Page 7 of The Earl’s Tempting Ward (Dukes Gone Dirty #2)

7

B enedict never thought he’d find himself relieved to be in society. He couldn’t have fathomed a day when he was glad to be at a ball, of all things, rather than safely tucked away in his own home.

But here he was. Relieved as hell to be surrounded by the same people whose whispers and stares had driven him out of London only weeks before.

“Another drink?” his friend The Marquess of Hayden offered.

Benedict threw back the drink Hayden handed him, hoping that might help to assuage the unceasing frustration he was currently trying to avoid by attending this tedious soiree. But tedious or not, at least he wasn’t trapped at home with Phillipa.

His London townhome had become a torturous den of private moments alone with his bloody ward from hell.

His mother was no help. She’d kept herself occupied with her friends or hidden herself away in her private quarters.

Which left no one but him to entertain Philippa. No one but him to keep her in line.

No one at all to save him from her ceaseless temptations.

Just this morning she’d cornered him alone in his study, her gown off her shoulders as she’d described in excruciating details just how good it had felt when he’d kissed her.

“Will you do it again?” she’d taunted, her hands on his chest as she pressed herself against him. “Please, my lord.”

How was a man supposed to withstand that temptation? It was too much.

“I need to find her a husband,” he said to Hayden when the drink was drained.

Hayden was smirking at him. “She’s gotten under your skin, has she?”

Benedict grunted an affirmative, his gaze already seeking her out again. His mother had finally stepped up in her role of chaperone for tonight’s occasion, and he’d found some blessed relief.

But now even that hint of relief was gone because he spotted her. It was difficult to miss a beauty like Philippa in this crowd. She seemed to glow with life and vitality amidst the stuffy, tedious crowd.

And then there was her beauty, of course. Not only did her pale gown and radiant smile attract his attention, it had a veritable crush of gentlemen surrounding her, eagerly awaiting an introduction.

“Word has spread about her fortune,” Hayden mused. The infamously handsome marquess with the deceptive charm shot him a sidelong glance. “You’ll need to be on your guard against fortune hunters.”

Another grunt of acknowledgement, which turned into a growl as he watched a young, handsome, familiar gentleman approach. A man they new without a doubt was after a fortune.

“Oh hell,” Hayden muttered, craning his neck. “Is she talking to…Foley?”

The disdain in his voice was clear. They’d both heard about the way Foley had tried to steal their friend Raff’s new bride from him. It hadn’t worked, but they were all too aware that he was not the affable, harmless fellow they’d all believed.

He let out a relieved exhale when Foley was replaced by an old bore whose name he couldn’t place. There was nothing about this man that would tempt Philippa. He was old enough to be her grandfather, and he knew from experience his breath reeked of fish and ale.

He tore his gaze away. What was he doing finding fault with these gentlemen? The sooner he got her off his hands, the better. Right?

He turned to find Hayden watching him closely. “What?” he snapped.

Hayden’s smirk tested his already low patience. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so…flustered.”

Benedict jerked back. “I am not flustered. I’m…I’m…”

Hayden arched his brows.

Benedict turned away with a sigh. “I’m at my wits’ end.”

“She’s that aggravating, is she?” he asked. “What, does she nag you like a mother? Harp on you like a shrew? Berate you for drinking?”

Benedict ignored his friend, who seemed much too amused by his personal hell.

“I know,” Hayden said, his gaze following Benedict’s, which had strayed back to the auburn-haired beauty on the far side of the room. “She forced you to come out of that cave you’ve been hiding in this past year.”

Benedict spared him a glare. She had at that. Though her methods were not what Hayden could ever guess. But her tempting and her taunting had not only driven him to distraction, they’d driven him outside, into stables…and now back to bloody society.

When Benedict didn’t take the bait, Hayden continued. “Perhaps I should court her.”

That did it. Benedict spun toward him, gripping his glass so hard he feared it might shatter. “You wouldn’t.”

Hayden’s smile was sweet. Too innocent. Benedict had known his friend since their school days and knew far better to believe he was anything close to innocent.

“Why not?” Hayden asked with a shrug. “That’s what Raff has us doing this season, isn’t it?” He arched his brows. “I believe our esteemed duke made us both take a vow that this season we would each choose our bride.”

Benedict grunted, half amused and half irritated at the reminder of their highhanded old friend.

“You for obvious reasons,” Hayden said with a gesture in Benedict’s direction.

The obvious reason was that Benedict had never been meant to be earl. The reminder settled on his shoulders like a dead weight. It was always there, the knowledge that this was not his life. That he’d stolen it from his father and brother.

“You can’t go on with just you and your mother like that.” Hayden’s voice was unusually serious and Benedict gave a huff of acknowledgment.

It was no secret that he and his mother were only making each other more miserable. Not that he blamed her, necessarily. It was his fault that her life had been ruined, after all.

“You need a wife more than anyone,” Hayden said.

“And yet here you are,” Benedict muttered, more to change the topic than anything.

Hayden chuckled, looking around him. “And yet, here I am. I do need an heir, I can’t deny it.” His expression grew mischievous. “And your ward is certainly a tempting option.”

“Don’t even think of it,” Benedict growled. Rage was real and it coiled in his gut.

Hayden only chuckled. He’d never been afraid of Benedict, not even back when they were children.

“Why not?” Hayden asked.

“Because she’s not meant to be a marchioness, for one,” he said, the words tasting sour on his tongue. But it was true. She might be an heiress and have friends in high places, but she did not have the family connections to make her a viable option. Not to mention, she was a foreigner, and she’d been raised Catholic. “Your father would come back from the grave to murder you.”

Hayden’s smirk was bitter. “All the more reason then.” He lifted a glass. “To vengeance.”

Benedict ignored him. No need to rise to Hayden’s insufferable bait. The conversation had to come to an end anyway as his ward was drawing near, a sweet, small smile curving her lips as her gaze met his.

Hayden had already been introduced, and he wasted no time ingratiating himself with Philippa with compliments and small talk.

Benedict knew his friend had no serious interest in her. But he likely would if he got to know her. One whiff of the dangerous, mischievous, wicked girl beneath this innocent flower facade and he’d be all over her.

Hayden might have to marry well, but he had no interest in demure debutantes and proper ladies. In fact, that was everything he didn’t want in life.

Benedict inched closer to Philippa. Hayden would love nothing more than to find himself a rebellious, seductive little hoyden.

But there was no way. He loved Hayden like a brother—more than his own brother, God rest his soul. But the thought of his rakish friend seducing Philippa made his insides revolt. Hayden would not know—not at first, at least. He would see the pretense, believe her worldly, devil-may-care act, and not realize until too late that it covered a wounded soul, an innocent heart.

There was pain there beneath Philippa’s outrageous flirting, and he didn’t trust anyone else to see it. It took pain to recognize pain, and?—

And what was he thinking? That he was the only one who could understand her? The only one who could give her what she needed?

The thought sent the room spinning about him, and for a moment he forgot where he was and why.

Until his no-good friend called Benedict’s focus back to the scene before him with his hearty laughter and overly attentive air.

The cad was blatantly flirting with the girl.

He glared at Hayden when his friend donned his most charming smile—the one that had been known to make young ladies swoon. “Would you care to dance?” Hayden asked.

Benedict growled, which had Hayden cast him an amused glance.

“I’m afraid this dance has already been claimed,” Philippa said, her voice high and sweet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she truly was an innocent flower. A sweet little lamb who needed to be protected.

She held up her dance card to Benedict, a glimmer of laughter in her eyes. “You are my next dance partner. See? It says so right here.”

He gritted his teeth at the sight of her handwriting spelling out his name.

Incorrigible little chit.

And yet, a hint of laughter was brewing in his belly, itching to break free.

Incorrigible, yes. But no one could deny she was persistent. Brazen, too.

And perhaps this was why she was so bloody intriguing. One moment she was a vulnerable, fragile creature who he longed to protect. The next she was a meddlesome, mischievous little whirlwind. And then of course there were those moments when she was nothing less than a siren intent on leading him to his doom.

Philippa batted her lashes at Hayden with a sweet smile. “But I would be honored to dance with you in the future, my lord.”

Benedict scowled down at her. Honored, indeed. One would never guess she’d whispered another offer to Benedict just before they’d departed the carriage earlier. Once more she’d asked to be his mistress.

The bloody irritating little minx. She knew he’d say no—he always said no—but she likely also knew his mind would be filled with lewd thoughts about her for the remainder of the evening.

He wasn’t sure which was more infuriating—that she was offering to debase herself by becoming a lowly mistress when any man would be happy to take her as a wife—or that he was so sorely tempted to take her up on it.

It was a mistake, of course. He’d never do it. But there were times he was so addled with lust at the sight of her, he couldn’t remember why.

He made a mental list now as her gaze caught his and she led the way through the crowd toward the music.

His mother, for one. She’d never forgive him for ruining her dearest friend’s reputation. Not that she’d ever forgive him for what he’d done to their family anyhow.

But there was his own honor to consider as well. He’d never forgive himself for destroying an innocent just because he couldn’t control his desire.

And of course, it would be outrageous for a gentleman of their ranking to marry a lady such as she. It could be done, but not without a fair amount of scandal.

Since when have you run from scandal?

Since he’d inherited the title—after his reputation was already thoroughly damaged. Too little too late, his father would have said.

In truth, Benedict had actively sought out scandal in the past. But that was before. He was an earl now, and if he couldn’t undo the mistakes that led to his family’s tragedy, he could at the very least do the title justice and not make a mess of it like he had in his former life.

Philippa smiled up at him expectantly as the strains of a waltz began.

He held out an arm, but added a sigh for good measure. Best not to let her think she’d won.

Except, they both knew she had the moment he drew her into his arms.

“What are you thinking?” she asked after a silence as she moved gracefully to the music.

“I was thinking I’d been mistaken in believing you are a siren,” he said.

Her brows arched in question, amusement in her gaze as she waited for him to continue.

“You are clearly a witch.”

She giggled. An honest to goodness giggle that was so delightfully innocent and untutored, it had his own lips twitching in turn.

More than that, for the first time all evening, the knot of frustration was easing in his gut…if not his breeches. He was half erect just touching her waist and feeling her gloved hand in his.

There was no other explanation but witchcraft.

Whenever she was near, he felt desire. That was a given. But being with her here in the midst of a crowd…well, he still felt desire. Lust burned under his skin and he was acutely aware of the way her lips were parted as she gazed at him. Painfully in tune with the rise and fall of those luscious breasts that he couldn’t stop imagining in his mind’s eye.

But the more shocking realization was that he was relaxed. In pain from wanting her, of course, but the dread and torture he’d felt only weeks before when he’d first arrived in town to search for a wife alongside Raff and Hayden?

That was gone.

Perhaps he was just too distracted keeping an eye on her to pay attention to the stares and whispers. Yes, that was it. She kept his thoughts too well occupied. Lord knew he hadn’t given a single thought to finding a bride tonight. How could he look for a potential wife when this girl now governed his every thought?

“Have you chosen the gentleman you wish for me to marry?” she asked suddenly. An impish grin curved her lips.

He frowned at the mere thought of another man taking what she kept offering to him.

She smiled, and the smugness there said she knew exactly how green with envy her comment had made him.

He ought to do what he’d first threatened. Take her over her knee for teasing him like this. She had to know that the thought of any other man touching her made him boil over with rage.

Not that he’d let that stop him from finding her a good match. It was his duty to do so.

You could marry me.

He tugged her closer in his arms. Little minx. Speaking of marriage like it meant nothing. Talking about being a man’s mistress as if she didn’t care where she ended up in life.

“Why are you glaring at me like that?” she asked with a little pout. “I’ve been on my best behavior this evening.”

“So you have.” He gave her a wry smile. “That’s why I’m watching you so closely.”

“So suspicious.” She laughed. “I’m watching you closely too, you know.”

He arched a brow, noting with fascination the way her cheeks pinkened and her whole being seemed to come alive with dancing.

He’d never been much for dancing himself. But it was clear that she enjoyed it. And dancing with Philippa was…not horrible. Not nearly as bad as a trembling debutante too scared to meet his gaze.

“You’ve been watching me, hmm?” He struggled to hold her gaze and not let it dip down to the tempting cleavage on full display.

Christ, he wished he didn’t know just how perfect her breasts looked in the moonlight. The sight would haunt him for life.

“I don’t like the way people look at you.”

The suddenness of her statement had him blinking down at her. “Pardon?”

She tilted her head to the side with a little pout that made his manhood stiffen. His horrid mind showed him instantly what those lips would look like wrapping around his hard length.

“I just… How can you stand it?” she asked, thick emotions tingeing her tone.

He continued to stare. No one had talked about this with him. Not his mother, obviously. They rarely talked. But not even Raff or Hayden had acknowledged the change that had occurred.

He’d always been a wild rebel, slightly on the outskirts of good society because of his reckless demeanor, but always welcomed in good society because of his friendship with a marquess and a duke.

Now he was welcomed because he was an earl, but he’d never felt less like he belonged.

“I don’t like it,” she said again, a sulk in her tone that made him want to pull her close to kiss her for caring…or maybe spank that little bottom for sounding like a spoiled brat.

He grew painfully hard at that thought. He’d spank her until she was wet and moaning and begging for him to take her.

“Don’t you agree?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “Pardon?”

She sighed. “That it’s wrong. The way they stare at you like you’re an outcast?—”

“I am an outcast.”

“No,” she shot back. “You’re an earl.”

He grunted. “I shouldn’t be.”

“But you are.”

He swallowed a groan as her brow furrowed with a frown and she leaned into him.

God, but it would be so easy to tug her closer still. To crush her against him, heedless of all the prying stares around them. To feel her breasts and dip his head and?—

“You’re an earl, and it’s not right that they treat you like this while I…while they…” She shook her head, and his gut clenched with worry. She glanced away, but not before he’d seen a flicker of that deep seated pain in her eyes. The haunted look that called up her words from the other night and had cold terror sliding through his veins. I shouldn’t be here .

“While you what?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Frustration made his voice gruffer than usual. There was a piece he was missing with Philippa. She kept it buried, and it physically caused him pain when she hid herself away from him. Like right now. For a moment she’d spoken impulsively, and genuinely, without the trumped-up air of seduction or the childish taunting.

She’d spoken like a woman spoke to a man she respected. To a friend, even.

He tipped his head down further. “Tell me, Philippa.”

“Or what?” She smirked up at him. Just like that she was hiding behind her shield.

He ignored the question. She wanted to flirt and banter.

“Tell me,” he growled. “How are they treating you that has you so upset?”

“I’m not upset.”

He didn’t bother to argue. Protectiveness was a frighteningly powerful emotion. “If anyone has slighted you, I’ll?—”

“They haven’t,” she huffed. “Don’t you see? That’s the problem.”

His brow drew down. Now he knew he was getting close, but the music was drawing to an end and she was pulling away in every sense.

He caught her by the hand when she went to walk away from him. “What does that mean, love?”

Her eyes flashed in a way he couldn’t describe. “Nothing,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”

She walked away, but they were not done. He’d get to the bottom of his mysterious, unnerving, irritating ward if it killed him.