Chapter Sixteen

What in the hell had he done? Ben asked himself as he changed clothes for dinner.

He had felt like a boy earlier, had even found himself whistling. But then reality had played havoc with the euphoria he’d felt.

He grew hard just thinking about the past couple of hours. And his heart constricted every time he recalled the warm, lazy passion in Lisbeth’s hazel eyes or the way she so trustingly wrapped herself around him.

She was so honest with her responses that his suspicions had melted away. If someone intended harm to Sarah Ann or himself, it wasn’t Lisbeth. He would bet his soul on it. He had bet his soul on it. But problems remained, problems that might well make her hate him.

Ben buttoned his linen shirt, shoved arms into a gray vest and a frock coat, and took a moment to straighten the cravat at his neck. A hell of a lot of clothes to wear just to eat. He hadn’t questioned that gentility as a child or young man, but after years of freedom on the plains he resented every last stiff, confining garment.

He kept trying to think of everything but Lisbeth, of the realities he had to face. He still had difficult decisions to make. And he had to focus on the fact that someone still might try to permanently rid themselves of the Masters—father and daughter both. Indeed, he might have succeeded in putting Lisbeth in danger, too.

Ben didn’t doubt he was only the second man to bed her. He hadn’t intended it to happen, and he’d taken no precautions to prevent creating a child. He was determined that it wouldn’t happen again, not as matters stood, not when he might well return to America.

The door opened between his room and Sarah Ann’s, and she stood there in her favorite dress. Maisie had helped her with her bath and with dressing. “You look very handsome, Papa,” she said.

“And you look ravishing,” he told her.

Annabelle haughtily entered the room behind her, tail up in a fit of pique. “Annabelle doesn’t look happy,” he observed.

“I think she knows we’re goin’ to leave her again.” A bit of wistfulness passed over her face. “Can’t we take her to dinner with us?”

“You know she and Henry don’t—”

“They really like each other,” Sarah Ann assured him. “Really. Lady Lisbeth said so.”

“She did?”

Sarah Ann nodded enthusiastically. “Annabelle needs a friend.”

“She has you.”

“An animal friend,” Sarah Ann insisted.

Ben sighed. Annabelle didn’t look as if she needed anyone at the moment. Despite her natural scruffiness, she obviously thought herself a queen.

“She’s lonesome.” Sarah Ann pressed her advantage at his silence.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Please. Lady Lisbeth—”

“What about Lady Barbara? And Cousin Hugh?” He didn’t really give a flip what either thought, but neither did he wish to end up on the floor again.

“Lady Barbara likes Annabelle. She said so.”

Sarah Ann waited patiently, moving from one foot to another as she did.

Annabelle had been on her best behavior. And she couldn’t stay in the room the rest of her life. Ben closed his eyes, remembering the horrific scene in the foyer: porcelain shattering, armor clanging over the floor, furniture tumbling about.

But he couldn’t dash the hopeful expression on Sarah Ann’s face. “We’ll try it, but—”

“She’ll be good. I know it.” She hesitated. “She feels like she’s been … in jail.”

Jail. What did Sarah Ann know about jail? He narrowed his eyes. Had she heard him talk about Diablo? Or had she heard her mother say something?

He decided it was best to ignore the comment. To ask was to invite questions he really didn’t want to answer. And she was just waiting to ask those questions. He knew it. She may not know what she was asking, but she sensed a new subject, a new adventure. Four years old, and she was as tricky as a forty-year-old.

Well, he’d been clay in her hands long enough for one day. He wasn’t going to spend the evening answering questions.

Ben bowed and offered Sarah Ann his hand. She curtsied, grinning, and took his hand. They left the room together, Annabelle prancing royally behind them.

After Ben left her room, Henry demanded his share of Lisbeth’s attention. It was quite obvious to her that his displacement from her bed had wounded him deeply. He’d whined and mumbled, rolled onto his back with his legs awkwardly waving in the air and wriggled until she scratched his stomach.

“You are an impossibly ridiculous dog,” Lisbeth told him. Henry growled in happiness. He loved praise. His legs waggled harder.

“But then I’m ridiculous,” she continued. “I have you. I don’t need Ben Masters.” She kept telling herself that. She couldn’t need him. She couldn’t want him this badly.

But she did. Her blood turned to molten lava as she thought about touching him again.

Henry whined. She scratched his stomach absently. When had everything changed? When had Henry and the horses faded into the background of her mind, supplanted by Ben Masters?

Ben and Sarah Ann. A man who made her senses sing and a child who made her yearn for one of her own. She wanted to tease a laugh from them, prompt a smile, drive away the ghosts still haunting both father and daughter. She grinned at such fanciful notions. But it was true. She’d rather receive a smile from the four-year-old cherub than ride Shadow to victory. And, God help her, she’d rather make love with Ben than do anything else on earth.

“Darling Henry,” she said wistfully. “Why do you suppose your namesake took so many wives? Is love fleeting? Or is it merely lust?”

Henry barked as if he approved of lust, or might like some himself.

“You’re such a handsome lad,” she said. “We’ll have to find you someone.” For the first time, she truly understood the joy of mating. The joy and ecstacy and bewilderment. The longing and ache. The uncertainty and fear.

The glory.

It swelled in her as she recalled Ben’s every touch, every feeling he evoked in her, every emotion. She thought of those cautious blue eyes that had turned so warm.

What would he be like at dinner? Cool and watchful as he usually was? Warm and teasing as he had been in her bed? Would she be able to keep from reaching out to touch him? Would Barbara realize what had happened?

Full of hesitancy, Lisbeth finally rose from the bed and chose a gown for dinner, one she hadn’t worn since Jamie’s death. It was subtle and modest, nothing like Barbara’s gaily colored finery, but she knew the gray-green silk made the most of her eyes and hair. Barbara and Hugh would raise their eyebrows at it and wonder, but she didn’t care. She wanted to look her best, to pale as little as possible next to Barbara.

She was still amazed that Ben preferred her. It was a miracle.

Bennett Sebastian Masters. She allowed the name to roll off her tongue.

Henry started pacing the floor, signaling that he had to go outside. She opened her bedroom door, knowing that Duncan would open the one downstairs. Effie should be up any moment to help her dress. God’s toothache, but she disliked dresses with buttons in back, which meant she hated nearly all of her dresses.

Henry bounded out, down the stairs, barking as he went. He was in more of a hurry than usual. She started to close the door, and then she heard a crash. And another one.

She winced.

Then something else crashed, and she heard a screech that sounded as if it came straight from hell.

Annabelle!

A yowl. A child’s scream.

Lisbeth opened the door and heard Ben’s firm “Annabelle,” then a string of curses that would have startled the devil himself.

Oblivious that her hair was down, still mussed from lovemaking, and that she wore only a flimsy dressing gown, she limped toward the stairs. At the bottom step, her ankle gave way and she stumbled straight into Ben.

The shock—and immediate physical reaction—kept her from moving for a moment. Then she was aware of silence. Complete, absolute silence.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked around. The entire household had gathered in the foyer. Duncan had horror written all over his face. Effie stood, her mouth open in astonishment. Hugh and Barbara were looking on with dismay. Sarah Ann, eyes wide, watched everyone with great interest.

Henry and Annabelle, oblivious to everyone, occupied the center of the foyer. Henry, stretched out, panted heavily. And Annabelle stood directly in front of him, either challenging him or claiming victory, Lisbeth wasn’t sure which.

Annabelle’s back wasn’t arched though—a hopeful sign—and she wasn’t hissing at Henry. The armor had fallen again, and so had the fragile table that held the silver bowl designed for visitors’ cards.

That was all she noticed before she felt every angle of Ben’s body and his heat singed her. She looked up at Ben, and saw amusement dancing in his eyes. God’s toothache, but she loved him when he looked like that.

“Lisbeth!”

There was something ironic about Barbara’s horrified cry; after all, Barbara had never been subtle about her own affairs.

Lisbeth knew she should move. She was being held by a man in full sight of the entire household. But Ben made no attempt to let her go, and her own legs were none too steady for her to stand on her own.

“Lady Lisbeth.” Hugh spoke in a righteous voice that Lisbeth just couldn’t take seriously.

“I heard … noises,” she tried to explain, but it sounded weak even to her. What was she doing in the late afternoon dressed only in a dressing gown, with her hair tumbling down her back, and her face flushing brightly? “I was resting,” she added.

Hugh narrowed his eyes and darted an accusing look at Ben. Barbara looked hurt. Sarah Ann looked interested.

“I’ll carry you back up,” Ben said. “I think there’s been a truce of sorts down here,” he added, eyeing Annabelle and Henry. Annabelle had perched herself on Henry’s stomach and seemed to be grooming the big dog, who growled contentedly.

“I told you she needed a friend,” Sarah Ann said, and everyone turned to stare at her. Barbara and Hugh obviously hadn’t noticed her until just then.

Duncan stiffened even more. “I shall see to dinner,” he said.

Effie giggled. “I’ll be there to help ye dress, Lady Lisbeth.”

“This is really quite … scandalous,” Barbara said, but her lips twitched. Lisbeth thought that perhaps Barbara had a sense of humor after all.

Only Hugh’s expression remained black and grew even darker when Ben picked her up. His arms were becoming quite familiar to Lisbeth. His hands seemed to burn right through the dressing gown. She studied his bronze face above the snowy-white shirt and tie. He really was handsome, even with a clenched jaw and a muscle twitching in his cheek.

They were silent until they reached her room and he lowered her to the bed, then sat next to her.

“I think we’ve just created a scandal,” she said.

“I think we did,” he said, his lips twitching. “Your sister-in-law was genuinely appalled.”

“Only because it wasn’t her,” she said.

His hand rested on her bare arm. It burned her. He must have felt the heat, too, for he suddenly let go. His eyes devoured her, though.

“At least Henry and Annabelle seem to have made peace.” She tried desperately to hold on to some control.

“Annabelle is mellowing with the coming of motherhood. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her chasing Henry tomorrow. She can be rather fickle.”

Lisbeth had heard only one word he spoke: motherhood.

“I’m pretty sure she isn’t getting that fat with cream,” Ben continued.

“Sarah Ann must be delighted.”

“She’s not the one who has to find homes for Annabelle’s litter. It isn’t going to be easy. Annabelle isn’t exactly the most beautiful cat alive. And God knows her temperament would test His fondness toward all living things.”

“Sarah Ann thinks she’s beautiful.”

“Hmm,” he murmured.

Intimacy was cocooning them again. She was aware only of him, of the warmth that flooded her body, of the headiness of being with him. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations, relishing the closeness. Then, she felt a sudden chill, and she opened her eyes.

He looked at her strangely, his head tilted as if in question. He was no longer smiling. The muscle continued to twitch in his cheek, though. “I’d better leave before more damage is done to your reputation,” he said stiffly.

Hurt and bewildered by his change in mood, she tried to shrug indifferently. She wanted to ask why, but she couldn’t. Everything was too new, too fragile.

“Barbara will always think the worst, and so will Hugh,” she stated.

“And the servants?”

“I’m not sure.”

He hesitated a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but then he rose. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned and disappeared out the door, leaving her feeling more than a little bruised, but not from the physical injuries.

Dinner was a stiff, formal affair. Hugh was barely polite. Barbara chattered but her gaze kept moving from Ben to Lisbeth and back again. Sarah Ann said little and was watchful. Lisbeth was silent, looking more than a little mystified. Ben couldn’t blame her.

What the hell he was doing? He had compromised Lisbeth in more ways than one. A gentleman would propose marriage. But he had no intention of marrying. His luck with women was dismal; his judgment lacking. And he couldn’t escape the fact that Lisbeth wanted something from him, something he wasn’t sure he could give.

The more he studied Calholm’s books, the more he realized that Hugh and Barbara were right. Continuing with the horse-breeding could mean the bankruptcy or loss of Calholm, Sarah Ann’s legacy. Even if Shadow won the Grand National, he doubted the horses would ever pay their own way. But doubling the number of sheep would double the income. Ben could never evict the tenants, even if he had the right, but the training and hunting fields could be turned into pasture for sheep.

How would Lisbeth feel about him then?

He already knew, dammit.

He’d been a fool to make love to her. He’d been a bigger fool to make it public, even inadvertently.

“Ben?”

Barbara’s decidedly cool voice brought him back to the dinner table.

“I just thought you should know I’ve employed extra servants for the next few days for the ceilidh. Some of the guests will be staying two nights.”

He nodded, but his gaze lingered on Lisbeth, on the way she looked in a silk dress that emphasized every slender curve and made her eyes deep and mysterious.

“I’ll give you a guest list tomorrow and go over them with you,” Barbara persisted.

Ben had no choice but to turn his attention to her. Hugh was frowning, jealousy apparent in his stare. He abruptly got up from the table and left without an explanation.

Barbara looked flustered for a moment. “I don’t think … he feels well,” she said, trying to excuse him.

Lisbeth sighed. “Hugh told me this morning he plans to leave Calholm after the ceilidh.”

Barbara visibly paled. She bit her lower lip before covering her dismay with a slight smile. Her hands trembled, though.

“He told you?”

“He was saddling his horse when I went out to ride Shadow,” Lisbeth said. “He told me he would be sorry not to see Shadow at the steeplechase, and I asked why. He said something about Australia or America.”

Ben watched Barbara’s fingers tighten around her wine glass, and saw the fear in her eyes. Did she really care about Hugh that much? Even if she did, it hadn’t stopped her from trying to seduce Ben and secure control of Calholm. That her heart might belong to Hugh had to be little comfort to the man who obviously loved her … and coveted Calholm.

Ben’s gaze met Lisbeth’s. She was obviously searching for an explanation for his bewildering change of mood. He couldn’t explain. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Ben was the first to lower his gaze, but not before he saw the hurt in Lisbeth’s face. He wanted to erase it. He wanted to kiss it away. But it would be a lie.

He would hurt her again and again. He simply couldn’t trust totally. He had used too many people in his days as a lawman to believe others didn’t do the same.

He’d never realized until now how bitter that legacy was.