Page 57 of A Provincial Peer

A month ago, Caroline would have crumbled at such unkind words. Today, she had uncovered a new bravery. She’d stood up to Mrs. Flockton. But at what cost? After so blatantly offending Lady Farwell’s guest, she would likely never again be welcome at Farwell Hall. Her heart ached, and another tear trickled down her cheek.

Above her head, the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs echoed through the small cupboard. If Stokes was returning to the kitchen, the occupants of the blue salon must have decided to ignore her outburst and take their tea. Had Benedict stayed in an effort to smooth things over?

The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs. The door into the passage opened. She stood perfectly still and watched the thin sliver of light beneath the cupboard door. Dark shoes, smudges against a white strip, came and went as the footsteps moved away from the staircase toward the kitchen. A man’s voice, muffled by the cupboard door and passage beyond, was followed by a female voice. But before Caroline could contemplate relaxing her tense position, the footsteps were coming back. They stopped, the shoes blocking a portion of the strip of light beneath the door two heartbeats before the handle turned and the door swung open.

Caroline blinked, her heart sinking as the tall, dark-haired gentleman before her came into focus. Not Stokes but Benedict.

How did she even begin to explain her presence in the cleaning cupboard? “I didn’t . . .” She shook her head. There was nothing she could say that would make this any better.

“Confound it all, Caroline.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You are the—” He swallowed, and Caroline felt another tear fall. She had let him down.

“Forgive me.” Her voice broke.

With a groan, he stepped into the cupboard. She stumbled back a half step, hitting one of the coal scuttles with her heel. It clanged. She winced at the pain and the sound. But there was nowhere to go. He filled the space, and then his arms were around her, drawing her nearer.

“Before we talk of forgiveness, may I finish what I started to say?” he asked.

Her pulse quickened. What was he doing? If they were to be found like this, the embarrassment of her actions in the blue salon would fade to nothing in comparison.

“If you must,” she said.

“I must.” His hands moved up her arms, along her shoulders, and followed the curvature of her neck until they were cupped around her damp face. “Caroline, you are the bravest, kindest, most beautiful woman, and—”

“How can you say such a thing when I—”

Benedict’s thumb slid over her mouth. “You said I could finish what I was going to say.”

She nodded mutely, but he did not fully remove his thumb. Instead, he ran it gently across her lips, sending a quiver racing down her spine.

“And yet,” he continued, “you are hiding in the cleaning cupboard under the stairs, asking for forgiveness.” He sighed. “I may need to add humble to the aforementioned list.”

“Benedict.” Her voice broke. “Please do not tease me. My heart cannot take it. I was dreadfully rude to your mother and her guest. She will never wish to speak to me again.”

“First,” he said, “you were not dreadfully rude. That label belongs—in its entirety—to the self-centered Mrs. Mary Flockton. Second, if you believe my mother would condemn you for the masterful way you set Mrs. Flockton in her place, I fear you’d better brace yourself for disappointment. I fully expect you to receive Mother’s deepest thanks for what you did. Mrs. Flockton and her daughters arrived uninvited one day after my parents’ return to Farwell Hall. The visit was inconsiderate, at best, and her cruel treatment of you pushed it well beyond that. Third, if by some unimaginable reason, my mother chooses to never speak to you again, she will, by default, never speak to her oldest son again either.”

“You cannot say such a thing.”

“I most certainly can.” He was so close that he could surely feel the pounding of her heart. She met his eyes, and even the dim lighting could not hide the sincerity shining there. “If I were forced to choose between the two of you, I would choose you, Caroline.”

A lump formed in her throat. Fred had chosen his life at sea over her. Benedict’s words were a salve to wounds she’d long since given up any hope of healing. But this could not be. She was not the carefree young lady she’d once been.

“Please, Benedict,” she whispered. “Do not torture me further. You are Lord Benning. One day, you shall be an earl. I am the daughter of a country vicar—a scarred, virtually penniless widow with a child.”

“How could I possibly dwell on the fading scars on your skin when your blue eyes and smile are so captivating?” His thumb had moved from her lips to wipe the moisture off her cheeks. “If you were anyone but the daughter of our local vicar, who enjoys being on the farm and racing boats on the river as much now as she did as a child, I would not have spent the most enjoyable days I’ve had in years these past weeks. If you were not recently widowed and the caring mother of one of the dearest children I know, you may never have developed the strength and selflessness you can now claim. Indeed, without those very aspects of your life, I likely would not have fallen so fully in love with you.”

Caroline’s heart stuttered. “You . . . you have fallen in love with me?”

“Irretrievably.” He studied her in the half light, the sincerity in his dark eyes now coupled with gentleness. “I would rather stand in the cramped cleaning closet with you than be elsewhere with anyone else.”

Caroline’s heart swelled, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “It is the very best hiding place in the whole house.”

A matching smile appeared on Benedict’s face. “It is, indeed.” He shifted slightly, one hand leaving her face long enough to reach for the door handle behind him. In one swift movement, he pulled the door closed. Instantly, darkness engulfed them.

“Benedict, what are you doing?” she gasped.

He did not immediately reply. Instead, his hand found the back of her head. Carefully, he tilted her head upward, and she felt his position change, sensed his lips hovering above hers. “Kissing you,” he whispered. “Without any risk of an audience.” And then, before she could say another word, his lips met hers.

He kissed her softly, the tenderness of his touch causing her to ache for more. Unbidden, her arms lifted. They snaked around his neck, her fingers finding his hair. She buried them in the thick, silky strands, and with a faint moan, he slid one hand onto the small of her back and pressed her against his chest. She went willingly. His kiss deepened, and all sense of time and space departed.