Alyssa Everett (16 page)

I took a seat beside him on the sofa. “At least you can see now why I supposed you’d come to offer for me. You can imagine what this will do to my good name, not to mention that your cousin’s note said you wished to discuss marriage.”

“
He
wished to discuss marriage,” Ben said dully. “His own, that is, to your sister. He’s been having second thoughts.”

“He might have said as much in his note!”

Ben shrugged. “I doubt it occurred to him anyone here would mistake his meaning.”

Of course not. How stupid of me to have let my father talk me into believing Ben intended to propose. When Ben told Cliburne about my mistake, they would probably both have a long, uproarious laugh at my expense. I deserved it too, overreaching so idiotically.

“Barbara ...” Ben spoke with unaccustomed hesitancy. “About before—I’m sorry your father locked you in your room. I had no inkling you were being punished. When I came here today, it never occurred to me you might think—”

Oh, God. He was going to apologize for not offering to marry me. Anything but that. Ben’s indifference was bad enough, but I couldn’t bear his pity. “No need to refine on it.” I cut him off with a false, brittle smile. “It was only a silly misunderstanding.”

“Are you sure? Because I would—”

“Of course I’m sure! The whole thing was my father’s idea. Helen and Mama will be so amused tonight at dinner when I tell them about the confusion.” Feeling sick inside, I hastily directed Ben’s attention back to the caricature. “About this—have you any idea who might have drawn it?”

Ben had been about to say something more, but with a sigh he abandoned his speech and looked down at the paper. “None at all.” He shook his head. “Whoever it is knows quite a bit about me, and he’s obviously carrying a grudge, but none of my acquaintances has this kind of artistic talent. He’s done a fine job capturing you.”

“A fine job!” I sat back, aghast. “How can you say such a thing? He’s exaggerated all my worst features—my hair, my lips, the proportions of my...my figure.”

Ben raised one eyebrow. “I would hardly call those your worst features.”

“I look like a whore!”

“You look...enticing,” Ben said after a moment’s thought. “That’s hardly a bad thing. A good many women would give their eyeteeth to look that way.”

“You mean whores,” I said, though I couldn’t help feeling my indignation ease a little at the approving note in his voice. “And the verse calls me an Amazon! Surely you can see how insulting that is.”

“I think it’s rather apt, actually. The Amazons were supposed to be fearless warriors.”

“And bloodthirsty man-haters.” I frowned at the cartoon. “Whoever drew this is definitely carrying a grudge, but it’s not against you. This isn’t the first time a caricature of me has appeared in the papers, and I’ll wager my last penny this one is by the same hand. The odd thing is, it never occurred to me until I saw this in the paper last night that I might have an actual enemy.”

“I’m sure I have enemies. It comes from refusing to take insults lying down. And I still maintain that whoever drew this bears more of a grudge against me than he does against you. He’s modeled his drawing on the story of Hercules and Hippolyte.”

“And what does that signify?” I glanced at Ben. It was a tactical error, looking at that striking profile from such close range. I couldn’t help remembering how bittersweet it had been having his head in my lap after he’d been knocked unconscious, when I’d been momentarily free to look my fill at his face. I’d been a pathetic fool, letting myself develop feelings for him, thinking such a man could be interested in me.

He pointed to the costume my likeness wore in the caricature. “King Eurystheus set Hercules the task of obtaining the girdle of Hippolyte, queen of the Amazons. Hippolyte gave it to Hercules willingly, and even became his lover. But when the rest of the Amazons attacked his men, Hercules slew Hippolyte in a rage. See the sword I’m hiding behind my back? The implication is that I might offer honeyed words, but I mean to betray you in the end—which isn’t true, of course.”

“I should say not.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “Your words have never been the least bit honeyed.”

A flicker of a smile curved his lips but quickly disappeared as he ran his eyes down the caricaturist’s verse. “He’s also accused me of being foul-tempered, prettified, unprincipled...”

I bent over the lines with him and experienced the same strange intuition I’d had on the day he was shot—the sense that he was the chosen target and I’d merely been caught in the crossfire. Now where had that come from? “Looking at it more objectively, you do seem to have got the worst of the insults. He’s even called your father a bastard.”

Ben looked up with a jerk. “You think this word left blank means
bastard?
”

“Well, yes, that or
blackguard.
It starts with a
b
, doesn’t it? And it has to be two syllables to make the meter work. What other word would suit for a man?”

Ben frowned grimly. “Never mind.”

“At least it doesn’t say
you’re
a bastard.”

“I could almost wish it did. It would be less insulting than accusing me of getting my nature from my father.”

I’d only seen Ben sneer that way once before, when I’d thoughtlessly implied his father would be unlikely to peep at a woman. “I don’t think it’s accusing you of having unnatural appetites, if that’s what has you worried. It’s only implying you’re disreputable in a general way. Do you see? ‘Scruples, alas, are to him just a bother, for his nature,’ et cetera.”

Ben looked up from the paper, a gleam of hope in his eyes. “Do you really think so?”

“You’re making up to me in the drawing, aren’t you? Whoever drew this could have chosen some other allusion—Shakespeare’s Rosalind or Joan of Arc or some such—and drawn me disguised as a boy, but even in the caricature, I’m still female.”

“That’s true.” The familiar note of confidence crept back into Ben’s voice. “And you’re female in real life too.”

“Thank you for noticing. At any rate, I think you’re being overly sensitive, assuming the mention of your father was anything more than a throwaway insult. It seems to me the caricature is simply saying you might be good-looking, but you have dishonorable intentions.”

Ben sat up taller. “You think I’m good-looking?”

I wanted to kick myself. I’d already given him far too many reasons to congratulate himself, most of them at my expense. “I didn’t say that. I said that’s what the artist wants readers to think.”

Ben frowned slightly and looked back down at the paper. “There’s something oddly familiar about this caricature.”

“Yes, I know. I told you, it’s by the same loathsome snake who drew that earlier one of me and Cliburne.”

Ben shook his head. “It has to be something more than that. I never saw that first drawing.” He rubbed his jaw in thought.

“Perhaps it’s just the mythology you’re—”

He snapped his fingers. “I have it! It’s the lettering. The words are in the same hand as your sister’s blackmail notes!”

“What?” I snatched up the caricature to examine it more closely. “It can’t be.”

“Have a look. You pointed out yourself that the blackmailer rounds the backs of letters that ought to be straight, like
E
,
D
, and
R
.”

He was right. The title lettered above the drawing, The Amazon Duped, had the same distinctive curves. I gaped at Ben in astonishment. “So whoever has been blackmailing Helen is also drawing these caricatures?”

“It would seem so, and he’s likely the same man who killed Sam Garvey and who watched you through the peephole too.”

“My God.” I shuddered. How horrible to think my life was so intricately entangled with a killer’s. “If that’s the case, it has to narrow down the possible suspects. Whoever drew this must have seen me talking to you outside my window.”

“But why would he accuse me of meaning to betray you?”

“Well, that’s easy enough. You have been spending quite a bit of time with me. You and I know it was only because of the murder investigation, but anyone else who’s noticed must be wondering about your ulterior motive.”

Ben’s lips thinned to a grim line. “Do I have to have an ulterior motive? Can’t a man just pay attention to you because he wants to?”

“Unfortunately, men never do. They’re always dodging past me to get to Helen. It’s been that way ever since I...” Belatedly, I bit back the complaint.

Ben’s forehead furrowed. “Ever since you what?”

I cursed my own stupidity. I couldn’t very well answer,
Since I grew enormous breasts and turned from a willowy little girl into a human milch cow.
At a loss for words, I finally settled on, “Since I passed from girlhood into looking so ungainly.”

Ben’s frown deepened. “What do you mean, ungainly? You’re not the least bit ungainly. Compared to your sister—”

“Don’t say it, please! I know very well what I look like. At school, I grew taller and earlier than any of my classmates, and I was the only one to end up looking like
this.
” I gestured at my bosom, then rushed on with my cheeks burning. “I had only to go out walking with the other girls, and boys would point and snicker and even make rude remarks.”

Ben gazed slack-jawed at me.

“Yes, that’s precisely the look I used to get.” All the hurt and self-consciousness came flooding back. “As if I were a freak of nature or a curiosity in a raree-show. I made a point of pretending I didn’t notice, since I thought it better to rise above it all. In the end, I must have grown a little too accomplished at rising above boys’ notice, because now most men can’t be troubled to say two words to me before hurrying on to Helen.”

Ben only went on staring, speechless.

Oh, good Lord. What had I just said? Of all the men in the world to whom I might point out my flaws, why did I have to keep choosing Ben—Ben, who must already think me a hopeless antidote? Did he really need more proof I was tactless, unattractive and altogether unappealing? Did he really need to hear how much prettier my sister was?

I desperately wanted him to come out with a joke or a teasing remark, some tension-breaking jest that would make light of my fears, if only out of sheer compassion. I waited, but he just went on staring, his face growing more pensive by the second.

“Well?” I demanded at last. “What are you looking at?”

Instead of replying, he leaned forward very slowly and his lips met mine. It was the sweetest kiss, more tender and reassuring than impassioned, but it made my pulse leap so wildly I thought my poor bruised heart would burst right through the wall of my chest. Perhaps I should have been afraid of Ben’s intentions after all, if even the most pitying of kisses from him could make my insides take such startling jumps.

When he broke the kiss, he didn’t move away but stayed with his face only inches from mine. “There’s only one reason men pass you by for Helen. It’s because they can’t think what to say to you. You intimidate them.”

“What gammon!” I sat back to avoid his eyes, since I didn’t want him guessing how grateful I was for the lifeline he’d thrown me. “Even my own father says men may be interested in marrying Helen, but they’re not likely to feel the same way about me.” I stopped myself before I could add an accusatory,
You certainly don’t want me.

Ben smiled like a Cheshire cat. “I’ll wager your father didn’t mean men find you unappealing. He only meant their first thoughts run to other less honorable ends.”

“Oh, please!”

“Barbara, your sister may be pretty, but you’re exciting. Stirring. Alluring. That body, that hair!” He reached across to brush a stray lock from my face, then trailed one long finger down my cheek. “Not to mention that thrilling voice of yours and the way you insist on saying exactly what’s on your mind. It’s only natural that when the average man comes face-to-face with you, he should lose his nerve.”

I pulled free of his touch with a shrug of one shoulder. “I don’t seem to unnerve you.”

“True. But then, I’m not the average man.”

At this piece of conceit I gave an involuntary burst of laughter and smacked him on the arm. To my surprise, he caught my hand in midair and pulled me against him.

Alarm made my breath catch. “What are you doing?”

His smile widened into a daring, blindingly handsome grin that made me feel as if I’d been whirled helplessly in circles. “I’m going to prove to you I’m right.”

Chapter Fifteen

Barbara

The sofa creaked softly as Ben gathered me close. His lips closed over mine. The move surprised me, but that wasn’t the only reason my heart flip-flopped.

Ben’s mouth was hot, and when I opened my own and let his tongue slide inside, hotter still. His hand slid up my side in a caress. It came to a stop on my ribs, and I remembered the blissful sensation of his hand on my breast that night in my bedroom. Now I pressed even closer, wordlessly inviting his touch, willing him to guess my thoughts.

Clever devil, he did guess them. He slipped a hand into the low neck of my gown, cupping my breast under my stays, gently squeezing it, his thumb flicking over my nipple. I nearly whimpered. All the while, his tongue went on exploring my mouth slowly, searchingly.

Then he ended the kiss abruptly, leaving me breathless. “Give me your hand,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Do you have to argue with everything?”

Chastened, I gave him my hand.

He set it against his chest. “Do you feel that?”

Even through the worsted wool of his coat, there was no mistaking the heavy thumping of his heart. I nodded.

“Do you think my pulse always hammers that way?”

“I don’t know.” I gulped, afraid to let myself believe I was the cause. “You might have a heart condition.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he tugged my hand slowly lower, down the length of his coat. His gray eyes locked with mine. As my palm slid from his chest to the flat plane of his abdomen, each cool gold button was a miniature Rubicon, a point of no return. At the bottom of his waistcoat, he hesitated only a moment before pushing my hand lower still.

An impressive bulge strained against the front of his inexpressibles. He set my hand against it. “I don’t have a heart condition.”

I swallowed, my mouth gone suddenly dry, my own pulse galloping. The swelling under my hand was large, insistent and rigid as steel. “But when the same thing happened in the linen cupboard, you said it had nothing to do with me personally.”

“I lied.”

Now I wondered if
I
had a heart condition, my pulse was pounding so strongly in my ears. I’d wanted proof a man could be interested in me, and Ben had furnished it—
hard
proof. And this wasn’t the first time, or even the second. Did he really find me desirable after all? Me, Barbara Jeffords, purely for my own sake?

Then I spotted the hole in his logic. “But how do I know that’s on my account? How do I know you wouldn’t react the same way with Helen, or any other girl for that matter?”

With a roguish smile tugging at his lips, Ben made as if to rise. “If you like, I’ll go and kiss Helen, and we can settle the question right n—”

“No!” I yanked him back down beside me. At the glimmer of mischief in his eyes, I actually giggled. “Fine. I give up. You win that point.”

“Do I really?” Ben looked pleased with himself. “Well, well, that’s a first. Lady Barbara Jeffords, conceding defeat.”

At least we weren’t arguing anymore. Papa wasn’t going to like it when he returned and discovered Ben and I were now mere friends, but I’d settle for what I could get. “You could always kiss me again. To provide me with an opportunity for further evaluation, I mean.”

He obliged, gathering me in his arms with a readiness that surprised me. If I’d had to name one word to describe Ben’s personality,
sweet
would have ranked near the bottom of the list. Yet he tasted sweet, and he kissed more sweetly still.

But that sweetness soon gave way to ardor, his tongue fencing with mine. Taking my cue from Ben, I buried my fingers in his hair. The longer we kissed, the better it got, until before long we were both panting.

“Barbara,” Ben breathed between kisses. My name came out sounding more like a plea than a protest.

I’d never heard that note in a man’s voice before. Further emboldened, I slid one hand down his waistcoat, my palm tracing the same path it had traveled only moments before. One button, two buttons, three... With a rush of courage, I dropped my hand to the front of his inexpressibles, sliding my palm firmly over the bulge in his lap.

He drew a sharp breath and went perfectly still. I wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad, but I was curious enough to trace the shape of him through his clothes. Good heavens, if Papa were to see this...but he wouldn’t. Surely his business with Cliburne would take at least a quarter of an hour.

His every muscle gone tense, Ben spoke in a ragged whisper. “Barbara, it isn’t fair to do that to a man unless—ah—you mean it in earnest.”

I wasn’t sure whether I meant it in earnest or not, so I simply raised my lips to his. He hesitated only a moment before returning the kiss. My hand continued to explore him through the jersey of his pantaloons. How strange to think men walked around every day with something so foreign and so potentially formidable hidden under their clothes. It felt as thick as my wrist and so stiff it was practically bursting his buttons.

When we came up for air, I stole a glance at Ben’s face. He wore a look that lay somewhere between bliss and torment.

“Barbara,” he rasped, “what are we doing?”

If Ben wasn’t sure, then how was I to know? I’d never felt this way before. Warmth tingled in my breasts and lower down, between my legs. “Just kiss me again. Please.”

“‘Please’? This the first time I’ve heard you beg for anything.”

“I’m not begging. I’m simply asking...politely.”

How could he turn down such a civil request? He nuzzled the curve of my neck. “Then it would be inconsiderate of me to refuse.”

He went back to kissing me. From the moment I’d first met Ben, I’d thought him arrogant, but now I conceded that he had a certain right to that arrogance. I’d be the most puffed-up creature alive if I could kiss half as well as he did. His tongue stroked mine deeply and hungrily, his hand squeezing my breast in a caress.

I was panting. “You know when you lied about that time in the cupboard? I lied the other night too, when I said I didn’t like the way you kissed. You do this very well.”

He chuckled. “So do you.” His hand moved from my breast to my knee, and I realized he was gathering my skirts in his hand, drawing my hem higher.

Who knew when my father would return? I ought to protest. I knew I should, but at the same time I wanted Ben to keep going. I was nearly faint with it, this building excitement that was simultaneously pleasure and ache. He hitched my skirts up to just above my knees, and the air felt cool and welcome on my overheated skin. His hand slipped under my gown, my petticoat and my chemise, until it reached my bare leg.

“You should stop me.” Echoing my thoughts, Ben slid his hand slowly up my thigh. “I doubt I can stop myself.”

I gulped, not just at the words but at the unaccustomed note of need in his voice. Could this really be forceful, take-charge Ben, speaking in that meltingly seductive way? More astonishing still, could he really be saying such things to me? “I don’t want to stop just yet.”

Then I let out a gasp, for his questing hand had found its mark. His long fingers cupped the damp, throbbing place between my legs and stroked higher, dipping between slippery folds. I didn’t know whether to be outraged or embarrassed, so I simply closed my eyes.

I heard a groan and wondered how I’d made it without knowing, until I realized the sound had come from Ben. “If you knew how you felt...” he said raggedly between hungry kisses. “Soft and so, so wet—”

“Is that good?”

He chuckled again. “It’s better than good.”

He bent his dark head to my breast, pressing kisses as close to the nipple as my neckline allowed. His fingers were gentle and skilled, and the unerring way he’d found that spot—that slick, sensitive spot where the ache concentrated—made me fidget with pleasure. Unable to sit still, I opened my knees wider.

He made an approving noise. His fingers slid rhythmically between my thighs. Meanwhile I went on rubbing him through his clothes, trying to match his rhythm with mine. I must have been doing something right, for a flush darkened his face and his breathing was growing erratic.

Presently, however, he left off what he’d been doing and braced himself tensely against the back of the sofa, wearing a look that was almost pained. “Should I stop you if...?” He glanced down at my hand in his lap.

“If what?”

“If I’m about to spend.” He caught hold of my wrist, stilling my hand. “Damn. You’d better stop. I don’t even have a handkerchief.”

“But...” I was simultaneously gratified that I must have done a satisfactory job of touching him and crushingly disappointed that it should all be over so soon. In the short space of fifteen minutes, I’d apparently turned from an ignorant girl into a shameless wanton.

“I need to cool off.” He took a few deep, slow breaths and tugged the bottom of his waistcoat as low as possible. It didn’t do much good to disguise his condition.

Sighing with an unfamiliar frustration, I rose to shake my skirts back into place.

He set a staying hand on my arm. “What are you doing?”

“Putting myself back in order.”

“
I
need to cool off. There’s no reason you have to. That’s the enviable thing about being female. You may wind up a bit rosy, but at least there’s no incriminating evidence.”

We weren’t finished? “But if I...if you’re not going to enjoy it...”

“Who says I won’t enjoy it?” Ben pulled me down into his lap.

“But—”

“Trust me,” he ordered in a tone so stern and authoritative I nearly swooned. He was already drawing my skirts higher, already sliding a dexterous hand back up my leg.

What could I say? I was still in no state to resist. Dumbly, I nodded my acquiescence.

He kissed me with no less heat than before. Meanwhile, his fingers were as knowledgeable as an anatomist’s, as talented as a virtuoso’s. They slid over and against slick, tender flesh, and soon I was back to panting.

Before long, some restless surge of energy made me grip his broad shoulders spasmodically. “Ben,” I blurted in an anxious voice, “it feels—”

“Shh. It’s supposed to feel that way.”

“But I—oh!”

I cried out, and he clapped his free hand over my mouth as I convulsed against him in a soul-shaking paroxysm of ecstasy. Pleasure wracked my body, so strong it felt like fireworks shooting through my veins. The rapture left me literally gasping.

“There,” he whispered in my ear as the last wave of bliss died away. “Feel better now?”

Did I feel better? What a masterpiece of understatement. Resting my head on his shoulder, as limp as a rag doll, I could only nod weakly.

“Good.” He flipped my skirts back into place and pushed me off his lap with a sigh. He was still more than half stiff, but his breathing had returned to normal and the flush on his cheeks had faded.

And all the while, I was suffering a paralyzing attack of remorse. My father could have returned in the midst of matters to discover us fevered and rumpled, my hand in Ben’s lap and my skirts bunched about my hips. Somehow, in the heat of the moment, I hadn’t much cared. What must Ben think of me? I’d never done anything half so reckless or so immodest before. I could scarcely look him in the face, for fear I’d given him a disgust of me, and I didn’t even have the consolation of knowing I’d left him satisfied.

Finally I forced myself to break the silence. “Ben,” I said hesitantly, “I’m not sure what this m—”

But I never finished, for he suddenly shot to his feet. “Did you see that?”

I gaped at him. “See what?”

“Outside,” he answered in a wild voice. “Someone’s spying on us!”

I glanced stupidly at the window. “But the draperies are drawn.”

“There was an eye peering in through the space between the panels.” He dashed to the window and parted the velvet hangings. “He’s gone now. He must have realized I’d seen him.”

Now I was truly alarmed. “Who was it? How long was he watching?”

“I don’t know, but he’s not going to get away this time.” Turning on his heel, Ben started for the door. “Stay here.”

My heart was in my throat. “What do you mean to do?”

Ben’s tall figure was gone before he could answer.

Ben

As I eased Barbara off my lap, two questions ran through my mind—first, just when had I taken leave of my senses, and second, how was I ever going to wipe the smile off my face? Any minute now Lord Leonard was going to return, and I was going to have to stop smiling and greet him with the steadiness of character a father looks for in his daughter’s suitors.

That should have been easy for me, really, since I was typically the one who kept a clear head even when those around me were losing theirs. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line I’d gone stark, raving mad. It’s one thing for a man to kiss a woman, and quite another for him to put her hand on his private member in broad daylight, or bring her to gasping satisfaction in his lap. Never before had I abandoned common sense in an attack of lust, or paid a well-bred young lady the kind of attentions that could land me in a stew.

There was only one possible explanation for what I’d just done, only one reason I would take reckless chances that seemed...well, insane. I was in love with Barbara Jeffords. Madly, irrationally in love.

I’d never expected it to happen to me, but there was no denying it any longer. Why else would I find such a challenging, argumentative girl so thoroughly irresistible? I thought about her constantly. I wanted to spend every available moment with her. I’d been shot in the head, kneed in the bollocks, bashed on the skull and traduced in the papers, yet I still wouldn’t have traded the past few days for anything under heaven.

I was in love with brave, prickly, beguiling Barbara Jeffords. She’d said she wasn’t interested in marriage, but something told me I could change her mind. She’d seemed ready enough to hear me out earlier, when she’d been under the impression I’d come to make a pro forma offer. If nothing else, marrying me would get her out of this house of blackmail and lurking assailants. I needed to strike while the iron was h—

That was when I looked up and spied the face at the window.