Benedic closed the lead of the trunk. He suppressed a feverish shiver; he suspected there was an infection poisoning his body. He needed Charlotte's cooperation for a short time, it was true. He required her discretion if his plans were to succeed, and had he been given his pick of partners in revenge, this rule-breaking exile would not have been his first choice.
Was she even capable of discretion?
Could he trust her at all?
It had been a mistake to mention her brother earlier. She had latched onto his suspicions all too quickly for him to be able to deceive her. Yes, Benedic had evidence that Bernard and his own younger brother had been the victims of a heartless plot. No, he did not accept the Honourable East India Company's tidy version of the attack by Gurkha rebels. Could he prove his suspicion? Not quite yet.
Damnation, what was he to do with her?
He rose slowly to his feet, aware that she was watching him warily, as one would a sounded animal. He did not blame her. In the past month he had become more beast than man, behaving on sheer instinct. He took hold of his hands and felt her eyes lift to his. Her fingers were so much smaller than his own, yet warm and strong as she resisted his touch.
"Look at me." The protector he had once been would have cherished her innocent fire. The devil he had become wanted to stoke her flames until she burned. "Can I trust you?" he asked, his fingers tightening as if to counteract the tension he felt in her hands.
"I don't know."
It was an honest answer, one that filled him with regret. If he could not depend on her, then all hoped for would turn to ashes. He would have to find a way to ensure her cooperation until the time came for him to reveal his killer. He might have to take her into hiding until this was finished. Not a pleasant prospect at all, for either of them.
"Can I not win your friendship?" he asked solemnly.
She was cool, this blue-eyed Brumidge in her butterfly robe. "Breaking into my room, tossing me on the bed, and blackmailing me is hardly a prelude to friendship."
"Think of it as one neighbor helping another."
"I want you to tell me what you have learned about Bernard."
He wavered. To reveal what he'd learned might be the undoing of all his plotting. It would also involve her in more danger than she deserved. "Not yet. Don't tempt me to reveal facts that might destroy my chance to avenge him."
She nodded, apparently understanding more than he wanted her to. "You've said enough for me to know I want to help you."
"The only way to help me is to do as I ask."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"I'm not sure you can," he said. He bent his head toward hers, studying her face in the dark. "No wonder," he murmured.
"No wonder?" she whispered, as if she sensed where his thoughts were leading.
"No wonder that your baron risked so much to kiss you in the park. I have not forgotten the day we met."
He saw the flicker of response in her eyes, and that was all the permission he needed.
His lips skimmed the rim of her ear as his arms closed around her waist. He waited for a reaction. Instead, she went still. The scent of woman stole through his defenses. A month ago his life had taken a hideous turn. Someone close to him had betrayed him. Destroyed his ability to trust. And now he faced an entanglement with the sister of a nobleman he respected, a young lady headed for heartbreak if ever he had met one.
God forbid that he contribute to her self-destruction. But how could it prove otherwise? Charlotte stirred in him the ashes of hope if not innocence; her vitality and idealism were traits he once might have shared. He tasted on her lips the poignant qualities of life that he had lost forever. Did she believe in love? In happily ever after? How many stolen kisses and sweet lies whispered in the dark, how many midnight trysts would it take to unmask her illusions?
It was not his place to destroy the dreams society encouraged. Nor did he desire to. Perhaps she would prove more fortunate than he had been. Perhaps she would prove more fortunate than he had been. Perhaps her family's famous charm would protect her.
"You're kissing me again," she whispered.
"Yes. I can't help myself." He felt a shiver ripple through her.
"I thought you were going to kill me."
"It doesn't look like it, does it?" he murmured against her mouth.
"I knew you would not . . . could not hurt me."
"I wish I could hold myself in such esteem."
She pressed her hands hands against his chest, not struggling, not acquiescing either. His mind registered a shock of pleasure, pain, but even then he desired her above all else. Her warmth, the subtle fragrance of soap on her skin. He ached to draw her essence into his bones. She was a balm, a refuge, more than mere sexual enticement. Soft and comforting in a world of darkness and betrayals. She reminded him of how his life had been, how he wanted it to be again.
He deepened the kiss, robbing her any chance to resist, of breath. This definitely was not her first romantic interlude, but she was no courtesan either, and he might have been chasing one of the butterflies on her robe for all the hope of a future between them. Yet her body felt so warm and yielding, so lush and inviting, that Benedic craved closer contact. He wanted to peel off her clothes and draw her pink flesh against him. He wanted to beg her to be his, to ease his needs.
It was almost too much for him. His starved senses could not ward off the attack. He hadn't allowed himself to feel anything but unadulterated hatred for almost a month. The silly robe she wore accentuated her breasts and bottom in such a provocative way that her sensual appeal alone could have brought him back from the dead.
From the corner of his eye he noticed a blur of movement outside. It might have been a shadow, a cat on the limb of the tree, anything. But he wasn't about to take any chances. He caught her by her elbows and pulled her straight down on the floor, imprisoning her between his legs.
Charlotte jerked her head back in alarm. "What are you doing now?" she demanded.
"The window. I didn't want anyone to see us."
She shifted, drawing her robe together where it had opened to reveal the pearlescent skin of her inner thigh. The muscles in his groin tightened with unbearable tension. She fit so snugly between his legs that he had to draw several breaths to subdue his arousal. He had not touched a woman in weeks, and this one stirred a sexual hunger in him he wasn't sure he could handle.
He didn't know what to make of her, or himself for that matter. He wasn't about to admit that kissing her had left him a hot and explosive as a sex-starved adolescent. But, dammit, she was right. His entire body felt sick and weak. In the past few days he'd been pushing himself to the limit, not sleeping at night so he could watch what happened at his house.
If Charlotte Brumidge was as clever as she was attractive, he might have escaped one hazard only to find himself in a worse predicament.
*A/N: Please be my patron in Patre*n and read chapters in advance. My other works are also available there. Or if you just want to support me. Please look for creator Zetar086.
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