“If Murray needs money, it makes sense to look for an excuse to sever ties with you and search elsewhere.” Benedict captured her hand and led her along the street. “Come, we’ll be chilled to the bone if we wait for Foston.”
“Then, the Murrays have a motive to ruin my reputation. My father would have insisted on some form of recompense had Lord Murray expressed a wish to end our betrothal.” She panted for breath as she hurried to keep his fast pace. “And Timothy had ample opportunity to drug my drink at the ball.”
How could a man profess love and yet act so cruelly?
“If Murray was seen helping you into a carriage, no one would suspect anything untoward.” A curse burst from his lips. “Murray will find himself staring down the barrel of a pistol if he’s guilty.”
A shiver of trepidation ran from her neck to her navel. While she wanted to punish the person responsible, part of her wanted to forget about the shameful event in Hyde Park and concentrate on mending her relationship with Benedict.
“I suspect Mrs Crandall is in love with you,” she said, eager to banish all thoughts of Timothy’s betrayal. No one liked being taken for a fool.
In heavens name! she thought, chastising herself. Was she not a dreadful hypocrite? She had betrayed the only person who should have mattered. And for what? To please her father? To make amends for the fact her mother died in childbirth? A lifetime spent loving Benedict would not atone for what she had done.
“Power is the only thing Mrs Crandall craves.” Benedict motioned to Foston for the umpteenth time. “The woman is obsessed with dominating men. The fact I refuse her advances only makes her more determined to succeed.”
Mrs Crandall wasn’t the only woman at the soirée to strip Benedict naked with hungry eyes. It had taken effort not to lay claim to him. Jealousy still writhed in her chest.
“Benedict, I know I’m not in a position to make demands, but we need to discuss what we expect from this marriage.” Knots formed in her stomach. “Mrs Crandall raised a valid point.” She inhaled deeply. “I know it is too soon to consider the prospect of children, but—” She cast him a sidelong glance and noted his narrow gaze focused on his coachman. “If you’d rather not speak—”
“Hush a moment,” he whispered. “We will discuss our marriage later. For now, I need you to play the doting wife and kiss me.” He drew her to an abrupt halt
a few feet from the carriage and swung her around to face him. “Kiss me on the cheek. Make this look like another amorous interlude.”
She was about to ask why but noted the flash of apprehension in his eyes. Trusting Benedict had never been a problem, and so she ran her hands over his chest and kissed him as he’d asked.
He returned her display of affection by nuzzling her neck and whispering, “Don’t be alarmed, but that is not Foston sitting atop the box.”
Don’t be alarmed!
Every muscle in her body grew rigid.
Panic stole the breath from her lungs.
“While I’m kissing you, look into the carriage and tell me what you see.” The feel of Benedict’s hot mouth pressed against the sensitive skin below her ear sent her head spinning. “Try to concentrate.”
That was easier said than done when her body thrummed with the threat of danger. When she had to shake herself sober from the dizzying effects of desire. Her head lolled to one side as Benedict continued his illicit ministrations. “There are people inside the carriage, though it’s difficult to see how many. No one waiting behind the vehicle.”
“So, I’ll assume there are four men and Foston. That shouldn’t be a problem unless they’re armed.”
“We could run back to Mrs Crandall’s house,” she muttered before switching roles and sucking on his earlobe.
“Hell, woman, must you be so convincing?” He kissed her once on the mouth. “When the fight starts, run to Mrs Crandall’s.”
The fight?
But Benedict was outnumbered. The odds were against him. She wanted to grab his lapels and shake sense into his addled brain, but he released his grip on her waist and turned to the man sitting atop the box whose raised collars almost met the brim of his hat.
“Take us home, Foston.”
“Aye, sir.” The imposter’s gravelly voice sounded rougher than Foston’s.
“Stand back,” Benedict whispered to her before stepping up to the carriage door and wrapping his fingers around the handle.
Everything happened so quickly then.
Benedict wrenched open the door. His guttural growl rent the air as he reached into the carriage, grabbed one man by his coat lapels and dragged him out onto the pavement. The brute hit the ground hard, arms flailing. Benedict’s powerful kick to the stomach left the fiend writhing in agony.
A riot started in the carriage. The conveyance rocked wildly back and forth as Foston and two other men exchanged punches.