Chapter Eighteen
“Well, that certainly did not go as planned.”
Sophie’s assessment of the evening’s events was spoken in her usual, no-nonsense manner. As Alex settled into a comfortable chair in the Stanwycks’ parlor, Sophie poured tea into delicately enameled porcelain cups.
“That may be the understatement of the year,” Alex agreed as she accepted a steaming cup of Earl Grey from Sophie’s outstretched hand.
Seated in a wing chair with his legs stretched out before him, Benedict was uncharacteristically quiet. Had he been as stunned by Harold Stockwell’s drunken confession as the others?
Professor Stockwell’s oldest son had spoken of a tomb. Of a legend. Had Harold set his father on a quest for the map both Benedict and Rooney pursued?
After Harold had blurted out his grief-stricken statement of guilt, Benedict rushed to her side, appearances be damned. As Raymond Stockwell led his brother from the room, seeking to minimize the damage inflicted upon his celebration, Benedict escorted Alex from the ballroom. By the time they made it to the lobby, she was shaking like the leaves of a sapling on a stormy day.
He’d held her hand, his touch tender and unabashedly gentle. He’d soothed her grief and the shock that shook her to the core. The professor’s death was still so very fresh. The brutal wound had not even come close to scabbing over, much less beginning to heal. His son’s uncensored display of grief had been nearly unbearable.
She knew, without doubt, that Harold Stockwell’s words had affected Benedict more than he’d allowed himself to show. Now, he sat stiff-backed and granite-jawed, immersed in his thoughts.
“Nelson’s presence was a bit of a surprise,” Sophie said, taking a sip of tea. “I certainly had not expected to lay eyes on the likes of him.”
Alex turned to Sophie. “I may have encountered the man before tonight, but I couldn’t quite place his face. What do you know about him?”
“He’s suspected to be involved in a smuggling ring operating out of Liverpool,” Gavin Stanwyck spoke up. “A lucrative, dirty business.”
“The chap is a most unsavory character,” Sophie went on. “Nelson owns a legitimate business, a curiosity shop of sorts, but it’s believed to be nothing more than a front for his other ventures. He is suspected of trafficking in stolen gems. But there’s not enough evidence to arrest and detain him.”
“It seems odd that Stockwell would invite a man like that to his celebration.”
Sophie took another sip of tea. “Raymond Stockwell needed money for his theatrical enterprises. Before his death, Sir Lawrence Bond had put up a large sum toward Stockwell’s first drama. Rumor has it the venture was a losing proposition, wiping out Bond’s investment. After that, the showman steered clear of Stockwell’s productions. But someone has financed his plays. Nelson is known to have advanced at least a part of the required funds.”
Benedict turned to Sophie. “What interest could Nelson have in Stockwell’s maudlin tragedies?”
“Now that, Lord Marlsbrook, is anyone’s guess,” Sophie said. “I’ve wondered if Stockwell might have gotten his hands on some evidence, some leverage he’s employed to extort funds from Nelson. But there is no proof.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Benedict commented. “His character is questionable at best.”
“So unlike his father,” Alex added. “His lack of grief is appalling.”
“Everyone mourns in their own way,” Sophie said. “I am curious about the matter of an inheritance, since he’s not the elder brother…he is not the heir.”
“True,” Benedict said. “But Professor Stockwell cared deeply for his son, despite the rift between them. I suspect Raymond will inherit funds in addition to those that pass to the elder son.”
“The agents have not yet uncovered that information.” Stanwyck focused his cool-eyed gaze on Benedict. “Stockwell spoke of a map. If it’s intended to be a secret, it has been poorly kept. What do you know about it?”
Benedict met the inquiry without hesitation. “Stockwell insisted he had given it to Alexandra.”
Alex shot him a little scowl. “As I’ve told you, I have no idea where that map might be.”
Gavin turned to her. “Could the professor have concealed it, perhaps within a book or another document?”
“I suppose it’s possible. But I have no notion of where it might be. Stockwell entrusted me with his research. During my last expedition to Egypt, I met with the professor. He placed his notes and an artifact in my care—the Pharaoh’s Sun.”
“Bloody hell,” Stanwyck muttered.
“The antiquity itself has little value. It’s rather ordinary, really,” she said. “Nothing that would be of interest to a typical thief.”
“Somehow, the Pharaoh’s Sun is connected to the map.” Benedict rubbed his neck as if it ached. “Stockwell was convinced the map would be worthless without it.”
Sophie wandered to the window and peered into the darkness beyond their residence. “It is late, and this has all been quite difficult for Alex.” Turning back to face them, her attention flickered to Benedict. “As well as you, Lord Marlsbrook. It has been a trying time, indeed. Might I suggest we begin a search for the document in the morning?”
“An excellent suggestion,” Benedict agreed.
“Gavin and I would like you both to be our guests tonight. We would sleep far better knowing you were safe.”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary,” Alex replied. “Colton has arranged to have my townhouse under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Her Majesty’s palace could not be under better guard.”
“You are quite certain?” Sophie pressed gently.
“I will be more at ease in my own residence,” she said.
A smile flickered over Sophie’s face. “I suspect you will be searching every nook in your study tonight.”
“Is it so obvious, then?”
“Jennie could not bear any delay in her investigations. I suspect it is the same for you.”
“If I can find the map, we may be able to put this ugly matter to rest,” Alex said. “Once word gets out that we’ve found it, I predict the killer will abandon his mask.”
Alex drummed her nails against the leather-upholstered bench of Benedict’s carriage. He’d insisted on seeing her safely home, though she suspected he wanted to be alone with her. Something was on his mind—something he had no intention of sharing with Stanwyck.
Though he sat mere inches from her within the curtained coach, he’d said little that could not have been shared with his rival, or anyone else for that matter. What was on his mind?
His driver set the carriage moving at a brisk pace to her townhouse and they rattled over the cobbles. Though Benedict had insisted on seeing Alex to her home, he seemed distant. Seeming to know better than to make contact, he made no attempt to touch her. Holding himself rigid, he angled his body away from hers.
She sighed to herself. If she’d been thinking solely with her head, she would consider herself thankful. It was for the best that he held himself under tight rein. Wasn’t it?
Pity she could not convince herself to appreciate his restraint. The longing in her heart overruled rational thought, and she sought the comfort of his skin touching hers. Pulling in a breath, she inched closer and bridged the invisible chasm that separated them.
With a smile she hoped appeared subtle and alluring rather than shy and nervous, she reached for him. “A penny for your thoughts,” she said, closing her lace-gloved fingers over his hand.
For several heartbeats, he regarded her silently. He raked a hand through his hair. “If I speak the truth, I am sure you will regret the inquiry.”
“This night was far more difficult than I’d envisioned. I would appreciate your honesty.”
He leaned closer, cupping a hand against her cheek. The texture of his slightly roughened fingers against her skin set her tingling from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. “When I saw you across the ballroom tonight, it was all I could do to keep my distance.”
“If I did not know better, I would think you were jealous.”
“Jealousy is a shallow, transient emotion. What I am experiencing is far more complicated than that.” His mouth brushed hers. “I want you, Alexandra. More than I thought possible.”
“I do not doubt that, Benedict.” She leaned against him, drinking in his warmth. “The truth of that statement was quite evident last night.”
“I won’t deny that I want you in my bed. You would see through such a bold lie in a heartbeat. Besides, I’ve no reason to pretend I’m not drawn to you. You are beautiful…every man in that ballroom would’ve given his last shilling for a chance with you.” Each word was uttered in a low, husky rasp. “But…there’s more.”
A thrill rippled through her, deep-seated and primal. For so long, she’d been content with the excitement of a successful expedition and her research. She’d been happy enough. But there’d been a void in her life she had never acknowledged. She’d never stopped wanting Benedict. Never stopped needing him. Now, touching him, feeling his gentle breath against her cheek, her thirst for him intensified. She craved his touch. His scent. His kiss. His poignant confession spurred an elemental satisfaction. Knowing how very much he wanted her, just as she yearned for him, filled her heart.
“I crave you, Alexandra.” His arms loosely caged her against him, seductive and bold. Yet, he allowed her the choice to stay within his embrace, or free herself from his hold.
He ducked his head, capturing her mouth in a kiss. He was temptation personified. The sweet pressure of his lips against hers was far too delicious to forgo, no matter how vigorously her good sense protested.
“Stay with me tonight,” he breathed against her mouth. “Tell me you’ll be mine until the dawn.”
How she wanted to be with him. In his arms. In his bed. Not only for this one night. But until the end of her days.
One large, powerful hand skimmed the length of her bodice, tempting her fully clothed flesh with the promise of his touch. With a profound tenderness, he cupped her breast against his palm, teasing the bud of her nipple to full, aching awareness.
“I never should have let you go.” His mouth traced a sensuous path along the curve of her throat. “I was a fool. Say you’ll stay with me.”
She gave her head a desperate little shake. “I must return home. The guards will be expecting me. Matthew and Jennie will be frantic with worry.”
He pulled her onto his lap. Through the layers of skirts, the ridge of his erection pressed into her, bold and demanding. Burying her face against the curve of his shoulder, she sighed with longing she had no desire to hide. She wanted him. Why should she pretend she did not?
With the curtains drawn on the carriage windows, they enjoyed a modicum of privacy. The physical evidence of his desire pulsed against her bottom. She nestled against him, savoring every moment in his arms.
“I do want to be with you,” she whispered. “Shall we be bold and exceedingly scandalous?”
“What did you have in mind?” Carnal interest flavored his gravel-edged tones.
“A bit of midnight research,” she murmured. “I propose a study of the science of pleasure.”
He hitched a brow and grinned, sly and knowing. “Most intriguing. You are a fascinating woman.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I will never get enough of you, Alexandra. On that, you have my vow.”
…
Reclining against the settee in Alexandra’s study, Benedict drank in her fragrance. Had she always preferred that light scent, the essence of lilies? As a younger man, he’d hungered for her beautiful face and the feel of her soft curves against his hardness. But now, he craved her smile and her laugh and that delicate aroma perfuming her hair and her skin. How had he gotten so damned lucky that he’d been granted a second chance to sample her kiss?
For so very long, during those lonely years far from England—far from Alexandra—Benedict had harbored sultry, carnal fantasies, images of Alexandra’s sensuous beauty that would put a sheik’s exotic harem to shame. But nothing his mind had ever conjured could compare to the very real, very warm, indescribably tempting woman in his arms.
Pressing her to his body, he kissed her. God above, her kiss was a rare delicacy. It was as if he were tasting her mouth for the very first time. Soon, he’d take her to his home. And he’d make love to her all night long. He’d carry her into his bedchamber, over the plush carpet to the cool, smooth sheets of his large and sturdy mahogany bed.
But for now, he’d content himself with a taste of her love. On her terms.
Her back arched, and she canted her hips, intensifying the contact. No shyness there. No hint of reservation. Only passion, tightly restrained. Male hunger coursed through every cell of his body. He’d wanted her before, all those years ago. But it had never been like this. Something had changed between them.
Her desire was as alluring as a potent aphrodisiac.
Despite her passionate response to his touch, Alex was not quite an innocent. Not a virgin—he’d made love to her when they were younger. Those heady nights had been furtive and desperate but passionate, the sounds of her pleasure and heat of her desire indelibly etched in his memory. But she was not a sophisticate. Someday, he’d teach her all the pleasures they might bring one another.
But not yet.
Tonight, she deserved tenderness. Patience. An unhurried exploration of their bodies.
This night was for her.
Lightly, he tugged at the pins holding her hair upswept, casting them aside until her lustrous curls tumbled free. He threaded his fingers through the locks, so very much like spun silk against his skin.
When she looked at him like that, he could not resist her. Even if every shred of good sense he still possessed insisted he walk away before this went too far.
He was not a man of honor. They both knew that. He was in no position to take a wife—with a wife came a family and responsibilities he could ill afford. Perhaps someday he’d contemplate settling down to a domestic existence, but for now, he could not sacrifice his freedom.
Not for any woman, no matter how desperately he wanted her.
Not even for Alexandra.
He dragged in a breath. The inhalation sounded harsh and raw to his ears. She shifted in his arms, her eyes opening, and she studied him, as if trying to discern his thoughts.
Damnation, this was a bloody inconvenient time for his conscience to rear its head. Usually, it lurked well below the surface of his life, posing no interference to his existence.
But this was different.
Alexandra deserved his honesty. He might not be able to give her anything else. But damned if she didn’t deserve the truth.
“You know I care for you,” he began.
“I suspected as much,” she said with a shy smile.
“I care very deeply for you, Alexandra. If I were a man in want of a wife, I would be down on one knee, begging you to choose me.”
She pursed her lips into a coral-tinged bow, considering his words. A tiny ridge formed between her brows. When she responded, her voice was soft and pensive, free of any hint of guile.
“But we know better than to believe you have any need for a wife, don’t we?”
“I cannot take any woman as my wife… The arrangement would prove horribly unfair to her.”
“I see,” she said, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “Tell me, Benedict, why do you feel compelled to say this? Do you believe I want promises from you? Vows of fidelity and devotion?”
“If circumstances were different…if I were looking to establish a country home with a family by the hearth—”
Squirming a bit on his lap, she looped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his throat. Her lips moved to claim his.
“Hush, darling,” she murmured. “I do not expect promises. I do not expect tomorrow. All I want is tonight.”
Deep within his chest, his heart throbbed with longing. God in heaven, if she’d wanted to disarm him, she could not have devised a better way. The way she’d uttered the words, without a trace of guile, made her all the more tempting. He pulled in a breath, immersing himself in her scent.
He wanted her so badly. Damnable shame he did not deserve her.
“I want to feel your skin against mine,” she whispered against his lips. “All of you, Benedict. Without reservation. Without restraint.”
Her words were like an incantation, freeing him from years of exile. “Darling, are you sure?”
“I have never been more certain of anything in my life.” A delectable little smile played on her lips. “Tonight, all I want is you.”