Page 13 of The Earl’s Tempting Ward (Dukes Gone Dirty #2)

13

B enedict should have known his ward would not go along with his plans without a fight.

He’d expected it. But he wasn’t about to let her stubborn arse keep him from doing what was right.

“Her mother would be pleased,” his mother was muttering as they waited for Philippa to join them in the front hall. “So at least there’s that.”

He ignored her. She’d been muttering asides for the past half hour as they waited. Hell, she’d been expressing her opinions on this match since he’d tracked her down to tell her.

He hadn’t expected a happy reaction to the news, but she’d been even more taciturn than ever about this turn of events. She seemingly took it as a personal affront. As if he’d set out to seduce her goddaughter just to aggravate her.

But despite her misgivings about the matter, she’d taken it in stride eventually, thinking through the logistics of a hasty wedding to try and avert any more gossip. As she’d so delicately put it. Lord knows this family doesn’t need to be tainted by any more of your wicked scandals.

Which was why she was here, ready and waiting to do her part to pretend to be joyous about this upcoming wedding.

She’d decided to spin it as a love story, as if anyone would believe that. Well, they might very well believe that he’d become smitten with his ward, but that a sweet, smiling beauty like Philippa would fall for a scarred, bitter beast like him?

No. If anything, she’d likely be getting her fair share of pitying glances at tonight’s soiree as his mother spread the news.

He tugged at his cravat again, glaring up at the top of the staircase as if that might make her appear. The carriages were ready and waiting, as he had been for nigh on an hour now. He peered up the spiraling staircase. “Where is she?”

“Maria says she’s nearly done,” his mother said.

He gave a harrumph. He knew what Philippa was doing. The little vixen was digging in her heels. As if by not attending tonight’s event where his mother would undoubtedly announce the good news of their engagement, she might somehow avoid the inevitable.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

She didn’t want him. Not in any meaningful way. And that was fine. He’d never expected her to want him. Hell, after the fire he’d lost any fantasy he might have had of finding a true partner, or even that rare magic that Raff had found.

No, he certainly hadn’t been holding out for love.

But knowing he was to marry a woman who hated him, who didn’t wish to be seen at his side…

He inhaled swiftly, shaking off the thought.

Perhaps this was justice. He was finally doing the right thing, being the sort of upstanding gentleman his father expected—well, in his own way. And in turn he’d be despised in his own home.

He glanced over at his mother.

Even more than he already was.

“There you are,” his mother said.

His head snapped up and his breath caught at the sight of her. Breathtaking.

She’d been right. She wasn’t meant to be a countess. She ought to be a queen.

Her bright red hair was swept up in some coif that made it look like she was wearing a crown, and her green eyes sparkled down at him. Her freckles were covered in some sort of powder that made her look ethereal in the candlelight’s glow.

“You look lovely, dear,” his mother said.

He glanced over at his mother, surprised by the kindness in her tone. It appeared she wasn’t going to hold this marriage against Philippa, and he was glad.

They didn’t need any more obstacles standing in her way.

Her chin was notched up high when she descended the stairs, and while she made all the polite greetings to his mother, she all but ignored him until he offered his arm to escort her out to the carriage.

“I will not let this happen, you know,” she said.

“I don’t see how you’ll avoid it.” He was pleased by how calm he sounded despite the anger brewing in his chest.

“I’ll make you regret it,” she said, the words low and poisonous. “I’ll make a cuckold of you before we even wed, I’ll?—”

He spun her to face him so quickly, she stopped talking at once.

“Let us be clear, Philippa. I know you do not like this arrangement. But if you were so repulsed by me and dislike me so thoroughly, that is something you ought to have taken into consideration before you invited me into your bed.”

Her eyes widened and she looked stricken.

“Now, how you behave tonight is up to you, of course. But know that you must live with the consequences if you are a naughty girl.”

Her flaming cheeks said she knew precisely what he meant, and he felt his cock stir as her pupils dilated and her lips parted with desire. “You wouldn’t.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He’d never in his life lift a hand to a woman in anger, but this was not that and they both knew it. She’d come apart in his arms when he took control, and she’d only lost those shadows in her eyes when she surrendered to his commands.

With that memory in mind, he leaned down close, sliding a hand down to cup her bottom in a forceful grip. “You are mine now, love.” He gave that plump arse a gentle spank, a tease of what was to come.

She inhaled with a gasp and bit her lip as her gaze grew unfocused with desire.

Lord, she was tempting.

“Are you wet for me, pet?” he whispered in her ear.

She turned a brilliant shade of red. “Between my thighs, you mean?”

He had to fight a smile. This girl. So very haughty and sophisticated one moment and then a sheltered country girl the next.

“Mmm,” he managed, his lips grazing her ear. “If I were to hitch up this pretty gown of yours and slide my hand between your thighs, would your tight little cunny be wet for me?”

Her shiver wracked her whole body. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he whispered. He caught her about the waist as she swayed into him. “Now, are you going to behave tonight or will I have to take you over my knee?”

Despite his threatening growl, she grinned up at him—and the sight nearly took him out at the knees. It was the first real smile he’d seen from her since their night together, and it made his heart swell dangerously.

“Careful, Benedict,” she said with a wink. “Your threat isn’t much of a threat if I enjoy the punishment.”

She walked away from him with a saucy little strut that had him scrubbing a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

He hadn’t expected her to be a biddable bride, but he suspected Philippa was going to give new meaning to the term trouble.

* * *

“I hear congratulations are in order.” Raff was beaming with satisfaction as he and his wife joined Benedict by the fireplace in their host’s drawing room.

Raff’s wife Evangeline greeted him with a soft smile. “We were so happy to hear the news.”

“How did you hear of it?” he asked, looking around at the crowd that had gathered.

For an intimate soiree, this house was filled to capacity with lords and ladies.

“Word travels fast when an earl becomes engaged,” Raff said. “And we wanted to be the first to wish you well. But I had to hear it from you first.” Raff arched his brows. “Are we truly celebrating a betrothal?”

“I am, I suppose.” He forced a crooked smile for Evangeline’s sake. “I’m afraid my bride-to-be is not exactly enthused by this turn of events.”

Evangeline winced and squeezed Benedict’s arm in support. “Where is she? Perhaps she could use a friend to talk to.”

His smile eased into something more genuine. “I’d appreciate that. Last I saw she was with my mother and her friends, being bombarded with well wishes and ill-disguised interrogations.”

Evangeline grimaced. “I can imagine. Poor dear must be overwhelmed.”

“Mmm. Poor dear,” he muttered under his breath as Evangeline walked away to find Philippa. The fact that his friend’s wife didn’t ask questions about why, precisely, he was forcing the ‘poor dear’ into a wedding made him like the pretty blonde all the more.

“Care to tell me what’s going on?” Raff said.

“Not really.”

Raff laughed. “Fair enough.”

“What about me?” Hayden approached from behind and apparently had heard enough to guess the topic. “They say I’m much easier to talk to than His Grace over here.”

Raff pretended to be offended, and Benedict shook his head in exasperation at his friends’ antics.

“Not the time nor the place,” he said, looking around them pointedly.

“Fine, later then perhaps you can explain just how you managed to woo that sweet little Italian lass,” Hayden said.

Benedict gave a snort of amusement. Woo? Hardly. But he’d not risk any of these vipers overhearing the truth.

His gaze was searching the crowd for any sight of her—he felt uneasy whenever he didn’t have eyes on her—and only half listened as his friends muttered about that bastard Foley being in attendance…again.

“I don’t understand how he manages to get an invitation to these events,” Hayden grumbled.

Raff arched a brow. “Based on personal experience, I’d say blackmail.”

“Hmph.” Hayden scowled at no one in particular, but a passing matron smiled brilliantly back at him.

He had the sort of angelic, boyish handsomeness that made women fawn over him even when he was brooding.

One glance at Benedict had that same matron scurrying away.

“It’s time we get word out that he’s not welcome,” Hayden said.

Hayden was nothing if not a loyal friend, and he’d taken to ensuring Evangeline was comfortable at these gatherings with the same protective air of her husband. Well, not quite the same. Hayden’s concern was more brotherly whereas Raff was known to whisk his wife away for a quick frolic in an empty bedroom.

“I’d be happy to but it’s difficult to skewer his good name without tarnishing my wife’s,” Raff said.

All three of them stewed over that in silence until the crowd shifted and Philippa came into view. Philippa…and the very man they’d just been discussing.

“The nerve,” Benedict bit out through clenched teeth.

His friends turned to see what he was watching.

Raff cursed as well. Understandably as his wife was standing beside a seemingly unaware Philippa, glaring at Mr. Foley like a blonde warrior woman. But Philippa…

Jealousy and rage shot through him so quickly, he was moving before his friends could stop him.

“Easy now,” Raff said. “You don’t want to cause a scene and embarrass her.”

“Embarrass her?” He shot his friend a glare. “What do you think she’s doing to me?”

She wasn’t just speaking with Foley, she was flirting with him. He could see as much even from where they were standing. Batting her eyelashes and smiling a simpering smile that had his hands clenched at his side. He was a few feet away when she rested a hand against Foley’s arm, and Benedict saw red.

“Pardon us,” he bit out curtly as he grabbed her hand and dragged her away.

“Benedict, what are you doing?”

But he heard it in her voice. She’d done this on purpose. She knew exactly what she’d been doing. The little minx still thought she could get out of this engagement if she made a fool of him.

He didn’t stop moving until they were outside, in the cold early spring air. His skin felt feverish as he hauled her into his arms. He didn’t wait to hear her protests before he ravished her mouth with a kiss that was as good as a brand.

“Mine,” he muttered the word between kisses, his tongue probing, his lips rough, not stopping the onslaught until she was sinking into his chest and moaning into his mouth. Only then did he pull back and when he did it was to shove his hand into her bodice, gripping one of her breasts and pinching her nipple until she whimpered with need.

“Say it,” he demanded.

Her lips quivered, her eyes dazed. “I’m yours.”

“Say it like you understand,” he snarled.

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I-I’m yours.”

“Forever,” he added.

Her eyes grew glazed in that way he adored. The way that said she was losing herself, handing herself into his care. Letting him be the master of her pleasure.

“Forever,” she repeated.

“Did you think you could escape me by flirting with another?”

Her eyes widened, a flare of helplessness there. No, she hadn’t truly thought it would work, but she’d been desperate enough to try.

Frustration coursed through him at the demons that were eating her alive.

“I cannot help you if you don’t let me,” he growled. “I cannot take away your pain if you keep it locked inside.”

She tossed her head from one side to the other before throwing herself at him with desperation just like she’d done so many times before. Her fingers reached for his manhood as she rubbed herself against his chest, her lips on his neck. “You can take away the pain,” she whispered. “Only you know how.”

Only you…

The words were more seductive than any touch or smile. They wrapped around him and squeezed his chest.

He moved her deeper into the shadows, hidden from sight because…what the hell. They were engaged now. Propriety be damned. He pushed her back against a tree in the garden.

“Please, Benedict,” she whimpered. “I need you.”

He hitched up her skirts and tore her undergarments. Mine . The word was an incessant chant and it drove his every move. He didn’t need Foley to know it. He didn’t care if anyone else understood.

All that mattered was that she realized he would never let her go. No matter what she did. No matter how miserable she made him.

“Yes,” she hissed her eyes alight with desperation and need.

He dropped to his knees first, parting the fabric of her undergarments with a groan. “So wet,” he whispered.

“It hurts,” she whimpered. Her hips jutted forward.

He buried his face between her thighs, groaning again as she gasped above him, her sweet, wet heat ready for him. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she jerked her hips. “What are you…How is this…”

She stopped trying to talk as he drove his tongue into her channel making her knees quake. “Oh, good gracious,” she panted.

He shoved her thighs apart further and angled his head so his mouth could cover her whole mound at once.

He was so hungry for her his bollocks ached for more. She tasted like…well, like Philippa. Wild and sweet, wanton and innocent. She was perfection and when she moved her hips, trying to find her release, he found himself grinning against her sex.

The jealousy was forgotten because this… This was for him alone.

Whether she liked it or not, he was the only man who’d ever taste this nectar, and it was his own private heaven. He growled against her, flicking her clitoris with his tongue as she panted and moaned.

“You like that, love?” he teased. “You want more?”

Her hands in his hair grew frantic as she rode his face like the marvelous little spitfire she was.

“More,” she panted. “More.”

He thrust his tongue inside her again, his hands cupping her bottom. He gave one cheek a sharp slap and he felt her inner muscles clench around his tongue.

Sweet Jesus, she was a wonder.

He did it again, smacking her bottom hard and then harder still as she begged for more, her legs spread wide as she sat on his face and took all he had to offer.

She came with a shout and he lapped at her until she was shaking. Then he stood and in two swift movements, he had his manhood out and buried inside her, pinning her to the tree as he drove into her.

Her head fell back with a pant. “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, please.”

He buried his neck in her hair. He was an animal, scarred, ugly, and coarse. And this proved it. There was no finesse, just a hard, rough tupping as he made his sweet bride-to-be take all of him inside her.

“Good,” she panted. “Feels so good.”

The words rippled over him, making him shudder as heat shot down his spine and into his loins. She liked it. Even rutting with her like the animal he was, she liked it.

“Perfect,” he growled into her ear as he slid his length into her tight hole. “So bloody perfect.”

Now she was shivering as he drove inside of her, thrusting into her like he could make her see what she meant to him. What this could be.

Her legs clamped around his waist, her arms cinched around his neck. She squeezed him tight, her inner muscles urging him on as he plowed into her softness.

He came apart with a groan and for a long moment they stayed just like that, trembling and panting as they returned to reality.

“Was that supposed to be a punishment?” Even breathless and shaking, she managed to taunt.

He grunted. “A reminder of who you belong to.” He shot her a warning glare, just in case she thought he’d forgotten that she’d been flirting with the enemy not ten minutes prior.

She shrugged but looked away. “I told you I’d make you regret it.”

He caught it then—another flicker of hate in her eyes. But it wasn’t toward him, and that knowledge just about ripped him apart. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

It was a command.

She couldn’t resist commands, his naughty little bird.

“I said you belong to me,” he growled. “But haven’t you figured it out yet, love? This thing between us—the vows we’ve already made. The acts we’ve already committed…”

Her lips parted at the urgency in his voice and he saw tears lining her eyes.

He wet his lips. This moment felt heavy and fragile at the same time. Words had never been his strong suit, but this felt like the most obvious fact in the world. “Philippa, you belong to me. But I am yours now too. Do you not see that?”

She blinked in surprise.

“We are one now, love. We are on the same side.”

She shook her head, like she was trying to shake off his words. “You cannot be shackled to me,” she said. “It isn’t right. You deserve better.”

He froze so completely, he nearly forgot to breathe. Here he’d been so certain she didn’t want to be tied to his scarred, ugly arse, but…

“You think you are not deserving?” he said. “Of me?”

She shut her eyes.

“Of what?” He cupped her cheek. “Of what are you not deserving, love?”

“Don’t call me that.” Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t call me love.”

“Why not?”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I should not get…this.” She gestured helplessly.

He frowned in confusion. “Not get what?”

She shook her head quickly again, making a production out of straightening her clothes.

“Not get what, Philippa?” His voice was harder now, his patience thin.

“This.” Her voice rose with anguish, her control slipping. “The good man. The happy ending. A bloody title, for heaven’s sake.” Her exhale was somewhere between a harsh laugh and a desperate sob.

He went to reach for her. “Why not?”

“I need to pay, don’t you see?” Her eyes were wild, her voice high and tight as her hands waved between them beseechingly. “I’m supposed to be punished for what I’ve done. I’m not supposed to be pitied.” She cast a glance toward the house where all of high society was blissfully unaware of what they’d just done. “I’m not supposed to be happy.” She looked to him. “I should be punished.”

“Punished.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue. She’d said it before, but now it took on new meaning. She didn’t mean a spanking for making him jealous or anything else as inconsequential. “For what?”

“For killing my parents, Benedict.” The anguish in her voice made his own heart hurt. “I must pay for what I’ve done, don’t you see?”

He went to reach for her and she turned away from him, but not before he’d seen her tears.