Lord Perfect (27 page)

He had let go of her hands, and so she clung to the
pillow, and tried to bury her cries there.

Then, finally, when she had reached the very last thread
of sanity, when she thought she must scream, or fly to pieces, he
rose up again. He drew one of her hands away from the pillow and down
to his rod. It was velvety smooth and hot and immense and shuddering
at her touch. She grasped it, and smiling up at him, she pulled him
into her, and nearly screamed with the relief of it.

At last at last at last.

"Yes," she said as he drove
into her, and
yes
and
yes
again because this was what she had been made for, born for: to
possess him, to be possessed by him. No oughts and mustn'ts. No
self-restraint and common sense. Only this: to be joined, to be one,
to yield completely to passion.

Yes, yes, yes, want you want you want you…

And at last it came, the last, wild
paroxysm, sparkling ecstasy, and
yes,
yes, yes…
I love you
.

Chapter 12

WHEN BENEDICT AWOKE, HE WAS AWASH IN HER scent. She lay
tucked up against him, spoon style, her derriere pressed against his
groin. His rod had taken notice even before he woke, for it was
swelling in anticipation. His hand cupped one perfectly rounded
breast. He buried his face in her neck.

He was bad and selfish.

The storm cloud hung over their heads.

He was about to be engulfed in the scandal of the
decade.

He didn't care.

It was inevitable. They would both pay severely for the
sin.

They might as well sin thoroughly.

She stirred, then, coming awake, too. "Rathbourne?"
she said in a sleep-clogged voice.

"Yes, that is me, holding your breast. Pray do not
wriggle about. I am very comfortable."

"It must be noon at least," she said.

"Must it be?"

"How long do you mean to pretend that nothing is
wrong and we are not facing disaster?" she said.

"Everything is wrong," he said. "Disaster
is nigh. All the more reason to enjoy these final moments. 'Always at
my back I hear / Time's winged chariot drawing near.' Let us heed the
poet Marvell, and make the most of this time."

"I think we did, Rathbourne," she said. "I
am not sure there is any more 'most' to be made of it."

"For an artist, you have a shockingly limited
imagination," he said.

"I am a mother as well," she said. "I was
hardly awake before I was fretting about Olivia and Lord Lisle."

Ah, well, time to come back to earth.

He made no protest when she slipped out of his arms and
sat up. It was more sensible to feast his eyes upon her naked body
for as long as he could. She was certainly accommodating in that way.
After they had made love the first time, she'd not tried to cover
herself but moved about the bedchamber with no self-consciousness
whatsoever— until Thomas came to the door. Benedict smiled.

"You think I am being a silly female," she
said.

"I was thinking of you darting behind the bed
curtains when Thomas came," he said.

She let out a sigh. "Sometimes I wish I were an
aristocratic male," she said. "I wish I could leave it to
someone else to do the worrying."

He sat up, too. He plumped up the pillows and reclined
upon them, his arms folded under his head. "You were not so
anxious before," he said. "I was impressed by your
philosophical detachment regarding your daughter's disappearance."

"That was before," she said. "That was
when I believed we'd find them within a few miles of London. I was
confident we'd catch up with them before they met with an accident or
fell into the clutches of an unscrupulous person. At that point, I
supposed the most unscrupulous person in the picture was Olivia."

"Is she really as bad as all that?" he said.

"She has spent far too much time
with people who don't know what a moral principle is," she said.
"Such people are more agreeable company than a mama who is
always lecturing and scolding. Jack at least had some influence with
her." She laughed a little. "I know it is hard to imagine
feckless Jack Wingate teaching a child manners and moral principles.
But he was a
gentleman
,
and he lived by a gentleman's code, and he knew how to scold in a way
that— that…" She pressed her fist against her
breast. "Olivia took it to heart. But it's been three years and
more, and she remembers only the exciting things her papa told her,
like the story of the treasure. And I don't know how to speak to her
in the way he did."

I do
,
Benedict thought, and his heart squeezed, as though she held it in
her fist.

"Then you've one less reason to fret," he
said. "Whatever else she might be, Olivia does not seem to be a
gullible child. Unscrupulous persons will not find it easy to deceive
her. As to Peregrine, we both know he takes nothing and nobody on
faith. This does not mean they face no risks. But it does put the
odds in their favor."

There was a short silence. Then she gave an impatient
huff and said, "Rathbourne, it is abominable of you to say
something wise and reassuring when I had prepared myself to call you
obtuse and start a quarrel."

"This is what I
do
,"
he said. "I have been doing it for as long as I can remember. I
spend half my days sorting out muddles and calming people and making
them see reason. That is the way I have been trained. That is the way
my father gets things done. That is the way
I
get things done." He paused. "Not that I should object to
quarreling with you. I find that most invigorating. I am almost sorry
I did not prove sufficiently obtuse. But you must expect such
disappointments when you deal with a man who is perfect."

"Perhaps I shall throw things at
you from time to time, simply on general principle," she said.
"Not because of anything in particular you've done or said, but
because you
need
it."

He laughed then, and pulled her into his arms, and she
kissed him, wickedly, but she soon wriggled free, and slipped out of
the bed.

Benedict swallowed his frustration, as his life had
taught him to do, and turned his mind to the problem he couldn't be
wise or reassuring about.

LUCKILY FOR HER, Rathbourne left the bed, too. To
Bathsheba he looked far too inviting, lying there with his arms
folded behind his head, the pale light from the window gilding the
muscled planes of his upper body and glinting in his tousled hair. It
did not matter that he was decently covered from the waist down. The
tangled bedclothes made him look indecent… and too deliciously
rumpled by half.

If he had not left the bed, Bathsheba would have been in
dire straits, for she doubted she possessed the moral character or
willpower to resist the temptation to climb back in beside him…
on top of him…

She made herself look away while she washed…
again.

Then she faced her soiled clothes… again.

"No, no," he said, as she took up the dingy
shift.

She looked at him.

He'd donned his shirt and trousers. For an aristocrat,
he was remarkably efficient at looking after himself.

He crossed to the bell and rang. "The servants will
have found something for you to wear by now. Thomas is most
conscientious. Yesterday, as I prepared to set out, I blithely
assumed I would not need a change of clothes. He merely gave me an
indulgent look—as one would a child, for to good servants we
are all children, you know. Then he packed fresh linen and I don't
know what else."

"I wish he had packed for me," she said.

"He will see that you have what you need," he
said.

She discovered a few minutes later that Thomas had more
than seen to it.

He passed a large heap of clothing through the partly
open door. He would have sent a chambermaid through the narrow
opening as well, but Rathbourne told him he was perfectly capable of
dressing "Mrs. Bennett."

The footman and whomever he'd recruited had bought

Bathsheba an entire change of clothes, including a
frock. And a bonnet.

"He could not have found these at the market,"
Bathsheba said as Rathbourne held up two outer garments for her
approval. "You sent him to a dressmaker—and I am afraid to
think what it must have cost, because she would have had to sell
something promised to another customer as well as make alterations in
a hurry."

"Dressmakers always have orphan garments in their
shops," he said. "Their customers are women, and women are
famous for changing their minds. She would be glad to do hurried
alterations and at last be paid. But never mind that. Do you like
it?"

It was a simple white muslin round dress, but the bottom
was prettily trimmed with flounces and puffings of fabric.
Furthermore, Thomas or whatever maid he'd sent had bought a spencer
as well, and this was a vivid blue and made of silk and satin. The
bonnet matched.

Bathsheba had not worn anything so pretty since the last
time her father had been in funds, which had not lasted long.