An English Lord's Love Affair

Chapter 20.1.4. Most Primal, Intimate Way

   Charlotte squeezed between the line of people outside the refreshment room and forced herself to walk as calmly as possible toward the cloakroom. A darkened passageway loomed to her left, quiet, deserted, and suddenly Benedic was grasping her hand, leading her away from the murmur of voices behind them. Almost at the same moment she saw Aleister emerge from the cloakroom and blend back into the crowd.

   The reappearance of the duke's heir did not go unnoticed. Lord Overton was, after all, the plum prize of the ball, encircled by females young and old, who pleaded for him to describe his adventures.

   Benedic grinned. "A pity we cannot watch him fend off all the she-wolves."

   Charlotte gave him a playful poke. "Spoken as one who has been in his position?"

   He flashed a grin in anwer, and before she knew it, she was being drawn into a small dark room that had clearly been used for storage by the look of the furniture covered in musty sheets.

   "What about my aunt and uncle?" she asked, staring back at the door.

   "They shall be well distracted by Aleister, I assure you."

   "Is he as good at distraction as you are?"

   He laughed. "Perhaps you're the best judge of that."

   "Have you been in here before, Benedic?" she demanded.

   "Er, yes. As a matter of fact, I have."

   "With another woman?"

   He chuckled, pulling off his mask and hat. "Hiding from a woman as I recall. These annual balls can be murder on a bachelor, I tell you."

   "Murder." Her eyes darkened in distress. "Do you have to use that word?"

   "A poor choice, I agree," he said, turning back toward her.

   She stared up at him, not even attempting to hide how she felt. It was all she could do not to give in to the temptation to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. She was only responding to the possessive heat in his eyes, the memory of the night they had made love. She needed to be passionate with him again tonight, to show him how she felt. Of all men she had known, he was the only one who understood and accepted her for who she really was, who fanned the fire in her heart instead of trying to dampen it.

   "Waiting for you has put me in the worst mood, Benedic."

   "Perhaps one day soon I can make it all worthwhile."

   She saw the sparkle of mocking approval in his gaze. "Don't make fun of me," she retorted. "The horrible fact is that . .  . I need you." She covered her face in her hands. "Oh, how awful to admit it."

   For a moment he did not move. She thought, half hoped, that perhaps she had spoken those three humiliating words in such a low voice that he might not have heard them.

   But he had. She lowered her hands. She could tell by the muscle that tightened in his masculine jaw, the flare of answering fire in his eyes as he gazed down at her. He bowed before her, his tricorn hat in his hands.

   "When this is over," he said quietly, "you shall not be able to get rid of me."

   He had already taken the precaution of locking the door, and now he wedged an old oak settle up against it to ensure their privacy.

   She stood in silence as his dark muscular figure moved with purpose around the confines space. His lithe elegance stole her breath away. She was embarrassed by how the sight of him weakened her, made her ache to know him in the most primal, intimate way she could imagine. Her breast felt swollen, waiting for his touch. Her body craved him, needed him so badly that she began to shake.

   When he held out his arms to her, she was afraid her knees would fold beneath her. How could she bear letting him leave her again? Masculinity dominated every feature of his face, his hard angular jaw, the stark symmetry of his cheekbones, his firm mouth. The hot yearning in his eyes set all her senses on fire.

   "I don't have much time," he said. "If Edward doesn't show up soon, I shall have to return to the house. It's past midnight."

   Her emotions, so long held in check, threatened to spill over. "Are you going to leave a glass slipper on the stairs for me to remember you by?"

   "Charlotte, please." He stroked the short curls that framed her face.

   "I shan't cry over your grave again if you get yourself murdered, Benedic. I mourned you when I thought you had been killed the first time," she said. "I cried myself to sleep over you, and I don't know why."

   "I'm sorry I made you cry," he said, drawing her against him. "I'll make it up to tou."

   Their eyes met and held.

   "I want you, Benedic."

   "But I didn't bring you here to—"

   "Please," she whispered. "Hold me."