Page 5 of The Earl’s Tempting Ward (Dukes Gone Dirty #2)

5

B enedict woke to the sound of screams.

For a moment, he lay there in bed, his blood running cold and his heart hammering.

It was happening all over again. He was back to that night when his life had come undone.

His fault. All his fault.

He waited for the smell of smoke to invade his nostrils and choke his throat, but instead he heard another scream, and this time he bolted upright in bed. The world was coming into focus as another shout broke through his sleep-addled haze.

He threw back the covers. There was no smoke. No angry, drunken mistress who’d gone missing in the night.

There was no fire.

But his blood still curdled as another scream pierced the air, chilling with its stark terror. He didn’t pause to light a candle or throw on a shirt, and he didn’t stop moving until he was at her door, in her room.

The bedding was twisted around Philippa as she tossed and turned, her eyes squeezed shut and her features tight with fear.

His heart slammed against his ribcage as she rolled toward him, muttering in her sleep.

She was asleep. His shoulders slumped. She was having a nightmare.

Her muttering turned to whimpers, and his heart responded again. Not with a kick of alarm but something far worse. Something rare.

It ached.

The organ squeezed tight as he moved toward her, his chest growing more constricted with each step. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he hesitated before touching her arm. “Philippa,” he said gently.

She turned toward his voice, rolling toward his body like a frightened little creature seeking warmth.

Air left him in a rush as her face came into the moonlight.

Stunning. Her cheekbones were highlighted by the glow, her lips kissed by it. Her hair was braided, but long locks had been freed during her tossing and turning and one was matted to her temple by sweat.

She whimpered again and his heart broke.

He hadn’t known it could break any more than it already had, but there it was. “Philippa.” He shook her gently.

She moaned as she stirred.

“Philippa, love, it’s only a dream.”

A nightmare, rather. What haunted this sweet girl’s dreams?

And yes, she was sweet. Despite her taunting earlier, or maybe because of it, he knew that much to be true. There had been a vulnerability in her eyes and her kiss, a desperation beneath her bold actions and sharp tongue.

His gaze fell to her lips and the memory of that kiss nearly crushed him.

Mistake. The kiss had been a mistake.

“No,” she said, so clearly it startled him. “No, Mother, please. Father!”

With that last sharp cry, she sat upright.

“You’re all right, love,” he said softly, with as much gentleness as he could muster.

It didn’t come naturally to him. Kindness and softness were not a part of this family’s makeup. A fact he’d always known but which had only been made more clear this past year.

They did not do weeping and grieving, but rather resentment and guilt.

Philippa’s wide eyes blinked open. As he watched her wake, her eyes focusing as she realized where she was…

He saw it clear as day. That moment when the new life settles in, when reality returns, and grief sweeps in all over again.

Another day to survive. That was what he saw in her gaze. The same sinking horror he’d felt every morning since the fire.

She swallowed hard as she turned to face him. “Lord Foster?”

His lips twitched at the confusion in her voice. His shaft twitched too at that breathless quality in her voice. Husky from sleep and her body covered by only the thin cotton of her nightdress.

“Are you all right?” He ordered himself not to drink in the sight of her.

She was not his to look upon. Not like that.

“I…” She shook her head, a hand coming up to touch her temple. “It was a nightmare.” Her gaze flicked up to meet his. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” It came out too harsh and she flinched.

Bloody hell, he wasn’t good at these things. He thought for a moment to call for his mother, but then again… He might not be good at giving comfort, but his mother was far worse.

“I…I…” She cast a glance around as if the words might be nearby. And then, to his horror, she burst out in tears.

He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Shh, it’s all right, child.”

“I’m not a child,” she mumbled in a high, watery voice against his shoulder.

His lips twitched again. “No, of course not.”

And she wasn’t. This much was clear to him. She might have an innocent look about her, but she was no child. She was soon to be married, after all. And beyond that, she’d been through a tragedy that made a person grow up whether they were ready or not.

And then there were her curves.

He grit his teeth, trying not to notice.

There was nothing childlike about the way she fit against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him in a way that made it impossible to breathe.

Desire swept through him hard and fierce at the feel of her soft breasts crushing against his muscles. The scent of her was intoxicating—so fresh, so floral and sweet.

“I shouldn’t be here.” The words were strangled, like they’d been ripped out of her.

He pulled back, trying to see her face, but she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

Her tears wet his bare skin.

Hell, he didn’t even have a shirt on. Thank God it was dark in here or he’d give her nightmares all over again with the sight of the burns and scars that covered his neck and chest.

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back. “Of course you should be here,” he said, his low voice echoing oddly in the quiet of her dark bedroom. “My mother is your godmother, this is exactly where you ought to be?—”

“No, I shouldn’t be here .” Her voice was ravaged with pain. “I shouldn’t be alive.”

She shook her head, pressing away from him, but he stopped her, cupping her face in his hands, a clawing sensation in his chest making speech impossible.

I shouldn’t be alive.

He knew the feeling well. Survivor’s guilt, his friend Hayden had called it. A natural reaction to having survived a tragedy when those you love did not. Made worse for him since it was his fault that the fire started. He’d brought his mistress here, enjoying the fact that her scandalous presence would irritate his father and infuriate his stick-in-the-mud brother. He’d been the one who’d gotten too drunk, who’d ignored his temperamental mistress and her ridiculous demands.

Tomorrow, he’d told himself that night. He’d deal with her money-grabbing, melodramatic tirades in the morning.

But Francesca hadn’t wanted to wait. She’d been even more intoxicated than he’d been—he realized that belatedly. It came back to him in the days that followed the tragedy. He could remember vividly how her eyes had sparkled, and the vacant crazed look he’d seen there.

It had been something more than alcohol at work. Opium, maybe. Perhaps something else.

Not that it mattered now.

None of it mattered now because the damage was already done. He still didn’t know exactly how she’d done it or why. If it was an accident or an act of spite. The fact that she’d been in his brother’s room made him think she’d taken her chances with the older brother. An act of revenge on Benedict after he’d spurned her.

He shook his head now, his gaze still fixed on Philippa’s. Her eyes were distant, dazed. It seemed she too was lost in the past and her gaze was filled with such torment, it was impossible not to feel it too.

I shouldn’t be alive.

Oh yes, he understood the sentiment all too well. But coming from her—from those sweet lips and the innocent eyes. She was no sheltered child, but she wasn’t nearly as wicked as she’d like to believe either.

She was…well, perhaps not good . Good was too tepid a word for a woman like Philippa. But she was pure. Deep down beneath her mischief and her tumultuous emotions, there was a light in her that she could not hide.

She might act the part of a seductive siren, but he’d seen enough of her to know that what drove her was not evil nor malicious. Just human.

The girl was lost. She was seeking something.

Something she seemed to think she might find in his arms.

He huffed with bitter amusement. Perhaps she was seeking to punish herself. For surely any sane woman would see intimacy with a monster as torture.

He stroked a thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear. Her lower lip trembled.

“You deserve to be alive, Philippa.”

Her eyes focused on his. He could see that she wanted to believe him but then her face crumpled. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need to. Just like I don’t need to have known your parents to know that they wouldn’t want you throwing your life away because you are grieving.”

And that was precisely what she’d do if she kept up her salacious behavior.

“It’s not just grief.” She tugged her head away, out of his grip. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He recognized the guilt and the shame in her expression.

It was like looking in a mirror.

“Philippa, don’t do this to yourself.”

She sniffed.

His hands itched to reach for her again, but the way he was straining against his breeches made him all too aware of the danger here. He shifted to leave. “Get some sleep.”

The words felt far too insufficient, but he had no idea how to help her.

He couldn’t even help himself. Why did he think he could help her?

He went to stand, but stilled at the feel of her small, soft hand covering his. “Wait.”

For a long moment, all he could hear was their breathing. Hers was short and choppy, and her grip tightened on his. “Don’t leave me.”

She turned wide, tear-filled eyes in his direction and…he was done for. Blast. A grown man taken down at the knees by one teary look.

Oh, how his friends would take pleasure in this. He could practically hear Raff and Hayden laughing now.

He fought against the heat coiling in his loins as her scent wrapped around him. He couldn’t stay. Sitting here so close to her, in such an intimate setting—this was already taxing his limited powers of restraint. He used his free hand to try and gently remove her hand from his. “You need sleep, love. The nightmare is over?—”

Her high, humorless burst of laughter made him pause.

“The nightmare is not over,” she said with a bitter smile that made his chest clench. “My nightmare will never be over so long as I live.”

She was in earnest, and pity temporarily won out over lust. He saw such loneliness in her eyes. Such unbearable pain. He reached for her and pulled her close, making a shushing noise against her temple as she burrowed into him as if she belonged there.

He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent and letting himself revel in the feel of her soft, sweet heat.

But then she was shifting, and he felt it. Her lips against his chest, her breath hot on his already overheated skin.

He jerked back as if burnt, gripping her by the elbows to push her away. “What are you doing?”

Her lips were parted, but there was no taunting smirk. Only desperation. A plea that tugged at his heart even as his mind set off a warning bell.

This way trouble lies, it seemed to say.

As if he didn’t know that. This girl had been nothing but trouble since she’d arrived.

“Philippa, we mustn’t,” he said, but the words trailed off in a groan when she reached for him, her slim fingers tracing over his arms and chest. Her gaze was riveted as it raked over his left side, cataloging every scar, and he waited for some sign of revulsion.

Instead, she wetted her lips. “You’ve been through so much pain.”

His grunt was hardly eloquent, but it was all he could muster when all the blood in his body had rushed to his cock. His bollocks tightened with need, and while he knew he had to end it, the feel of her touch, so gentle and so curious… He couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him like this?

It had been more than six months since he’d slept with Francesca, but it had been much longer than that since anyone had touched him with such tenderness.

It choked his throat and made speech impossible.

“You’re so hard,” she said. For a second, he thought she’d seen his erection and his shaft answered her by growing even more swollen. But then she continued in a whisper. “All over, so hard. Inside and out. I want to be like that.”

He gripped her wrist, stilling her hand when it dipped down to touch the flat planes above his naval. “That’s enough.”

Her gaze intensified, something in the air around her sparked and heated.

He could see the change in her, but he could also see what caused it. Desperation.

His stomach turned even as his erection begged him to take advantage. She didn’t want him, not really. She just needed a distraction. Relief from her pain.

He could understand it, but it still left a sickening taste in his mouth.

Her free hand reached down so quickly he didn’t have a chance to stop her, and he hissed when her fingers brushed over his hard member.

Her gaze shot up to his, wide and questioning. “Did I hurt you?”

He choked on a laugh of disbelief. Had she hurt him?

She was killing him with her touch.

When he didn’t answer, she kept exploring, her fingers quick and light as she stroked his length through the fabric.

His heart pounded, harsh and fierce. He should push her away. He should stand and walk away.

That was what his brain said. His cock had another view on the matter.

She wants this , it seemed to say. Give the girl what she craves.

He swallowed hard and groaned when she grew brave and cupped her hand over his length, giving him a light squeeze.

“This isn’t right,” he said. But even he could hear how labored his breathing was, and he couldn’t bring himself to move as she hitched herself up onto her knees, hastily tugging at the bodice of her nightdress until it was falling down around her shoulders.

“Philippa, no,” he said.

But it was too late. Her pert, round breasts were there on full display in the moonlight.

“Christ,” he whispered. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. She sat up straight, her gaze open, and with just a hint of doubt, as if waiting for his reaction. Her skin was a silky white in the moon’s glow, and her breasts were high and proud.

The sight of her hard, dark peaks made his mouth water. “So beautiful, love,” he murmured. “So perfect.”

The words were the reminder that he needed.

He wasn’t the man he’d once been. She was every inch the beautiful young lady, but he wasn’t the handsome, dashing earl who could make a woman wet with a heated look. He was broken and scarred, his inner demons on display for all the world to see.

It nearly killed him but he shook his head and looked away. “You’ll make your husband a happy man someday, Philippa. But this is not for me.”

She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. The move had her hard nipples scraping against his chest and his palms burned with the need to touch her.

He curled them into fists at his side instead.

“You’re an innocent,” he said. It came out sounding like an accusation.

“I’m not,” she whispered against his neck.

Her words had him blinking in surprise.

“I’m not,” she said again, this time rubbing her perfect tits over his chest like a cat asking to be stroked. They both moaned at the sweet friction of her soft curves against his hardness. She was straddling his thighs now, her nightdress bunching up around her curvy, smooth thighs and her tight little cunny so close to his cock, it took everything he had not to grab her hips and drag her down on top of him to grind his hardness against her heat.

“I’m not a virgin,” she whispered in his ear, her breath hot and sweet.

He groaned. She was temptation itself, rubbing against him and pleading to be taken.

Jesus, how was he supposed to deny himself this?

His bollocks were achingly tight as he brought his hands to her hips…and set her away from him. It took every ounce of his willpower, but he set her away with a determined movement.

“Not tonight, love,” he said.

Not ever.

She’d hate herself in the morning when she saw his face, remembered who he was. It was that thought that gave him the strength to pull away.

But she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, no doubt trying to spark the same unrestrained passion she’d unleashed in him earlier that day.

It wouldn’t work. That kiss had been a mistake. He wouldn’t lose control again.

But he couldn’t control a growl of need when she caught his hand and settled it over her right breast, the hard nub of her nipple pressing into his palm.

He lost vision for a second, the need was that intense.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, her hand covering his as she held it over her breast. “Please. I want to forget.”

There was that desperation again. She wasn’t seeking him out because of desire or attraction, merely desperation. He understood the need to escape one’s torturous thoughts, the memories, the regrets.

He understood it, but it still cut like a knife and forced him back to reality.

He stood with a sharp exhale, tugging his hand from hers with jerky movements. “Get some sleep, Philippa. We leave for London at first light.”