The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere by Anna Bradley

Chapter Eighteen

When Benedict woke the following day, his neck was stiff and his back cramped from sleeping on the chair all night. If it hadn’t been for that—well, that and the Duke of bloody Kenilworth trying to kill them—it would have been the most pleasurable morning of his life.

He opened his eyes to the soft sound of Georgiana’s deep, even breaths, and raised himself up onto his elbow, hoping to steal a peek at her face before she awoke. He was treated to a delicious glimpse of her long eyelashes resting on her flushed cheeks, and her loose, mahogany-brown waves spread in wild disarray across the pillow.

Benedict let out a sigh and flopped dramatically onto his back, like every lovelorn fool before him. It wasn’t the first morning he’d woken with a lovely lady in his bedchamber, but it was the first time his chest pinched with longing and despair as it did now.

He’d never felt about any of the others the way he did about Georgiana Harley.

She wasn’t a distraction, nor was his attraction to her a passing thing, sure to pall with familiarity. When they’d paused to look down on Cliveden House yesterday, he’d pictured Haslemere House in his head. He’d imagined bringing Georgiana there with him, leading her from room to room, and showing her all the private corners and nooks he’d taken such delight in when he’d wandered those halls as a child.

That had never happened before. He’d never even considered bringing a lady to Haslemere House, but kept his liaisons confined to the London townhouse. Now here he was, wishing he could fling open the front doors of his most sacred place and reveal everything about himself to her.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Or about her. He couldn’t have her. Even if they did find Clara Beauchamp and learned the duke’s secret, there was no way of knowing how the discovery would affect Freddy and Jane. As long as they remained in England, the duke had complete control over them. If the only way to keep them out of Kenilworth’s clutches was to leave England, then that’s what he would do.

North America perhaps, or—

“Benedict?”

He turned his head, warmth flooding through him at her soft murmur, his Christian name on her lips. “I’m here.”

The coverlet rustled as she shifted in the bed. “What time is it?”

He fumbled for his pocket watch and flipped open the lid. “Early still. Go back to sleep, sweet—go back to sleep, Georg—er, Miss Harley.”

She let out a little sigh that went straight to his cock. “It’s not yet calling hours?”

Benedict chuckled. “Are we observing calling hours? Given we’re sneaking through the forest to pay a secret visit to Draven, I thought we might dispense with the proprieties.”

“Well, let’s see.” Georgiana rolled from her back to her side to face him. “We’ve kidnapped a duchess and her son, stolen a duke’s carriage, and you’ve assaulted his coachman and footmen. So yes, I suppose there’s no point in fussing over a call.”

“No, especially since we may be forced to break down Draven’s door to gain admittance to him. Something tells me he won’t be pleased to find us on his doorstep. If he’s even conscious, that is.”

“Poor Lord Draven.” She was quiet for a moment. “What if he isn’t conscious, or is, but sends us away without speaking to us? I suppose we’ll have to quiz the servants then, though I don’t know how far that will get us, as most of them have only been in Lord Draven’s service since the attack.”

“Not far. We’ll just have to hope Draven has regained consciousness and is willing to talk to us. I’ve no doubt he knows Kenilworth’s secrets. If we want to find them out, we have to move quickly, before Kenilworth has a chance to organize his men.” Benedict heaved himself up from the chair, wincing as he stretched his cramped muscles, then padded across the cold flagstone floors to the door of the cottage. “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, her stomach let out an insistent growl that made him grin, and her cheeks flush. “Why, are you preparing breakfast, my lord?”

“Certainly not. I haven’t the first idea how to do so. I did, however, have the foresight to request provisions from Madame Célestine.” He disappeared through the front door, and returned a few moments later bearing a large hamper. “Here we are.”

Georgiana blinked at it, then struggled upright in the bed. “My goodness. I’m impressed, my lord.”

“I don’t fancy starving in the woods.” Benedict was busy unloading the hamper as he spoke, but he watched from the corner of his eye as Georgiana swung her legs over the side of the bed and approached the table. She’d slept in her dress again the previous night, and her long hair was tumbling over her shoulders in a ripple of unruly waves. “What shall I serve you?”

“Hmmm. If you’re offering to serve me my breakfast in bed, Lord Haslemere, perhaps I’ll return to it.”

A shy smile crossed her delectable lips, and Benedict was assailed with a vivid image of the two of them lying in bed together while he fed her the choicest morsels from the hamper. It was too tempting to resist. “If you wish me to serve you in bed, princess, I will. What will you have first?”

“Hmm. Fresh strawberries? Warm scones with clotted cream? Hot tea, or…no, I think I prefer chocolate.” Her lips curved in a teasing smile. “Surely you have all that there, my lord?”

Benedict swallowed, and returned to rummaging through the hamper to keep himself from staring at her mouth. “No, but I did ask for…ah, here it is. I believe I owe you a jar of preserves, Miss Harley?” He held the jar aloft triumphantly, quite pleased with himself, but to his surprise she looked taken aback. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m just…amazed you thought of the debacle with the preserves.” She flushed, then looked away.

“How could I not? My valet was in despair over the sticky mess it left on my evening shoes. He grumbles every time he looks at them.” Benedict spoke lightly, but when Georgiana still avoided his gaze, he lowered the jar of preserves to the table with a defeated thud. “I don’t understand, Georgiana. I thought you’d be pleased, but you seem upset.”

“No, no. That is, I am pleased. Indeed, it’s a kind gesture on your part. I just didn’t think…”

“Didn’t think I was kind?” He gave her a half smile even as he hoped that wasn’t what she’d been about to say. He had dozens of flaws, but he’d never been accused of unkindness before.

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I just never imagined you’d paid much mind to the…preserves.”

She said “preserves,” but it wasn’t what she meant. This wasn’t about the bloody preserves. What she meant was she hadn’t imagined he’d paid much mind to her. How incredible she should think so, when he’d thought of nothing but her since he’d returned to London—

No, that wasn’t true. His preoccupation with Georgiana Harley had started before that.

She’d haunted him since he’d first laid eyes on her.

The truth was, it had started in Maiden Lane, when she’d emerged from the darkness like an avenging angel, her tongue sharpened to a fine edge and wearing that damned brown cloak and the ridiculous hat she used to hide under. Only it hadn’t been enough, that hat. He’d seen beyond her disguise, had noticed the vulnerable curve of her lower lip, the slight shake of her hands when she’d delivered him a set-down he wouldn’t soon forget.

He’d seen her. Once he had, he couldn’t unsee her, and now…now he could see nothing but her. The smooth, creamy skin that made his mouth water to kiss, to taste, and the rich brown tresses his fingertips itched to caress. Her slender curves, so sweet, that fit into his hands so perfectly, as if she were made just for him, and her hazel eyes, that flicker of temper in their depths he’d grown to crave, replaced now with a softness he’d never seen in them before.

Benedict cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’m fond of…preserves. Perhaps you didn’t realize how fond I am of…preserves.”

Christ, was he talking to her about preserves?

If Georgiana thought it odd, she didn’t say so. “Oh, yes. Preserves are…” Her teeth sank into her lower lip. “Irresistible. The sweetness, you know, and the, ah…the pleasing thickness on one’s tongue.”

Her husky murmur, the unbearable eroticism of hearing the word tongue on her lips—Benedict’s eyes slid closed as he prayed for strength. When he opened them again, her gaze had dropped to his mouth.

A groan tore from his chest, but he didn’t kiss her lips. He wanted to—God, how he wanted to—but they were alone in a cottage half-buried among the trees. It was a great deal of privacy for an amorous gentleman like himself. One kiss would lead to another, then another, and then…

No. He wouldn’t think about it.

He leaned toward her, and pressed as chaste a kiss as he could manage on her forehead. Then he stepped back, and busied himself with unpacking the remainder of their provisions from the hamper. “Since we both dote on preserves, shall we have some?”

* * * *

Georgiana had expected they’d leave for Lord Draven’s estate as soon as they’d finished their breakfast, but Benedict kept them in the cottage until the bright morning light had waned, so there was less of a chance they’d be detected moving through the forest.

There wasn’t much to do in the gamekeeper’s cottage while they waited for the light to change. Georgiana felt inexplicably shy around Benedict, and he didn’t seem to be much more comfortable than she was. She did notice him staring at her a good deal, but each time their gazes chanced to meet his darted away, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

After their encounter with Kenilworth’s scoundrels, she was as jumpy as a cat at the thought of the duke’s men pouncing on them when they left the cottage, but she was relieved when they were on their way at last, riding the two horses that had been hitched to Madame Célestine’s curricle. Either Benedict’s cautiousness had paid off, or luck was on their side at last, but they made it through the forest without encountering anyone.

But as soon as she got her first glimpse at Lord Draven’s estate, her heart sank. “It looks as if the house is closed.” There wasn’t a soul to be seen, not even a stray gardener, and all the shutters were drawn tight. “It’s sealed up like a tomb.”

“There has to be someone here. Remember, Draven was being taken to his country estate the day we spoke to Mrs. Bury.” Benedict’s brow furrowed as he frowned up at the house. “No, this way, Georgiana,” he added when she set her horse’s head in the direction of the main entrance. “We’ll go in the back way.”

Georgiana followed him along the western edge of the tree line to the stables, which were clean and well-provisioned, but deserted. Benedict led their horses to two empty stalls, then they made their way across the back drive on foot to a door she suspected must lead into the kitchen. Benedict strode up to it and gave it a firm knock, as if he traipsed through the woods to this door every day, and hadn’t any doubt he’d be welcome.

It was some time before anyone answered the knock, long enough so Georgiana’s heart had begun to sink again, but when Benedict knocked a second time, she heard footsteps approach, and a moment later a stout, dark-haired woman with a kindly face answered the door. Her tidy gray dress and the ring of keys at her waist marked her as the housekeeper.

Her eyebrows flew up when she saw them. “My goodness. Where did you two come from?”

“Lord Haslemere, to see Lord Draven.” Benedict stepped up to the door, every inch the distinguished earl who couldn’t imagine he’d be turned away.

“Oh, my lord, I beg your pardon. We’ve been here a week, and not set eyes on a single soul aside from the staff. It startled me, it did, finding you here on the doorstep.” The woman’s hands fluttered nervously. “But I’m afraid Lord Draven isn’t well, and isn’t able to see visitors.”

Benedict raised a haughty eyebrow. “I’m the Earl of Haslemere, and an acquaintance of Lord Draven’s. I’m aware his lordship has had an…unfortunate accident. I’ve come to see how I might help him.”

The woman dropped into a hasty curtsy. “That’s kind of you, my lord, but there’s no help for poor Lord Draven. Not now, leastways, and perhaps not ever again.”

An anxious lump rose in Georgiana’s throat, and she pressed closer to the door. “Perhaps not ever again? Is…is the earl not expected to recover?”

The housekeeper gave a sad shake of her head. “I can’t say for sure, Lady Haslemere.”

Georgiana glanced at Benedict and found him staring back at her with the oddest look on his face, but he didn’t correct the woman, and by the time Georgiana gathered her wits to do so, the moment had passed.

“His poor lordship hasn’t regained consciousness since he was brought here from London several days ago,” the housekeeper went on, oblivious to the sudden tension. “He just lies in that bed, he does, as still as death. The doctor says his injury is severe, and he may not wake up again.”

Without thinking, Georgiana took the woman’s hand. “We’re very sorry to hear of Lord Draven’s misfortune, Mrs….”

“Mrs. Ellery, Lord Draven’s housekeeper. Cook too, if truth be told, but we do what we must, don’t we, my lady? It’s no fuss, really, what with there being just the four of us here aside from Lord Draven.” She leaned forward confidingly. “All of Lord Draven’s previous servants scattered to the winds when his lordship settled in London, you understand.”

Georgiana did understand—far more than Mrs. Ellery imagined she did. “We’ve just come from a long ride, Mrs. Ellery. Might we come inside for a cup of tea?”

Mrs. Ellery blinked. “I beg your pardon, Lady Haslemere. You must think me an utter savage. Please do come inside.”

“Thank you.” Benedict took Georgiana’s arm, and the two of them followed Mrs. Ellery into the kitchen.

“Oh, dear. I didn’t think…the drawing room fire hasn’t been laid. There isn’t much call for it, there being no visitors—”

“That’s perfectly all right, Mrs. Ellery. Lord Haslemere and I are happy to sit in the kitchen.” Georgiana pulled out a chair and seated herself at the massive table in the center of the room. “Aren’t we, my lord?”

“Whatever suits you, my dear.” Benedict gave her a sly wink, then seated himself beside her. “Please don’t go to any trouble on our account, Mrs. Ellery.”

Mrs. Ellery was pouring hot water into the teapot and arranging some biscuits and tea things on a tray. “It’s no trouble, my lord, and you must have your tea, mustn’t you?” She bustled over, placed the tray on the table, and helped them each to a cup of tea.

“You mentioned there are four of you here, Mrs. Ellery.” Georgiana accepted the teacup Mrs. Ellery passed her and helped herself to several lumps of sugar.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s just me and two housemaids, and I don’t mind telling you, my lady, we lose track of each other in this big, grand house.”

“It looks as if someone’s taking care of the stables, as well. I hope you don’t mind that we left our horses in two of the stalls, Mrs. Ellery,” Benedict said.

“Not at all, my lord. Peter, the stable boy, will see to them. He’s but a young one, Peter, but he’s a good lad, and a hard worker. Has a way with the horses, too.” Mrs. Ellery sipped at her tea. “He’s from High Wycombe, is Peter. His family has lived here for years.”

Georgiana glanced at Benedict. “You don’t hail from Oxfordshire yourself, Mrs. Ellery?”

“Oh, heavens no, my lady. I’m here from London. Mrs. Bury, Lord Draven’s London housekeeper, hired me and Martha—she’s one of the housemaids—in London. High Wycombe’s a pretty place, Lady Haslemere, but a bit quiet for my tastes.”

Georgiana gave Mrs. Ellery a polite nod, but her heart was sinking once again. Mrs. Ellery and Martha weren’t familiar with the neighborhood, and wouldn’t be able to tell them anything about Lord Draven, Kenilworth, Clara Beauchamp, or the duel. That left Peter, and the other housemaid.

“Is the other housemaid from High Wycombe?” Benedict asked, stirring his tea with a distracted air, as if he were merely making conversation and the answer was of little consequence to him.

If Mrs. Ellery thought their curiosity strange, she didn’t remark on it. “Rachel? Well, I don’t rightly know where Rachel hails from, now you ask, my lord. She’s…oh, here she is now. Is it time to try Lord Draven’s broth again already, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Georgiana turned to find a housemaid who looked to be about four or five years older than she was standing in the doorway. She was rather pretty, with a smooth, pale face and dark hair tucked under a lace cap.

“Lord and Lady Haslemere were just asking where you’re from, Rachel. Not Oxfordshire, is it?” Mrs. Ellery bustled about the kitchen, preparing another tray with a bowl of broth.

“No, ma’am. Herefordshire. Thank you, ma’am,” she added when Mrs. Ellery handed her the tray, then she turned and left the kitchen without another word.

“She doesn’t talk much, that one,” Mrs. Ellery said, once the housemaid was gone. “But she’s a good girl, for all that, and an excellent nurse to Lord Draven. She takes such good care of his poor lordship there’s nothing left for Martha or me to do for him.”

Georgiana and Benedict chatted with Mrs. Ellery for a while as they finished their tea, then Georgiana rose from the table. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Ellery. We’ll be on our way now, and let you get back to your work.”

Benedict rose, as well. “Our best hopes for Lord Draven’s recovery, Mrs. Ellery.”

Mrs. Ellery’s face fell at the reminder of Lord Draven’s pitiable state. “You’re very kind, my lord. That’s the best we can do for him now. Hope, and pray.”

“Indeed,” Georgiana murmured. “No, no need to escort us to the front door, Mrs. Ellery. We’ll just nip out the back.”

“Hope, pray, and catch the scoundrels who did this to him and make them pay for it,” Benedict muttered as they bid Mrs. Ellery a final farewell and made their way back across the carriage drive toward the stables. “Despicable villains, beating a man so brutally.”

“Not as despicable as whoever ordered them to do it.” Georgiana thought of Kenilworth’s icy gray eyes and a shudder ran over her.

They entered the stables then, and found a lad of twelve or thirteen years of age brushing one of Madame Célestine’s horses. The other horse had already been rubbed down and brushed and was in a clean stall, munching contentedly on some hay.

“Peter, is it? Good job with the horses, lad.” Benedict strode forward and dropped a coin into the young man’s hand.

Peter’s eyes widened at the guinea resting on his palm. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Mrs. Ellery mentioned you’re from High Wycombe, Peter. Do you know Lord Draven’s family at all?” Benedict asked, stroking an affectionate hand down the horse’s nose.

“Not much, my lord. I don’t remember the earl as was, and this earl,” Peter jerked his head toward the house. “Don’t remember him much, either. He doesn’t come here.”

“You couldn’t have been much more than a child the last time Lord Draven was here,” Benedict said, more to himself than Peter. “Did you ever hear any talk in the neighborhood about Lord Draven fighting a duel?”

“What, ye mean the duel with the duke?” Duels were rare enough, and a duel between a duke and their lordly neighbor a thrilling occurrence in a small village like High Wycombe. Peter brightened considerably at mention of it. “Aye, I heard of it. People say as it was over a young lady.”

“Yes, I believe it was. Do you know what occasioned the disagreement?”

“The way I heard it, both the duke and Lord Draven was in love with the lady. That’s what duels are always about, innit? Nobles fighting over women or money? Begging yer pardon, my lord,” Peter added, flushing.

Georgiana stepped forward as Benedict waved the apology off. “What about the Beauchamp family, Peter? They lived in this neighborhood too, didn’t they?”

“Aye, my lady, but the Beauchamps are all dead and gone now.”

“Do you remember them at all? There was a daughter in the family—Clara Beauchamp. Do you remember her?”

Peter shook his head. “Nay, except I know she were lost somehow, and never found, and the family right sorrowful about it, my lady. My grandmother was housekeeper for the Beauchamps back then, and she used to say as Mrs. Beauchamp died of grief over it.”

“Your grandmother? Does your grandmother still live in High Wycombe, Peter?” Georgiana clasped her hands together, sending up a quick prayer that Peter’s grandmother was still alive, and had an excellent memory.

“Aye, my lady. She’s got a little cottage down Crescent Road way.”

Georgiana looked at Benedict, hope surging in her chest. “Do you suppose she’d mind if we paid a call on her?”

Peter gave them a doubtful look, as if he couldn’t imagine what a lord and lady would want with his grandmother, but then he shrugged, and his face split in a boyish grin. “Well now, I think she’d like that just fine, my lady. I can tell ye where she lives, if ye like.”

“We would, Peter.” Benedict dug into his coat pocket and produced another coin. “We’d like it very much.”