Benedic stared back at her, reading the bewilderment on her face. What the hell had he gotten into? Why her, of all people?
He nudged her back against the carved rosewood headboard, his gray eyes pensive. God, what a coil. Now that she knew he was alive, he would be forced to trust her, a complication that could ruin his plans. If she were a man, he would take care of her without a qualm, and in not a very nice way, either.
But Lady Charlotte Brumidge, Henry's young wildling sister. A woman a little too bright and beautiful for her own good. The lady appeared to have inherited the family penchant for passion and scandal. Henry would calmly tear him apart with his bare hands if Benedic harmed her, even though in the past he had counted Henry as a friend. In fact, when their two younger brothers Bernard and Sebastian had been killed together in Nepal, Benedic had begun corresponding with Henry over their mutual suspicions about the ambush. Yes, Henry was a man to be trusted, not crossed.
But more to the point was whether he could trust Henry's sister. Could the nicely built young lady keep a secret? Could she possibly become his ally? He studied her in silence, suddenly noticing the provocative French corset that sat between them on the bed.
A devious contraption designed to emphasize a lush body that in his hasty appraisal appeared to need a little enhancement. An ill-timed distraction if ever Benedic had seen or needed one. Why the devil had such a decent young lady worn it? he wondered in fascination, welcoming the diversion from the dark turn of his previous thoughts.
"This is yours?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated, a dark curl falling forward against her face. He wondered if she was blushing. His own body felt feverish enough without imagining how she would look in this provocative costume.
"I asked you if this was yours."
"What—oh, oh, well, it was sent to me."
"And you've worn it?"
"Umm. I think maybe once. Or maybe not."
He raised his gaze, searching her face for something he had not expected. What had he overheard from the closet? Was Henry's little sister involved in a love affair? Not that he gave a damn one way or the other. But it hadn't been so long ago that he might have thrown himself into a contest for her favor.
His own tempestuous affairs and conquests seemed to belong to another life. Revenge alone had fed him recently. He had thought little about romance and sexual pleasure in the past few weeks.
The reminder of such sweet pursuits came back to him in a rush. Oh, yes, he was indeed alive, perhaps glad for now to be free of the perils and poignancy of a love affair. Under different circumstances, in fact, he might have even enjoyed bringing this young lady to his bed.
But not now. She was as white as chalk, understandably so. There was nothing he could say to reassure her. In the past few weeks Benedic had realized he was capable of acts that previously would have disgusted him. He hoped to God he would not end up hurting her. It was certain that his involvement in her life would not be an enhancement. Not since the gentleman he had once been was gone.
He had no idea himself what he was going to do. He was a man the world believed safely buried in a grave. Perhaps his "murder" had been the death of his conscience, too.
"Where were you tonight?" he asked quietly, curiosity getting the better of him. Warmth and feminine wiles had always intrigued him. "Or is that a secret, too?" he inquired dryly.
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