Some Like to Shock. Carole Mortimer

years, and far too jaded in spirit, for one such as you to flex your delicate little claws on, pet.’

      Her gaze became searching on Benedict’s harshly hewn features and she knew that she liked and trusted Benedict, despite how experienced or jaded he might claim to be. He was perhaps both those things, but he had also shown a kindness and concern for her this evening which said he was, despite everything, a man of honour.

      She smiled up at him warmly. ‘I shall very much look forward to seeing you again tomorrow evening, Benedict.’ She moved up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly upon one rigidly tensed cheek before turning to step into her carriage and instructing her driver to move on, a smile curving her lips as her last view of Benedict showed him scowling darkly in his displeasure.

      Her smile widened as she thought of their visit to Vauxhall Gardens.

      ‘I believe I told my butler to inform you that I am not at home?’ Genevieve stood up to glare coldly at the gentleman who presented himself uninvited in the gold salon of her London home the following afternoon, her hands clutched tightly together so that he should not have the satisfaction of seeing how they trembled at his unexpected appearance here.

      This morning had, predictably, been a busy one for her, with visits from both admiring gentlemen bearing more flowers and chocolates and many of the ladies who had been present at Lady Hammond’s ball yesterday evening. Most of them were calling out of curiosity in regard to the time Genevieve had spent in the company of the elusive Lord Benedict Lucas, to the degree that he had danced with her when he had not taken to the dance floor these past ten years—a fact which secretly thrilled Genevieve.

      None of those ladies who had called knew Genevieve intimately enough to ask her the question direct, of course, but their curiosity was none the less tangible and highly entertaining to Genevieve.

      The gentlemen who had presented flowers and bonbons had been even more pleasant, even if Genevieve was aware that those calls were being made because Lucifer’s interest had somehow succeeded in making her the latest fashion.

      But her visitor of this afternoon was most unwelcome.

      ‘Obviously your butler was mistaken, because here you most certainly are,’ William Forster, the tenth Duke of Woollerton, mocked drily as he glanced in the direction of the obviously uncomfortable and apologetic butler standing in the doorway behind him.

      ‘You may go, Jenkins.’ Genevieve gave the elderly man a reassuring smile before returning the coldness of her gaze back to her unwanted visitor.

      The same man had been Genevieve’s stepson for the duration of her marriage to his father, and at nine and twenty and in possession of fleshy good looks, William bore a startling resemblance to his sire. Nor had William ever made any secret of his disapproval of his father’s choice of Genevieve as his second wife. It was perhaps the only thing upon which the two of them had ever agreed; Genevieve had not been happy in his father choosing to marry her, either.

      William now looked down the length of his supercilious nose at her. ‘It has been brought to my attention, by several of my acquaintances, that you have been cutting a swathe in society this past six weeks or more.’

      ‘Have you dared to spy on me?’ Genevieve’s eyes flashed angrily, her cheeks flushing with temper; she had spent enough years being bullied by this man and his father to know she did not intend to suffer those same bullying tactics as Josiah’s widow.

      ‘It cannot be called spying, when the whole of the ton has been witness to your outings with those other two silly ladies these past weeks!’

      ‘I believe you are referring to the Duchesses of Clayborne and Wyndwood.’ Genevieve frowned, still uncertain as to the reason for William’s visit today, because there must assuredly be a reason for him to have bothered himself in coming here. ‘Neither of whom can be considered in the least silly.’

      ‘That is surely a matter of opinion?’ he drawled disdainfully. ‘Nor is it of importance.’ He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘How can it be, when it is your own … behaviour with Lord Benedict Lucas, which is now in question.’

      Genevieve’s chin rose defiantly. ‘By whom, might one ask?’

      ‘By me, madam.’ He looked at her coldly. ‘And by the Earl of Ramsey. You are acquainted with that gentleman?’

      Genevieve blinked, having no idea what the earl had to do with her, or where this conversation was going. ‘I believe we have been introduced, and have met by chance a time or two in recent weeks, yes.’

      William nodded. ‘He was also present at Lady Hammond’s ball yesterday evening. A fact which you were no doubt unaware of, when all of your own attention was so firmly fixed first upon Sandhurst and then Lucas.’

      In truth, she did not remember seeing the Earl of Ramsey at the ball yesterday evening, occupied as she had been. Nor did she understand why she should have done so. ‘I am sure this is all very interesting, William, but—’

      ‘Tell me, has Lucifer been more successful than my father in parting your silky thighs without benefit of a wedding ring?’

      Genevieve paled at his crudeness. ‘Why do you insist on reducing everything to the level of the gutter?’

      ‘Perhaps because that is where I have always considered you belong?’ William gave a scathing and humourless smile. ‘I do not believe I ever made a secret of my lack of understanding as to why my father ever bothered himself to marry a young woman without fortune or position.’

      ‘As I never made any secret of the fact that it was always my dearest wish he had not! That I wished to be free of the both of you!’ Genevieve’s hands were now clenched so tightly at her sides she could feel her nails digging into her palms through the lace of her gloves.

      He eyed her pityingly. ‘You may thank your worthless brother for that particular predicament.’

      Genevieve stood as tall in her satin slippers as her five feet and two inches would allow. ‘My brother has been dead these past six years, sir.’

      ‘By his own hand,’ William Forster dismissed in a bored voice. ‘A coward’s way out, I have always thought.’

      ‘Neither you, or your thoughts, hold the slightest interest for me, sir.’ Genevieve looked at him coldly. ‘And if Colin chose to take his own life, then it was your father’s lies and deceit that made him do so.’

      Having only met Josiah Forster on two occasions before her brother, Colin, also her guardian, informed her of his offer for her, Genevieve had at first refused to even consider it. But she had been aged only eighteen and her brother had been deeply in debt because of his addiction to gambling. It was a debt the duke had promised to pay once Genevieve became his wife. Even knowing that, Genevieve had found the whole idea of being married to a man as old as Josiah Forster repugnant. But Colin’s entreaties had eventually prevailed and Genevieve had duly married her duke and returned with him to Woollerton Hall for their honeymoon period.

      She gave a shudder as she once again recalled her wedding night. A night of fear, and humiliation, which had only grown in intensity as the days, weeks, and months had passed and Josiah’s cruelties towards her had intensified.

      Nor had he ever made good on his promise as a gentleman to pay Colin’s gambling debts once Genevieve had become his wife, and so had left her brother at the mercy of the men to whom he was so deeply in debt.

      Was it any wonder that, feeling responsible as he did for both Genevieve’s obvious unhappiness in her marriage, and his own unbearable circumstances, Colin had visited the duke one last time to ask for his help and had again been refused, before then choosing to hang himself from one of the trees in the woods at the back of Woollerton Hall?

      William Forster now looked at her as mercilessly as his father had always done. ‘Your brother was weak, as well as a fool, in not demanding my father’s promise to him in writing before your wedding.’

      ‘And your father was not a gentleman, or a man of honour.’