Page 8 of The Earl’s Tempting Ward (Dukes Gone Dirty #2)

8

S he never should have opened her mouth.

Philippa couldn’t shake Benedict’s piercing glare for the next two hours. He followed her every move. And all from the sidelines. First with Hayden, and then with more friends as they joined their little circle. She’d been introduced to the Duke and Duchess of Raffian and then the Earl of Fallenmore and his fiancée, all of whom had been overly kind to her.

Just like everyone else here.

She didn’t know what Lady Foster had told her friends before their arrival, but it was clear there’d been an agreement amongst these highborn ladies and gentlemen that she was a sympathetic charity case to be welcomed.

Well, a charity case with a fortune to her name.

The cooing voices, the kind inquiries… It was all so familiar. This was what her life in Italy had been like after her parents’ passing. So much kindness and consideration it had nearly killed her.

And it was the same here. Except with Benedict. He was the only one who treated her like her own person. Not an orphan. Not that poor girl . Just her. For better or for worse.

“How are you settling in at Benedict’s home?” Lady Raffian asked.

She was kind, the new duchess. Kind and young, and surprisingly quiet. Not cold, but rather shy, Philippa suspected. She didn’t seem to wish to be the center of attention, and it did not escape Philippa’s notice that the duke hovered over his wife to protect her from the many curious party guests.

It was adorable, really, to see the powerful and arrogant duke fawning all over his own wife.

Philippa’s benign answer to the duchess was cut short when Lady Raffian visibly stiffened. Philippa followed her gaze to see what was the matter and caught her staring at a rather insipid-looking gentleman. She’d met him briefly but he left so little an impression she couldn’t even remember his name.

Lady Raffian had been smiling but a moment ago and her sudden sneer of disapproval seemed out of character. “I cannot imagine how Mr. Foley received an invitation,” she murmured.

Benedict was at her side, and he murmured something low about how he would take care of it.

“Why?” Philippa asked. “What has he done?”

Benedict and Lady Raffian exchanged a quick look that made Philippa shift with displeasure. She did not enjoy being left out of secrets, but she most especially did not enjoy knowing that the gorgeous blonde before her shared a secret with Benedict.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Benedict said in a low voice, for her ears only.

“But—”

“Just steer clear of the man,” he interrupted. “That’s an order.”

Philippa looked on in surprise as glances were exchanged, whispers passed about, and poor Mr. Foley was suddenly and noticeably snubbed. Those around him who’d been speaking to him turned away, and he went from one cluster to another, pretending to be indifferent as he was most clearly not welcomed into the bosom of society.

Lady Raffian turned to her with another smile. “My apologies, you were in the middle of speaking when I so rudely interrupted.”

“Oh no, it’s…” Philippa trailed off. She had questions, but mainly her stomach had soured.

That man, whoever he was, had clearly been cast out of high society’s goodwill, for whatever petty reason, and meanwhile she was here, welcome and accepted and…

It was all so very wrong. Though not nearly so bad as watching Lord Foster’s reception. He’d hardly seemed to notice the way he was being watched and judged, but she had.

She’d watched every flinch, taken note of every whisper. She’d noticed above all that his mother had abandoned him to this fate as soon as they’d arrived.

She fidgeted with her reticule as Benedict joined them and soon their little group of close-knit friends were exchanging stories and quips, ignoring all the hangers on walking close by and clearly angling to join in on the fun.

Philippa smiled and tried to act the part of Lord Foster’s grateful ward.

Because she was grateful, of course.

But that did not change things. Now that the idea had taken hold, she’d become convinced that eschewing society was the only way forward for her. It wasn’t what her parents would have wanted, but she’d disappointed them long ago.

And besides, they were dead.

What mattered now was living.

Which was why, when she and Benedict were once more alone in a carriage headed home, she made sure to make herself clear. The opportunity came when he asked her about her evening.

“It was fine, I suppose. Though I’m afraid it was all in vain.”

“In vain?” He was eyeing her closely. He had been all night.

She smiled. “I shall not be marrying, Benedict.”

His brows arched slightly. He’d been known to call her Philippa and even endearments, but she’d never outright called him by his given name before. It tasted delicious on her tongue. And the way he looked at her made that space between her thighs ache.

He didn’t protest the intimacy of her calling him by his given name. A point she took to be in her favor. Instead, he leaned back in his seat with a lazy, heavy-lidded glower. “And why will you not be marrying, Philippa?”

She liked the fact he did not instantly argue. Perhaps she was making progress.

“I do not wish to be a lady of society.”

He leaned back even further, and a shiver ran through her as the heat in his eyes intensified while he studied her. Her breath became shallow as his dark gaze deepened, heavy with thought. She was certain she could feel his eyes on her, hot and all-seeing.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself this evening,” he said at last.

She jerked back in her seat, the words a splash of cold water. He couldn’t have meant to hurt her, but he’d done it. “I…I…”

“When we were dancing,” he continued.

He couldn’t possibly mean it as an accusation, but it felt like one. Panic clawed at her.

His head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “There were moments this evening when it truly seemed as though you were enjoying your first excursion in London society.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Particularly when you were dancing.”

Her lungs hitched.

Precisely. That was the problem right there. Dancing had been a transcendent experience. For long moments when he’d spun her in his arm, she’d forgotten her past. She’d always loved dancing, but it had been more than a year since she’d had the chance. She’d let herself be swept away by the music and the feel of his arms around her, and had forgotten entirely that she didn’t deserve to be enjoying herself. That she shouldn’t be having fun.

“You seemed to be having a pleasant time making conversation with Lady Raffian and the others, as well,” he continued. As if he were intent on pointing out her enjoyment.

She shifted in her seat. It was true. She and Lady Raffian had found a number of things to laugh about and discuss. The blonde beauty had been easy to like, despite that one cruel turn toward poor Mr. Foley. Whatever he’d done, he was clearly paying for it.

But aside from that, Lady Raffian and Benedict’s friends had been diverting. Too diverting. She’d found herself laughing far too often. More nights like tonight—being accepted, distracted, surrounded by kindness, and her past forgotten…

It would become all too easy to forget herself. It would be much too simple to let herself be swept away by it all, to be the person they all thought her to be.

“I’m telling you, I will not marry,” she said at last, her voice harder this time.

He arched a brow. “You seem awfully certain. What if your guardian arranges a marriage?”

She smirked. “I already told you I’d ruin it.”

“I do believe you would, you naughty girl,” he chided softly.

The low rumble of his voice in this enclosed space made her belly flutter and she had to press her thighs together to fight a throbbing ache.

Then he looked away, out the window and into the night. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. It’s too late to argue.”

She wet her lips. The closer they got to his home, the more unsettled she felt. Memories of the night were mocking her.

She’d had fun, blast it all. She’d enjoyed herself. She’d acted the part of the sweet, innocent young victim, and it had felt…

Oh drat. It had felt good.

It was cowardly though. It was wrong, and deep inside her she knew it.

His eyes widened when she slipped off her seat and onto his so they were side by side.

“Philippa…” His tone was wary.

“Shh.” She pressed a hand to his chest as she leaned in close, devouring his scent. So very masculine with a mix of soap and leather and spirits. His skin was hot to the touch when her nose grazed his neck. “Just let me pleasure you. That’s all I ask.”

His groan was satisfaction itself. He gripped her hand on his chest to hold it still. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, Philippa. I don’t understand what you think you’ll gain by being my mistress rather than marrying a suitable gentleman the way you ought.”

She shook her head. “I told you I don’t want all that…” She nodded in the direction they’d come. “I don’t want society life.”

“If that’s true, then I can find you a place to live in the country,” he said. “You can reside with my mother or with a paid companion.”

There was a hint of desperation to his voice.

Forgotten in the countryside. With all the time in the world on her hands to relive the past. A fitting punishment, perhaps. But also…more than she could bear.

“That’s not what I want,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear.

“And what is it that you want?” he asked.

To be ruined. To be destroyed. To be cast out.

The words hovered on her tongue. She settled for another truth. “To drown.”

He turned his head to look at her and she stole a kiss.

He didn’t kiss her back, stilling instead. But she heard his breathing grow ragged as she moved her lips over his. After a few seconds she pulled back to gauge his reaction.

His eyes were pitch black in the shadows but she felt his stare burning her skin. “You’d make me even more of a monster so you might forget your pain?”

Her heart gave a jolt of alarm at that. Was that what he thought she was doing?

“No.” She said it too quickly. “I’d willingly, happily give you what you want, and in return, I’d receive…”

Pleasure.

Pain.

Escape.

She shook her head. “I’d get what I want too.”

His grip was tight on her hand that still clutched his chest and he dragged it down until she touched his hard shaft.

They both gasped at the contact.

“You have no idea what I want,” he growled.

He meant to frighten her away, but it would not work.

“I think I do,” she whispered. “Remember, I am no innocent virgin.”

“And I am no proper gentleman.”

“Says the earl,” she shot back with a smirk.

“Says the man responsible for killing his father and brother. The men who should have held the title.”

She stopped breathing. His gaze held hers and she saw an echo of the pain she felt.

He understood guilt and regret.

She leaned forward with renewed vigor. “I can bring you pleasure, Benedict. I can help you forget.”

We can help each other forget.

His gaze flickered over her face. “You know there are expectations when it comes to who I marry.”

She nodded quickly. “I told you, I do not want marriage. I want to please you. I want pleasure and I want pain—” She leaned in and nipped his ear, making him hiss. “I want…I want…”

She stumbled to put it into words. For a moment, his gaze softened. “You want to feel.”

“Yes.” She hissed the word, because… yes . He understood. She couldn’t bear these emotions any longer. She didn’t want to keep them bottled up inside. She needed to release them, to give them physical form.

“I deserve to be punished,” she admitted in a whisper. It was the closest she’d come to telling anyone the whole truth.

“I want to be punished.” The thought of him taking her over his knee…of him growling out harsh, crude commands, ordering her about to satisfy his needs… That was what she wanted. What she craved above all. Her imagination alone had the heat inside of her intensifying and she bit her lip to stifle a whimper as her sex dripped with her juices. “Punish me, my lord.”

He growled. “You don’t deserve punishment. You just need to be taken in hand.”

She gulped as she pictured it. The way his large, scarred hand had looked on her breast. The way he would cover her, his weight crushing her…

With his free hand he caught her chin and forced her to look at him.

She felt him harden further under her palm.

“You need someone to teach you a lesson.”

She could see him losing the battle with his willpower. The heat in his eyes rivaled her own. Was he imagining it too? Was he thinking of all the ways he would command her in the bedroom?

“A lesson?” she whispered.

His tongue flicked out and licked her lips making her moan.

“You need to be taught how to get out of that head of yours,” he continued. “How to leave the past in the past.”

“Like you have done?” she whispered.

His smile was wry and he didn’t try and deny it. He understood her because he was there where she was. Trapped in the past.

His gaze was fixed on hers but his voice grew distant. “Maybe we both need to learn our lesson.”

She leaned into him, squeezing him hard. “Then teach me, my lord. Take me to your bed and teach me.”

For a second he wavered. She had him; she could feel it.

Satisfaction was just beginning to bloom when he pulled away from her leaving her cold. “We’d only drag each other down.”

The words stung and she blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream.

They couldn’t be right.

The carriage came to a stop, and he helped her out. She kept her head tipped down so he would not see the tears in her eyes.

She was cold. Cold and empty all the way through. This guilt and grief and shame and self-hate had eaten away at her insides leaving her hollow.

And after tonight it had become painfully clear. He was the only one who could fill that void. The understanding in his eyes, the way he saw it. Saw her. The way he knew when no one else comprehended just how wicked she was beneath the surface. Add to that his large frame, his overpowering body, his stern voice, and even his beastly scars, and he was the one who could drive it from her. He was the one who could make her feel again.

And as she headed to her bed that night, she vowed she’d do whatever it took to push him to the brink. To make him snap.

She needed his hands on her, and she’d have it tonight.