Ben was bone tired when he left the Framingham house, where he’d spent the better part of the afternoon consoling the grieving wife and children of the murdered man.
It was never easy to console a family who had lost a loved one unexpectedly, but this was different from his experience thus far as a minister. He’d never before had to explain to a wife that her husband had died not by an accident or illness, but by another man’s hand. He would never forget as long as he lived the sound of Lucy Framingham’s shriek when he informed her that her husband was dead. And then, again when she learned it was murder. He’d been a bit more circumspect with the children, who were too young to understand much beyond the fact that their father had gone to heaven. But their sadness and puzzlement had been, in its way, as affecting as their mother’s reaction.
Fortunately, Mrs. Framingham’s sister and her husband lived in Little Seaford, and were able to come take control of things in the aftermath of the master of the house’s death, and he was able to leave secure in the knowledge that he’d done what he could for them.
And always in the back of his mind as he interacted with the dead man’s family was the note he’d received that morning when he and Cam had returned to the vicarage from Beauchamp House.
It was dark as he took the reins of his horse from the stable boy he’d paid to hold him, and almost without intending it, he found himself steering Gabriel toward Beauchamp House. Even if it was just for a moment, he needed to see Sophia before he would be able to sleep tonight. And after witnessing the agony the Framingham family was enduring, he needed to assure himself that she was safe and secure and away from whatever ugliness was lurking in Little Seaford.
Despite the late hour, a groom was at the ready to take Gabriel’s reins. Ben was composing his explanation to Greaves for the late call, but was surprised when the butler opened the door before he even reached the landing.
“Lord Benedick,” the butler said, bowing. “Is something amiss? Has something happened?”
Belatedly, Ben realized that the household hadn’t exactly been a stranger to death and destruction over the last year.
“I apologize for alarming you, Mr. Greaves,” he said with genuine regret. “As far as I know, the duke and Lord Kerr are in good health. I am here to see Miss Hastings, I’m afraid.”
But the butler’s expression did not brighten. “Something has happened to her parents. I’ll have both Miss Hastings and Miss Gemma come downstairs and see you in the drawing room.”
Dash it, he was making a mull of this. “No, no, nothing like that, Greaves.”
Ben rubbed a hand over his face as the butler stared at him.
“I simply wished to assure myself that Miss Hastings is well. That’s all. I realize it’s unusual, and possibly inappropriate, but you must have heard about what happened in the village today…”
He let his voice trial off, hoping the man would see his exhaustion and take pity on him.
To his relief, Greaves’ eyes shone with understanding. And something else Ben wasn’t able to interpret. “Of course, my lord. Of course. The ladies are in Miss Hastings’ art studio at present and I’m sure they will be happy to see you.”
At the news Sophia was surrounded by her sister and friends, he almost demurred and left. The prospect of greeting a room full of inquisitive ladies was more than he was ready to face. But nor was he prepared to leave without at the very least laying eyes on Sophia.
So it was that he found himself following the aging butler upstairs to the attic art studio. After Greaves knocked briskly, he stepped inside and announced Ben, and Ben was relieved to see that only Sophia was there. She was on the settee where she’d been when he and Freddie visited her before. Only this time instead of her own paintings she had a stack of unfamiliar ones arrayed on the floor and ottoman next to her.
“Ben,” she said, her voice revealing her surprise and a husky note that indicated she might have been napping. “I know you said you’d come speak to me, but I thought you’d been too involved with the magistrate or Mrs. Framingham.”
With the silence and discretion that were the hallmarks of a good servant, Greaves slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Unable to stop himself, Ben gathered her into his arms, and somehow ended up with Sophia in his lap, his face buried in her neck
“I hope this is all right,” he said, leaning his cheek against her bosom. “I just … I needed you.”
* * *
But Sophia didn’t protest. She simply held him. And stroked her hand over his back. Offering the comfort he so desperately needed.
“Was it very bad?” she asked softly. “You don’t have to tell me. I know it was.”
He lifted his head and leaned back against the settee. “I’ve ministered to the grieving before. Many times. It’s never easy, but nor is it entirely without some sort of optimism. Even if it’s just that their loved one is no longer suffering. Or will be with God. But I’ve never had to tell a woman her husband has been murdered.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sophia said, now leaning her head on his chest. “You’re a good man. To do this job that not everyone would be able to do.”
He laughed at that. He couldn’t help it. “It was the church or the army. And I have no stomach for war. I may have chosen the church because I had some idea that I liked helping people. But it’s a bit different in practice than it was in my imagination. I did go with my mother to visit the tenants on my father’s estate. But for the most part, they welcomed us. That’s not always the case with the vicar. Nor is it as easy as bringing a basket of food and going on my way.”
“But that’s why it’s so admirable,” Sophia said, lifting up so that she could look him in the eye. “You know how difficult it is. How thankless it can be. And you do it anyway. You look after the members of your parish—both those who attend services and those who don’t—and you do it without seeking thanks or accolades. You do it because it’s your job. But also because it’s the right thing to do.”
He saw the admiration in her eyes, and shook his head. “Don’t make a saint of me, Sophia. I’m a man. Nothing more. I do the job I’ve been called to do. But I am not without flaws. Without sin.”
At that she gave a saucy smile, and he was suddenly reminded of the impropriety of their pose. And how good it felt to have her soft curves pressed up against him.
“I never said you were a saint, vicar,” she said softly. “In fact, I’m rather hoping you aren’t. Because I would like it very much if you kissed me again.”
“Would you, indeed?” His gaze went to her lips, pink and full and inviting. He’d have to be a bloody saint to ignore that invitation.
“I would,” she said, and before he could make the decision himself, she leaned in and kissed him, just a meeting of mouths. But enough to give him a taste of what was to come. Pulling back just a fraction, she said against his lips, “But I’m happy to do it for you.”
His exhaustion, which had so lately hung upon him like a pall, disappeared at the taste of her mouth on his. Curious, and eager to see what she’d do, he let her explore. Savored every nibble of her teeth on his lower lip, then when her tongue dipped into the seam of his lips and prodded for entrance, felt the caress echoed in his groin. Unable to hold back, he opened to her questing mouth and took the lead, lifting his hand to hold her head to his, taking the kiss from an exploration to something more carnal. They molded themselves together, as if any breath of air between their bodies was the difference between life and death. And Ben felt his hunger for her rising, as he cupped her generous breast in his hand, and felt her gasp at the caress.
He would have liked nothing more than to take her here, now, and give them both the release they so desperately needed. He was certain it would be good, and he was sure now—whether Sophia knew it or not—that she was the woman he wanted for his wife. But something about the moment, perhaps that little gasp when he stroked his thumb over the peak of her breast, brought him back to reality. And unfortunately, reality meant that they had to stop.
Reluctantly, with a strength he had doubted he had within himself, he pulled his head back and said her name.
“Sophia.” Deprived of his mouth, she’d simply moved on to his neck. “Sophia, stop.”
He felt the moment she heard the note of firmness in his voice. She stilled, and pulled back a little to look at him.
“We have to stop,” he said, breathing hard even as the words left him. “We must stop now or I won’t be able to.”
Ben watched as her eyes went from drowsy with passion to a level of alertness that was admirable given the situation.
Wordlessly, she climbed off of him, and sat a few inches away from him. She spent a few seconds smoothing the skirts of her deep blue gown, though they hadn’t really gotten to the point where it was an issue.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears.
“If you apologize for despoiling me or some other such nonsense, Lord Benedick Lisle,” she said in a tone of warning, “I don’t know what I’ll do. But you won’t like it.”
He laughed a little at her fierceness, and the hint of frustration in her voice that echoed his own. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.” He lifted her hand and kissed the center of her palm. “I am sorry we had to stop, but I am not sorry for what just happened.”
She was silent for a moment, before she turned to look at him. As if to gauge the truth of his words. What she saw must have satisfied her because she gave a nod of agreement. “Good. Because I’m not sorry for what happened either.”
“Then we are in agreement,” he said with a smile.
Not quite ready to leave yet, but needing something to spark a change in subject, his eye fell on the paintings that had been strewn around her when he came in. “What are all these?” he asked, indicating with a jerk of his head he meant the artwork. “That doesn’t look like one of yours.”
At his words, Sophia let out a gasp. “Oh! I almost forgot. Ben, I think these are some of the forgeries. We found them in the cabinet here in the studio. I believe Lady Celeste was purchasing them to keep them off the market.”
For the second time that evening, his fatigue evaporated.
“Tell me everything.”