He watched her sleeping form, restless and tense, evidenced by the continual clenching of her hands as they twisted the sheets. She whimpered, agony echoing around the room, and jerked suddenly, flinging a pillow to the floor. Screaming, Miss Hastings shot up, nearly falling from the bed. Her arms flung out, covering her face as she twisted away from her invisible attacker.
“No!”
The word vibrated down his spine, breaking his heart. He’d failed her.
Lowering her arms, Miss Hastings took several deep breaths to slow her heart rate and swiped the tendrils clinging to her sweaty forehead. He remained motionless in front of the door so as not to startle her. She glanced around the bedroom, her expression a mixture of terror and mortification, and gasped when she caught sight of him—bruised and broken—hidden in a half-shadow. He held up one hand, the gesture more to prevent Miss Hastings from flying off the bed than as a greeting.
Interestingly, she obeyed his command. Pressing her lips together, she wordlessly waited for an explanation as to why he chose to visit her at such a late hour, no hint of surprise or shock at his appalling appearance, as though she expected him.
His tongue tied itself in knots. Pacing several times in front of the door, he muttered unintelligible words to himself. He jiggled the door handle twice to ensure the door remained locked, then glanced toward the fire, still flickering around a single log. On his third pass, he finally looked at Miss Hastings. She studied him curiously, her hands folded on top of the blanket.
“You are late,” she announced, her tone calm and slightly peeved.
He laughed and approached the bed. Sitting on the edge, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss on the back of her fingers. “Please accept my most humble apologies for my tardiness, my dear Miss Hastings. I shall endeavor to correct my egregious behavior in the future.”
“Thank you,” she replied with amusement, tucking the sheet around her hips.
The movement captured his attention. Tilting his head, he regarded her for a moment, her hand somehow trapped under his, its warmth traveling through his fingers. “Was it a nightmare?”
Darkness passed through her blue eyes, a cloud covering the sun. “Yes,” she replied, her face haunted. “How long were you watching me sleep?”
“For a while,” he replied and squeezed her hand, falling silent. His thumb rubbed circles on the inside of her wrist, the softness of her skin distracting him. He allowed the memory of other soft parts of her body divert his thoughts.
A tear landing on his thumb, his head snapped up quickly. Miss Hastings blinked rapidly and turned her head, staring at the curtains. He reached out and gently tugged her chin until she stared into his eyes, sadness pouring from her eyes.
“When are you leaving?” The whispered question pierced his heart.
“In a short while,” he replied. He did not ask how she already knew his intentions.
“Thank you for coming to say goodbye.” She tried to remain aloof. A second fat tear escaped the corner of her eye. Wanting to hide her face, she attempted to turn away again but could not. He still held her chin.
“Please,” she begged softly, and he released her. Twisting away, Miss Hastings scrubbed the betraying tear. She hiccupped but refused to turn back, glaring unhappily at the pillow, previously flung to the floor during her horrifying dream. He stroked his fingers tenderly over her hand.
“I will only be gone a few days. You will have plenty of activities to distract you, I doubt you will notice my absence.”
“I will notice.” She shook her head, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.
He lifted her hand, dropping a light kiss on the palm of her hand, then relinquishing possession. She shivered. Her eyes rose to his, and she offered him a partial smile. He grinned in return. “Had I more time, I would properly take advantage of you in your current state of undress.”
“It is not quite morning.” Her eyes gleamed.
“I want more than tonight,” he replied softly, brushing his lips over her forehead. “I want forever.”
Rising with conviction, he walked slowly to the door, each step carrying him further and further away from her. Resting his hand on the door handle, he paused, glancing back. “Tell me not to leave.”
“You will not listen,” Miss Hastings replied, eerily calm.
“I know.” He smiled, a rueful crook of his lips. “Tell me, anyway.”
“Please stay.”
“I cannot,” he replied heavily, watching her heart shatter in front of him. He could not turn away nor could he return to her side. He stood frozen, conflicted.
“Benjamin.”
He was losing his battle to remain disconnected. That one word—his name—a whisper from heaven. He could stay. He could wait for Morris to show his hand as Thomas suggested earlier that evening. In doing so, Benjamin would spend many blissful hours in the pursuit of seduction, the idea exceedingly tempting.
Yet… he would not.
He could not allow Miss Hastings to place herself in such a precarious situation. Her stubborn temperament, so much like his, gave him no other option. She would move forward with her dangerous proposal to tempt Morris out of hiding. If it cost her life, Benjamin would metamorphose into Mr. Flannery’s twin, madly searching the hillsides for Miss Hastings’ spirit, drawn by her scent, her whispered voice—forever bound to her memory.
“Benjamin.” Her voice sensed his hesitation, felt his need.
His wild eyes raked over the girl residing in his bed, the heat rising in his veins simmering precariously. She possessed the power to force him to forego his quest. He knew it. Immobile, fighting his desires, he realized Miss Hastings knew as well. An invisible chain linked them—he would not survive without her.
Thoughts shifted mercurially across his features. Miss Hastings watched the migration thoughtfully, immobile in her contemplation. Folding her hands in her lap, she tilted her head, capturing his gaze until the smoldering heat growing between them threatened to erupt. She nodded her consent.
“Do you know where to find Franklin?”
The corner of Benjamin’s mouth pulled up at her question. Relief ebbed into his veins and released him from purgatory. He stepped forward from the shadows. “We received information claiming he was hiding east of here on an old family farm.”
“You heard this from a reliable source?” she asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow.
Benjamin grinned faintly. She sounded very much like Edward. “We believe the letter is truthful.”
“We?”
“Mr. Davis and myself.”
“What does Edward believe?”
“Edward would prefer not to spend his time chasing rumors.”
“Was that a direct quote?” Miss Hastings smirked.
“It was.”
“I see.” She swallowed her grin. “And Mr. Reid, what was his opinion?”
Benjamin’s face darkened considerably. “Mr. Reid,”—Benjamin placed severe intonation on the first word—“believes your plan is an excellent idea and mine is a fool’s errand.”
Miss Hastings rose from the bed and approached Benjamin. “It was not my intention to cause discord between you and your brother.”
“Stop,” he said, hungrily watching her movement. Slowly shaking his head to halt her progress across the room, he continued speaking only when Miss Hastings paused, halfway between the bed and himself. “Thomas and I differ due to my inability to observe the situation rationally, or so he has accused.”
She took a small step closer, hovering on the edge of an invisible circle, just outside his reach. “Is Mr. Reid correct in his assessment?”
“He is.” The heat consuming Benjamin burst into flames, licking enticingly across his skin. Miss Hastings glided closer, a moth drawn by the inferno.
“Samantha.” He whispered the warning through the rising fire blinding his senses.
She reached out her hand, tentatively stroking one finger tenderly across his full lower lip. Moaning, Benjamin sprung forward, wrapping his arms around her. He pulled her against the hard length of his body, inhaling her scent. Without a thought, his mouth descended, attacking her lips with fervor. She sighed, molding herself to him. Tightening her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer, allowing Benjamin to consume her breath.
“Benjamin.” The siren voice called again, filled with longing. Her eyes glittered brightly, alight and energized. Her body warmed, rouging until she glowed from his touch.
Growling, Benjamin lifted her easily, entwining her legs around his waist as he carried her back to his bed. His mouth wandered over her lips, nibbling down the side of her throat until she cried out his name. They collapsed together.
She tugged at his shirt, skimming her hands over his exposed chest. He sucked his breath in sharply and bit down gently on her lower lip. Wiggling impatiently underneath him, she slid her palms over his muscles. His shirt disappeared, flung unceremoniously across the room. Her fingers danced across his bare skin, sending tremors vibrating through his skin in every direction. Smiling at the reaction, Miss Hastings’ lips curved sensuously. Her hands wandered across his stomach, brushing lightly against the top of his pants.
“Slow down, Samantha.” He inhaled shakily, gathering her arms and pinning them over her head. His tongue travelled wickedly along her jawline until she writhed beneath him.
“Benjamin,” she begged, her body bowed in anticipation.
His hands inched their way to the hem of her nightdress, whipping the garment over her head. She lay momentarily still, holding her breath. Benjamin’s green eyes hardened to steel. Bruises of varying sizes decorated her pale skin, previously hidden—a map of torture. Benjamin roared and slammed his fist into the wall.
Miss Hastings’ hands hastily covered the worst contusions, but Benjamin easily captured her arms again and moved them out of the way. His narrowed eyes inspected every mark as Miss Hastings watched him warily.
“Does Edward know the extent of your injuries?” Benjamin looked up from his examination when Miss Hastings did not answer.
She bit her lip hesitantly. “No.”
Benjamin brushed his thumb tenderly down the side of her cheek. “Why did you not tell him?”
Miss Hastings returned his gaze with melancholy. “He would have left with you,” she whispered. “I could not take him from Wilhelmina and the girls.”
Releasing her arms, Benjamin encircled Miss Hastings’ face with his palms, forcing her to hold his stare, his voice rumbling thickly. “I will return to you.”
Languidly he lowered his head until his lips were millimeters from hers, her warm breath tickling his skin. He grazed his mouth across her lower lip, sucking it gently. She sighed and melted against him. Her hands slid through his hair before she tightened her grasp and roughly pulled him against her.
The urgency which possessed him earlier returned in full. He needed to feel her, to be surrounded by her. His hand slipped between them, unfastening his pants. Quickly tugging his trousers from his hips, he lowered himself in agonizingly slow increments until he filled her completely. She moaned, her eyes half-closed. Leaning back, she exposed her neck to his sinful ministration. Obliging, Benjamin’s mouth nipped her sensitive skin, caressing a path down to the midpoint of her chest.
Fully sheathed in her warmth, he ground his hips into her. She cried out his name, her hands gripping his waist, wanting more. He slowly pulled back, pausing before sliding into her again and stilling, his tongue wandering wickedly across her exposed breast. His teeth closed around the nub, tugging gently. She growled with frustration, writhing again, begging for release. He complied, slamming into her with every ounce of the desire coursing through his veins. Her sapphire eyes glowed wildly as she rose to meet him. Benjamin lost the last shred of his control, increasing the rhythm of his hips as they moved together in unison.
She began to tremble beneath him, her fingers gouged into his back, leaving red marks. His name tumbled from her lips, swallowed by his greedy mouth. Once more, he pushed deeply into her, reaching his own climax as she continued to vibrate uncontrollably. He shuddered and collapsed on top of her twitching form.
They lay, entwined, trying to slow their breathing. The blush of passion slowly faded from her alabaster skin as she curled into Benjamin. He dropped a light kiss on her neck, eliciting a tiny shiver from her. She pushed up slightly, resting on her arms and smiled at him.
“You truly are the World’s Most Wicked Rake.”
“I believe you used the word Notorious.” Benjamin corrected her with a smirk.
“So, I did,” Miss Hastings replied, idly drawing a pattern on Benjamin’s chest with her fingertips.
“Samantha.” Benjamin warned her with a playful smile, removing her hand. “There is nothing I would like more than to spend the next twenty-four hours showing you how truly wicked I can be, however…”
“You cannot.” She sighed heavily. “Will you at least stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“That I can do,” Benjamin replied, softly stroking her hair. She purred contentedly, her head resting in the crook of his arm.
He glanced around the room. An old traveling trunk resided at the foot of the bed. Aside from that intrusion, very little of Miss Hastings’ personal belongings permeated his space, yet she had always been there. His eyes flicked to the loose brick in the fireplace. With the pistol and watch both removed from the cubby hole, only one other delicate item remained. Actually, two items, he corrected himself—letters from his past. One letter was the last correspondence he ever received from Miss Hastings and the other, his long belated response.
He peeked down at her. She slept dreamlessly, her face buried in his chest. Slowing sliding out from underneath her, Benjamin rose from the bed, retrieved his pants from the floor, and yanked them over his hips. Padding over to the hearth, he carefully he loosened the brick, pulling it free from the fireplace. Reaching into the cubby, he grasped two letters and extricated them from the recesses of his hiding place. He replaced the brick gently, checking to make sure the noise did not wake Miss Hastings.
Both letters were folded neatly together, their worn creases an indication of the frequency with which he read them. Taking a seat in the armchair next to the dying fire, Benjamin unfolded the two letters. He began with the last letter from Miss Hastings.
Dear Mr. Reid,
I HATE YOU!
P.S. Why did you stop writing me?
Sincerely,
Miss Hastings
The childish writing of a twelve-year-old. Benjamin’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. He expected this particular response once he was forced to cut all communication with her. After ignoring several letters, Miss Hastings finally wrote this last attempt to regain his attention. She did not know at the time Uncle Ephraim and Edward had demanded Benjamin discontinue any future contact with the impressionable little girl.
The letter behind hers—his response to her unanswered missives—was never delivered. Edward ensured that. However, Benjamin continued to hold on to it. So many years it remained hidden, for what purpose he never understood. He perused the letter, debating old wounds.
Dear Miss Hastings,
I am sorry to hear your good opinion of me has changed. I regret I will not have the opportunity to convince you otherwise. However, there are circumstances outside my control which require me to terminate our friendship. Before I never speak with you again, there are three points I wish to make.
First, my correct title is Lord Westwood. It has been my salutation for some time now. Mr. Reid, to whom you consistently write but have never met, is my brother. However, rest assured, I have not shared any of our correspondence with him.
Second, I see no reason why a girl should not learn how to shoot. As you have already mastered the fine art of fencing—a skill from which I still bear the mark—I believe learning to use a pistol would be suitable to your temperament. You may share with Edward my sentiments on the subject.
Third, if I had the ability, I would pursue our acquaintance further. However, I am not your guardian and as such, do not have the right to make that particular judgment. I have enjoyed our discussions and regret they will not continue.
Sincerely,
Lord Westwood
Benjamin folded both pieces of paper again, staring at the fire as it crackled. A bird chirped outside the window, announcing the early morning hour. Rising from the chair, Benjamin stuffed the papers back into the cubby and pressed the brick flush, a shower of dust sprinkling to the ground. Discreetly, Benjamin scraped the brick residue into the fireplace grate with the side of his foot. He took one last look at Miss Hastings’ sleeping figure, silhouetted in the firelight, her delicate skin glowing with bruises.
Franklin would never touch her again.