Page 3 of The Earl’s Tempting Ward (Dukes Gone Dirty #2)

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B enedict had been spending far too much time in the stables. Particularly when one considered he did not have much of an interest in horseflesh. Not a keen fascination, at any rate.

And he certainly had never had any desire to witness a foaling.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as the stable boy beside him looked on with wide eyes.

The large mare couldn’t be stopped, this much he knew. Nature was at work. He grimaced as he watched the mare snort, plumes of steam leaving her nostrils in the cold late-March air.

“Where’s your master, boy?” he asked the child.

Dark eyes gazed up at him blankly.

Was the boy a simpleton or merely too overwhelmed at being spoken to by an earl? Benedict turned away with a sigh. Perhaps neither. The lad was no doubt terrified of the scarred beast who stood before him—the evil man who’d ruined the manor and killed his own family.

Good God, he’d actually become the monster children were warned about. He was the cautionary bedtime tale.

The thought had him huffing with wry amusement. “Go on,” he said to the boy. “Go find a groom or the stablemaster.”

The child did not need to be told twice. He fled as if the devil was on his heels.

Benedict looked around him. Where was everyone?

Likely avoiding him. He crossed his arms and glared at the mare, willing the beast to halt immediately. He’d not come out here to witness the miracle of birth, for God’s sake. He’d just been…

Hiding.

What was the use in denying it? He’d been avoiding his new ward all week, and more often than not that drove him out of the house. As it was still cold outside, he’d taken to visiting the stables.

Surely she wouldn’t follow him here.

Not that Philippa was following him, necessarily. It was just that with half the manor under construction and the weather so dark and dreary this past week, it was difficult to avoid one another.

His mother, however, managed to keep her distance as usual. While she was off doing what she deemed to be her dowager countess duty, he’d been caught in an awkward sort of dance trying to steer clear of the young lady in his care.

He winced as the mare pawed at the ground. “Please wait,” he said quietly. “I implore you.”

“Wait for what?” Philippa’s voice behind him had him turning with a start.

She greeted him with a smile that was all sunshine and innocence.

That smile made his gut twist with wariness.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Christ, he hadn’t meant to sound so rude. He looked from her to the mare and back again. “This is no place for a gently bred young lady.”

Her smile grew, her green eyes sparkling in a way that had come to make his muscles tense as if for a blow.

She was innocent, and she was sheltered. But there was something in her, beneath the surface, that hinted at danger.

Her gait was slow and her demeanor not at all alarmed by the sight of the pacing mare before her as she moved further into the stables. “What if that gently bred young lady was raised in the country and spent an inordinate amount of time in the stables?”

His brows hitched. “Did you?”

Her small smile was smug. There was a hint of the feline about her with her high, sharp cheekbones and her narrow nose, and the way her eyes were slightly narrowed and upturned at the edges. And then there were her eyes themselves. Her eyes fairly gleamed like a cat’s when caught in a lantern’s glow.

“The way I see it, I was destined to spend time in the stables,” she said with a little smile that made him feel like they were talking about something—anything, really—other than horses and stables.

“Er, pardon?” he said, his voice little more than a growl. But damn it all to hell she looked pretty in the cold. Her cheeks were flushed the same pink as her lips, and little wisps of auburn hair danced around her like a halo.

“The name,” she said, stripping her gloves off as she slowly approached the anxious mare. “Philippa means lover of horses.” Her tone was distracted as she reached out to calm the horse. “I used to tell my father it was his own fault for bequeathing me such a name.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice, but he saw the sadness in her smile.

He’d gone out of his way to avoid her this week, it was true. But in those rare occasions when he couldn’t avoid her—at meals, mostly, when his mother was present.

All three of them were silent, for the most part.

Even so, she’d never spoken of her parents. Though as she was just now coming out of mourning, he supposed that was to be expected. He and his mother rarely spoke of their deceased family either. What was there to say?

Her gaze turned to meet his and he felt her scrutiny like a blow to the gut.

“Would you like my assistance?” she asked.

It was a polite question, but the small smile that hovered over her lips made his thoughts go someplace dark and dirty. As if she were offering something that had nothing to do with horses and foaling.

He turned to glower at the open door where the stable boy had fled. Bloody hell, he shouldn’t be in here alone with her.

His mind was addled, surely.

When he glanced back at her there was nothing but innocent, helpful questions in her eyes. She was seeking permission, nothing more.

So why was it that when she was near, his entire body felt like it had been struck by lightning. Why did her smiles and her glances and the soft sway of her hips make him feel like he was being seduced?

It was lunacy.

But when her lips curved up and her eyes met his…lunacy or not, he ached for her.

He’d be attracted to this woman no matter what. She had a figure that made his hands itch to grab her hips, bend her over and fuck her senseless, and no one could deny her beauty. But it was that whiff of danger, the wicked gleam in her eyes—there and gone in a heartbeat—and the way she seemed to crackle with a seductive energy.

It was that which had him avoiding her. It was that air of mischief and curiosity that made him doubt his own willpower around her. It had been too long since he’d been with a woman. Not since the night of the fire. All it would take was one lingering touch, one poor decision…

Hell. All she had to do was smile sweetly at him right now and his manhood strained, begging for her touch.

She tilted her head to the side and studied him as he studied her. “Perhaps I can help.”

Blast. For a moment he’d forgotten entirely about the mare.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” he said. “The stablemaster shall be along shortly, and while I don’t know much about these things, there’s still some time before?—”

He was interrupted by the sound of a large amount of liquid hitting the dirt floor.

“Bloody hell!” He leapt back a foot as the mare came down to the ground.

To his surprise, Philippa laughed.

He turned toward her at the low, husky sound. He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the curve of her lips, the glint of laughter in her eyes.

Laughter at his expense.

He frowned and her laughter quieted.

“You were saying?” she teased.

He turned his glare to the horse, though the horse definitely did not care that he was glaring.

“It won’t be long now,” Philippa said, coming to kneel by the horse’s head, lowering her voice and seemingly not noticing at all that she was squatting in the dirt.

Benedict cast a helpless glance around for any sign of the stablemaster. Hell, he’d take that dimwitted stable boy at this point.

“No more than twenty minutes, I’d say.” Philippa glanced up at him with another smile. Like this was good news.

She was smiling expectantly but he had nothing to say to this, so he gave a grunt of acknowledgement.

Inexplicably, she smiled even wider as if he’d just said something clever.

Philippa turned back to the mare and a moment later, the gray-haired old stablemaster was hurrying into the stables and shooing them both away. “Oh no, no, my lady,” he was mumbling as he helped Philippa to her feet. “This is no place for a lady.”

He didn’t say the same to Benedict—likely because the man valued his job—but Benedict wasn’t at all put out to be leaving the mare and its forthcoming foal behind.

“Come along, Philippa,” he said, ignoring her weary sigh as she trailed behind him.

“I do not see why I could not stay,” she said.

He cast her a sidelong glance, torn between amusement and irritation at her petulant tone. “Because it is not fit for a lady, as the stablemaster said.”

“Mmm,” she said, walking so close her sleeve brushed his. “And when it is my time to have a child? Will I be allowed in the room, do you suppose? Or will it be too much for my delicate nerves?”

He stopped walking, staring at her in shock.

Her head fell back with a laugh. “I’ve scandalized you, haven’t I?”

He snapped his jaw shut, glowering down at her. “I was told you were a lady, Miss Lo?—”

“Oh, it’s Philippa, please,” she said, her tone beseeching.

He glared down at her. Not because he was so very outraged but because he was puzzled by the riddle before him.

So sweet and innocent one moment and then delighting in shocking him the next.

Her gaze turned knowing as she peeked up at him coyly from beneath her lashes. “Have I misbehaved?”

Her voice was breathy and low. The voice of a woman in bed. His gut tightened with a hot wave of lust as he pictured it. Her dark auburn hair spread around her on a pillow. Those green eyes shuttered by half-lowered lids. Her lips parted and her legs spread wide and?—

Bloody hell. He turned away abruptly. Yes, it had definitely been far too long since he’d taken a woman, and this little chit was too tempting by far.

And the worst part was, he was beginning to suspect she knew it.

Her lips taunted him as she pouted. “I have been naughty, haven’t I?” She sidled closer.

He ought to back away but he couldn’t. His erection was stiff and painful, and the scent of her held him captive.

“Are you very angry with me?” she said in that breathy whisper. She rested a hand on his arm and let her head fall back revealing the creamy length of her neck. “Will you be forced to take me over your knee?”

Christ. He jerked away then, but it was too late. His mind was filled with the image. Her skirts tossed up, her undergarments discarded. Her ripe little ass wriggling in his lap as he gave her a spanking.

His throat was too dry to swallow, and his gaze had fallen to her lips.

They parted, and then he caught the tip of her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips.

When he finally tore his gaze away to look in her eyes, he was stunned speechless. Her eyes were wide with wonder and…fear?

Of course she was afraid. He did not need a looking glass to know how repulsive he was, particularly this close and looming over her as he was.

With a muttered curse he took a step back, tensing as that hint of fear in her eyes gave way to smug amusement.

She was laughing at him.

Again.

His lungs hitched. This time was different though. This time she was taunting him, he was sure of it. Laughing at him for desiring her when he was so hideous himself.

For a moment, he couldn’t tear his gaze away; he was so mystified by the slight little thing. She was as changeable as the wind. So many personalities in one.

Which was she? Sheltered innocent or seductive little harlot?

In the end, did it matter? Either way she was his ward. His responsibility.

Even if she were a woman of experience. Even if she actually desired him in return—unlikely as that might be. It wouldn’t change the fact that she was his to protect, not his to touch.

“Come along,” he commanded, his voice too gruff and curt as he turned away.

“Oh, but my lord…” Her tone was wheedling, but when her hand came to his arm again, he stopped to glare at her.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, little girl, but this game of yours stops now,” he said.

Her eyes widened and she blinked in the face of his anger. “I haven’t done anything?—”

“Bullocks.”

Her lips pinched together at the oath.

He leaned down closer even though he knew he was tempting his own willpower by being this close to those luscious lips. “You think to mock me with a flirtation, is that it?”

Her brows arched and he caught honest confusion in her eyes. “N-no, I didn’t?—”

She stopped when he grabbed her hand, bare now after she’d taken off her gloves to stroke the mare’s flesh. Her lips parted in surprise and he just barely bit back a groan.

Those lips. Lord, he ached to taste them. He’d bury his hands in that thick auburn hair and claim them with his own and?—

He looked away with a sharp hiss. The moment they arrived in London he’d find a whore, that’s what he’d do. Not a mistress—no decent woman in her right mind would want his scarred body on top of hers. But a cheap whore down on Vestry Lane. One who’d go on her knees and take him into her mouth until he purged all thoughts of his tempting little ward.

Philippa tugged on her hand, and only then did he realize he still held it.

A bitter, twisted urge rose up in him. He didn’t want to see her mockery, but he had a perverse desire to see her disgust. He lifted her hand to touch his scars, savoring a sick satisfaction when she gasped.

Horror. That was what she felt when she looked at him.

“Still want me to take you over my knee, little girl?” This time he was the one taunting, and he didn’t try to hide it. Just like he didn’t make any attempt to hide the wicked desire that had his manhood straining toward her like she was its master.

“I-I?—”

He leaned down closer, so close he could feel the heat of her breath. “Do you want to play with the devil, is that it, Philippa? Do you want to see how far you can go before you get burnt?”

“I didn’t mean to…” She stopped to swallow and stumbled back a step when he released her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Said in a whisper so soft and sweet, his anger and that sick satisfaction faded in a heartbeat leaving him cold.

He turned away.

“You’re of an age to know better,” he said as he headed toward the house. “Save your curiosity for your husband.”

Your husband . The words made his lips curl into a sneer and a wave of anger he couldn’t explain surged through his veins.

“We leave in the morning,” he said. “You’ll need your rest.” He paused to glance over his shoulder, taking in the sight of her so fresh and pure and lovely. An angel in his midst.

Well, an angel with a wicked streak.

He hardened his expression, adopting his fiercest glare. “Go to your room.”