Page 69 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
Benedict stifled the groan that threatened to break free, but he couldn’t prevent his shiver of desire as he gazed into those sleepy hazel eyes. He itched to pull the pins from her hair until it spread like a fan over him, and he might run his fingers through it, and bring a long lock of those silken threads to his lips.
Neither of them said a word as their gazes held. Benedict expected her to squirm away from him at every moment—to leap from the bed and bolt to the other side of the room, far enough away from him that he couldn’t touch her.
God in heaven, don’t touch her.
But it was too late. His fingers were already inching closer to her, and then the next thing he knew he was sliding his knuckles down the soft, warm skin of her cheek, his gaze holding hers.
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t shriek or slap his hand, and she didn’t attack him with a pillow. Benedict curved his fingers under her chin and studied her expression, searching for any sign of distress or hesitation, but all he found was those hazel eyes glittering from betweenheavy eyelids.
He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip. “Come here, princess.”
Her eyes darkened as she did as he bid her, sliding up the bed until her hair caressed his shoulder, and he felt her gentle exhalations against his lips. “Like this?” she asked, her soft, husky voice dragging goosebumps to the surface of his skin.
“Closer,” he whispered, toying with a lock of her hair, unable to stop the smile that curved his lips when her eyes widened. Not his wicked, seductive smile, but a real one that started deep down in his chest. “Closer, Georgiana,” he crooned, cupping the back of her head and urging her closer, until her lips hovered over his.
“I can’t get any closer thanthis, my lord.”
Benedict was dying to prove her wrong. “Oh, but you can, sweetheart.”
Then he was kissing her, gently at first, the merest brush of his mouth over hers, his breath catching at the softness he found there, and then a little deeper, a groan on his lips as he caught a hint of damp heat on the tip of his tongue. Dear God, she tasted so good he couldn’t stop himself from delving deeper into her temping mouth. He teased his tongue lightly against the seam of her lips, another groan tearing from him as she parted so sweetly under the tender pressure.
Benedict struggled to remember they were in a dim bedchamber, in a large, soft bed with no one here to stop them, no one to recall him to his senses before he took it too far. Already their bodies were pressing eagerly together, her arms wrapping around his neck as his tongue became bolder still, dancing along the inside of her bottom lip, and there was nowhere to go from here but deeper,harder, wetter…
All the reasons Benedict needed to let her go drifted from his mind as his lips clung desperately to hers. God, it was so easy, here in this moment, in this quiet bedchamber to forget everything but her taste, her scent, her soft whimpers in his ears.
She was intoxicating, and not in a way Benedict had ever known before. Georgiana was nothing like Lady Wylde, or Madame Célestine, or any of his other lovers. Holding her felt different and new, profound in a way he didn’t yet understand. He wanted her, yes—his stiff cock was proof enough of that—but what he felt for her wasn’t simple lust.
If it had been, surely holding her like this wouldn’t cause this strange tightness in his chest, or the quick, pounding beat of his heart. Lust wouldn’t make him want to pull her closer, hold her tighter, and not only because he desired her, but because he…wantedto protect her?
As soon as the thought wound its way through his consciousness, the truth of it overwhelmed him, and with it, a wildsurge of fear.
Jane, and Freddy…he hadn’t protectedthem. He hadn’t seen who—what—Kenilworth really was. He’d tied his sister’s and nephew’s fate to a man who treated them as if they were his possessions, no more important than his fine, bottle-green carriages or his gold-tippedwalking stick.
Because ofhim, Jane was at the mercy of a monster, and Freddy…
Kenilworth hadput his handson Freddy. He’d blackened his eye, cut open his cheek. A man like that, a man who’d hurt a child—would he hesitate to do the same to his wife?
Benedict already knew the answer. The only reason Jane’s eye wasn’t as black as Freddy’s was because Kenilworth could control her easily by threatening their son. Jane would do whatever Kenilworth said to protect those she loved,includinghim.
Now Benedict had involved Georgiana in this mess, called her to Kenilworth’s attention. Jesus, what had he been thinking, allowing her to come with him on this mad chase to Oxfordshire, in search of God knew what? The duke’s buried secrets and sins? For Clara Beauchamp, a woman who seemed to have somehow dropped off the face of the earth?
Benedict had long since grown accustomed to having his own way. He’d been born to doting parents, the heir to an enormous fortune. Thetonhad turned a blind eye to his worst behavior because of his wealth, with predictable results. He’d been indulged so often and for so long he’d become selfish with others, and worthless to himself.
But this?No. He’d failed Jane and Freddy, but he still had a chance to do the right thing with Georgiana. She’d fight him, but he had to send her back to Lady Clifford, whereshe’d be safe.
He didn’t realize his entire body had gone rigid until Georgiana stilled on top of him. “Benedict?”
His gaze moved between her eyes and her lips, his stomach aching with want. His worries about Kenilworth, his concern for Georgiana’s safety—all of it threatened to disappear like so many seeds in the wind as long as he was touching her and inhaling her scent with every breath.
So, Benedict did the only thing he could think to do. He leapt from the bed, out of Georgiana’s arms and raced to the window, as far away from her as possible, praying the throb of desire in his belly would subside before he gave into his weakness, andmade her his.
* * * *
Georgiana fell face first into the bed as the warm body stretched underneath hers vanished, leaving her with nothing but a mouthful of sheets.
“This isn’t…we can’t…we have a problem.”
Georgiana rolled over, gaping at Benedict. He’d retreated to the window and was looking down into the courtyard below, his muscular arms braced on the windowsill and his back tense.
