversation, does not prattle.’

      ‘Whilst I find the first part of your comment flattering—’

      ‘It was not intended to flatter, Genevieve, it is merely a statement of truth,’ Benedict assured harshly.

      She avoided looking into that glittering black gaze. ‘No. Well. You are partial to the truth, I take it?’

      ‘Always.’

      Genevieve gave a slight shiver at his uncompromising tone, at how ruthlessly that tone implied Benedict would deal with anyone who did not give him that truth. ‘Could we not just enjoy the boat ride, Benedict? Everything looks so romantic in the moonlight that I am sure—’ The resumption of Genevieve’s nervous chatter came to an abrupt halt as Benedict—Lucifer—placed his mouth firmly against her own.

      Silencing her.

      Stunning her.

      Warming her as those firm and sensual lips moved over and against hers in slow exploration. His arms moved about the slenderness of her waist and Benedict drew her into the heat of his firmly muscled body before deepening the kiss, sipping, tasting, gently biting her lips before soothing with the hot sweep of his tongue.

      Genevieve’s initial surprise was not, as she had always feared would happen, followed by revulsion at having a man kiss her. Instead, after that first shock, Genevieve found herself shyly returning those gentle kisses as she clung to the width of Benedict’s shoulders, her own lips parting instinctively to allow the kiss to be deepened.

      She was leaning weakly against that hard and muscled chest by the time Benedict raised his head to look down at her with glittering black eyes. ‘What else happened today, Genevieve?’

      ‘I—’ Genevieve pushed against his chest to distance herself even as she blinked in an effort to clear her head of the effects of that astonishing—and totally unexpected—kiss. ‘It was most unfair of you to attempt to use seduction in order to attempt to force my co-operation, Benedict.’ She looked up at him reproachfully.

      His eyes narrowed behind the unadorned black mask. ‘Seduce you into telling me what exactly, Genevieve?’

      She gave a pained frown as she realised her mistake. ‘Into telling you nothing,’ she dismissed lightly, ‘for there is nothing to tell.’

      ‘Genevieve.’

      ‘Will you please desist from constantly repeating my name in that reproving manner?’ She bristled irritably as she straightened her gown unnecessarily, still flustered by that kiss. ‘I am not a naughty child to be spoken to in that tone.’

      Benedict bit back his own impatience, totally aware that Genevieve was now using anger so that she did not have to answer his original question, something he was unwilling to allow her to continue to do. ‘If I considered you a child, of any description, then you would not be here with me now. Nor would I have kissed you,’ he added harshly, also aware that having intended to use the kiss only as a means of silencing Genevieve, he was now the one who was left uncomfortably aroused, his shaft a hot and throbbing ache inside his breeches.

      A blush warmed her cheeks. ‘No, of course you would not. I—It is only that—’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Perhaps we should continue with this conversation once we are safely arrived at the gardens?’ She gave the boatman sitting in front of them a belatedly pointed glance.

      Another excuse for delaying their conversation, Benedict guessed easily. And one that succeeding in making him even more curious as to what might have occurred to put Genevieve in this state of nervous tension. A curiosity that would have to wait as he saw they had almost reached their destination. ‘Very well,’ he conceded tersely. ‘But I advise against you using the intervening time in which to make up some excuse,’ he added sternly, standing up as they had now reached the quayside, collecting up the picnic basket and stepping out of the boat before turning to take Genevieve’s gloved hand and aid her own step on to dry land. ‘What have you done to your arm …?’ he prompted shrewdly as he saw her wince as he clasped her hand.

      Genevieve continued to look down at where she was stepping rather than at Benedict. ‘I caught the sleeve on my robe on the door handle of my dressing room this morning and wrenched my arm.’

      ‘Careless of you.’

      ‘Yes.’ She added nothing more, knowing this man was too astute for her comfort. Because he was Lucifer. A man many of the ton feared. And none dared cross. Because Lucifer was a man who remained emotionally aloof, even from those women lucky enough to become his mistress.

      Lucky enough …?

      Yes, Genevieve realised she now considered any woman who attracted, and held, Benedict’s attention, to be very lucky indeed. But, painful as her own arm still was—and becoming more so as time passed rather than less—Genevieve also knew that William’s visit to her earlier today had now placed her in even more of a dilemma, and one that had nothing to do with her own physical well being. There was also Charlotte Darby, the Earl of Ramsey’s daughter, to consider.

      As far as Genevieve could recall, Charlotte Darby was a young lady of only twenty or so, reasonably pretty, and no doubt starry-eyed in regard to her forthcoming marriage to the present Duke of Woollerton.

      Except William Forster, like his father before him, was not a man any young and innocent girl should marry with starry-eyed expectations. How could he be, when Genevieve knew him to be a man vicious by nature?

      Genevieve shuddered in revulsion just thinking of another young innocent being exposed to that viciousness. No, Charlotte really should not be allowed to marry William Forster and made to suffer as Genevieve had once suffered.

      ‘It was not my intention for you never to talk again …’ Benedict drawled drily as, having paid and entered the gardens, and walked some distance down one of the lantern-lit gravel pathways, Genevieve remained lost in thought. Perhaps that same something that had preoccupied her earlier?

      She gave a guilty start, before turning to look about them. ‘Oh, how lovely!’ Her blue eyes glowed through her mask as she looked about her at the many arbours and pathways leading from this one, all of them lit by dozens of lanterns placed in the trees, with the sound of music playing and fountains gurgling in the background, amidst the laughter and chatter of all the other people currently enjoying the gardens.

      Benedict had deliberately chosen to arrive at the gardens after darkness had fallen, knowing that Genevieve, at least, would appreciate the romance of the glowing lanterns to light their way. After his own response to kissing her earlier, Benedict was no longer sure he appreciated the privacy offered by so many of the tree- and shrub-enshrouded arbours, several of which were already providing that privacy if the soft murmurs and pleasurable groans he could hear were any indication!

      Genevieve seemed totally unaware of those less proper activities as she tucked her gloved hand trustingly into the crook of his arm. She looked up and gave him a glowing smile as they continued to walk down the pathway crowded with other revellers. ‘This is all so perfect, Benedict. And just as I imagined it might be! Can we go and listen to the band playing at the colonnade? And see some of the beautiful fountains? And then could we—?’

      ‘You are rattling on again, Genevieve.’ Benedict gave a weary shake of his head, grateful