His Silken Seduction Page 5

  Ben tried to lift her into his arms, to carry her across to her bed and lay her down between cool sheets. He needed to show her how much he valued her gift.

  She shook her head and pushed away his arm. “You are not strong enough yet. You will reopen your wound.” She closed the connecting door and turned the key. Then, with graceful strides, she crossed to the main door and locked it also. She was smiling serenely when she turned back to him. For a moment, she leaned her shoulders against the wood, stretching her spine so that her breasts rose invitingly. “NO one will disturb us.” She crossed to the bed and threw back the covers. The gauzy nightgown slid to the floor, unheeded.

  Ben’s mouth was dry. He could hardly believe that his wonderful girl, his amazing Suzanne, was offering herself to him. But she was. She was stretched across the bed and beckoning him to join her.

  He lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms for a long, passionate kiss. Desire was driving him. He felt no pain at all. His injured shoulder flexed as well as it had ever done. He swept his right hand down her back and cupped her bottom. Then he trailed his fingers delicately up the back of her thigh. She shivered deliciously. He deepened the kiss yet more, glorying in her uninhibited response. She was ready for him. She must be.

  He had to be sure. He touched a finger to her inner thigh and let it drift upwards to the core of her. She moaned in response and opened sweetly to his touch. She was more than ready. But, driven though he was, he knew he must go slowly. She was his more than willing partner in this seduction, but it was still her first time. It had to be perfect.

  He pushed her gently on to her back and nuzzled his way down from her mouth to her breasts, and then to her belly and the tender skin of her inner thighs. The first touch of his tongue at the core of her made her gasp and buck with shock. “Hush, my sweet Suzanne,” he crooned, without lifting his head. “Lie still and let me give you pleasure. Feel the waves.”

  The waves soon became so strong that Suzanne thought she would drown in the wonder of it. Her whole being was focused on that single point, where Benn’ s tongue was creating such unimagined, piercing pleasure. All at once, it became too much. Her whole body spasmed. She heard herself crying out his name.

  A moment later he entered her body, in one long, sustained thrust. She thought she felt a hesitation, but then it was over and he was inside her, fully sheathed. She had wanted this. And it was everything she had desired.

  Then he kissed her lips, slowly and sweetly, and began to move. She moaned into his mouth. It felt...she could not describe how it felt. The waves were coming again, washing over her and carrying her even higher than before, as she matched her rhythm to his and strained towards fulfilment. When the climax came, it robbed her of her senses. She saw the bright colours of the rainbow. And then darkness.

  When she opened her eyes, the light was almost gone. She must have fainted. No wonder, she thought, remembering the unbelievable pleasure Benn had given her.

  But where was he?

  She raised her head from the pillow. He was no longer in her bed. Nor was he anywhere in the room. She sat up with a jerk. It was only then that she saw what he had done. He had dressed her in her own nightgown. And then he had left her alone.

  What kind of man would do such a thing?

  She flung herself out of bed and crossed to the landing door. It was still locked, with the key on the inside. He must have left by the door to the silk store. She would go after him and…

  The connecting door was locked and the key was gone. On the floor, in a small neat pile, lay her gown and underthings, folded carefully over the mutilated halves of her corset.

  Ben could not stop his frenzied pacing. If he stopped moving, his anger would consume him. What had possessed him to do such a terrible thing?

  He had taken Suzanne’s innocence. It did not matter that she had encouraged him to seduce her. The responsibility was his alone. It was hardly surprising if, over the weeks when she had been nursing him, she had come to feel more for him than she ought, for she was a passionate woman. He should have seen the dangers and dealt with them. But he had failed to do so. In the end, the fault was his. He was experienced; she was not. She could not have known what would happen.

  He would have to leave soon. What would happen to her then? If anyone discovered what they had done, she would be disgraced, perhaps even cast out of her home. And what if there were to be a child?

  He raked his fingers through his hair. It pulled on the barely healed scar of his head wound, but he ignored it. It would be a judgment on him if it began to bleed again. Suzanne’s virgin blood was staining her sheets. What was a little of his own tainted blood by comparison?

  He would leave her all the money he had. Yes, that was the answer. It would at least ensure her comfort.

  She…

  No, it was impossible. She would probably throw his money back in his face. With reason. She had given herself to him in all sweetness. If he offered money, he would be treating her like a whore. She did not deserve that. She deserved to be cherished, by a man who loved and honoured her, a man who would take her to wife. Could Ben find an honest tradesman who would marry her and give her back her standing in bourgeois society?

  He began to plan. He would need money to buy such a man...ready money now, and the promise of more to follow, once Ben was back in England. But how was Ben to seek out a bridegroom, here in a country that was probably on the brink of war? Ben could not pass for a Frenchman. He could not move around the taverns and coffee houses, bribing the local soaks with drink in hopes of gleaning the information he needed.

  Suzanne’s husband could not be just anyone. He must be honest and trustworthy. He must be willing to honour Suzanne as his wife, even if she proved to be with child by another man.

  A chilling thought shivered through him. What if this Frenchman were cruel? What if he were to beat her?

  Ben saw a vision of Suzanne cowering in the dark in a corner of the silk store, her beautiful face bruised and her limbs trembling in anticipation of beatings still to come. He would not let it happen. He would kill the man first!

  Fool! There could be no such man. Suzanne should not be allowed to suffer for Ben’s misdeed. If he loved her, he should be prepared to make sacrifices in order to protect her.

  He stopped in his tracks. The truth, when it dawned, was so very simple. Suzanne had to have a husband who loved her. And Ben would be that husband. In spite of all his toplofty lectures to himself, in spite of Jack’s warning about falling into parson’s mousetrap with a woman who would never be received by Ben’s grandfather, Ben had done precisely what he had told himself to avoid. He had fallen in love with his brave and beautiful bourgeoisie.

  He loved her. And he gloried in it.

  If she would have him, he would marry her tomorrow. His starchy old grandfather would learn to accept her, or lose his grandson altogether. As for the rest of the ton, Ben would put a bullet in any man who dared to insult Lord Dexter’s wife!

  Chapter Seven

  It was well after supper time when Ben made his way through the silk store to Suzanne’s bedchamber. He had taken great care to put everything to rights. The bolts of silk and velvet had been rewound and restored to the shelves. He could not be absolutely sure that they were all in their assigned places, but he had done his best. This was Suzanne’s domain. If anything was amiss, she would put it to rights before anyone else was allowed to set foot inside.

  But first he had to restore the keys he had stolen when he left her to wake alone. He had used her own keys to lock her precious silk store against her. He must go to her and beg her pardon. Until that confession was made, he could never offer her his love or his name.

  At least this time he was decently clad, in shirt and breeches. Someone...Suzanne?...had washed the blood out of his shirt and carefully mended the torn cloth.

  He took one last look round the silk store and put his hand to the door leading to her bedchamber. Earlier, he had turned the
key in the lock and left it there. Even if she had a spare, she would not have been able to use it. The door to the landing was fastened in the same way. As was the outer door to his own bedchamber. His little fortress was impregnable, until he chose to open the gate.

  He tapped gently on the communicating door. There was no answer and no sound from Suzanne’s chamber. She was probably still downstairs, seeing to her interminable chores. He would open the door and leave her keys on the dressing table where she was bound to notice them.

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  She was there! She was sitting demurely on the end of the bed, fully dressed in a gown made high to the neck, and carefully weaving new laces through the eyelets of her damaged corset.

  Ben’s heart sank to his boots, but he could not turn back. “Suzanne,” he said softly. When she did not look up, he said her name again. “Suzanne, I have come to return the keys I took, and to ask your pardon.”

  She turned to him then. She looked very pale, and quite implacable. “My pardon? For what, may I ask?”

  “For everything. I wish to make amends, if you will permit. I took advantage of…”

  “You took advantage of my good nature to play a silly practical joke in my silk store. I hope you have restored it to order, sir?”

  This was going to be even more difficult than Ben had feared. “Suzanne, I need to…”

  She glared at him with the pride of a duchess. “I am Mademoiselle Grolier to you, sir.”

  Difficulties, Ben decided on the spot, were invented in order to be overcome. “Mademoiselle Grolier, I have put the store to rights as best I can. Will it please you to come and inspect it?” He stood back, holding the door for her.

  She sighed. “Very well.” She put the corset aside and rose. “We need to resolve matters quickly, I agree. Now that you are so much recovered, you will wish to be on your way back to England. At first light.” She stalked into the store and began to rearrange the fabrics, tutting crossly as she worked.

  Ben stood back, trying not to laugh. She was like a bad-tempered hen, fluffing out its feathers over its brood, turning round and round, but never quite satisfied that everything was exactly as it was meant to be.

  She came to the end of the last shelf of fabrics, close by the main door. As she reached out to unlock it, Ben caught her wrist and spun her round to face him. “Your precious silks are safe, my love. But can you forgive me for everything else?”

  “There is nothing else,” she retorted. “Why would I need...?” She broke off and stared at him, her eyes wide. Her body began to sag against the door. Ben had to catch her in his arms to stop her from falling. “What did you call me?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “I called you ‘my love’ which is, to my mind, a great deal preferable to ‘Mademoiselle Grolier.’ You do agree, I hope?” He gave her no chance to answer. He pulled her hard against his body and began to kiss her as if both their lives depended on it. By the time he was satisfied with her response, they were both gasping for breath and Suzanne’s carefully pinned hair had tumbled down on to her shoulders. He lifted one of her curls and began to wind it round his finger. “I take it that is a ‘yes,’ love?”

  “I...well, I cannot exactly object to your using such a term of endearment, I suppose. I…”

  “You misunderstand me. And wilfully, I do believe.” He laughed down into her eyes. “What I need from you, Mademoiselle Grolier, my sweet love, is your agreement to marry me. As soon as it can be arranged.”

  “Marry you?” Her voice cracked. “How can I marry you? I don’t even know your name!”

  His name, it appeared, really was Ben. He had told her that, but nothing else. It was too dangerous for her to learn more, he said, while the house was being watched. He might be arrested at any time. What she did not know, she could not betray. Besides, ignorance would help to keep her safe. She could swear, on the family bible if need be, that his true identity was a mystery to her.

  His attitude irked her. Marriage, she responded crisply, was out of the question. She was not about to abandon her home and her family for a nameless English spy, no matter how much he pleaded. Spies, she maintained, were men of the lowest class, even if some of them could almost pass for gentlemen.

  That comment made Ben laugh a great deal, but he refused to explain why. He simply took her in his arms and kissed her until her head was spinning and her bones were beginning to melt. Then he led her back into her bedchamber, sat her down on her bed and left.

  She listened with the greatest care. There was no scrape of a key turning in the lock. Even without trying the connecting door, she understood that the way to his bed was open to her, if she chose to take it.

  She could not decide. She hesitated, standing by the door. What if…?

  The noise was loud enough to penetrate the outside walls plus two communicating doors. What on earth could be happening? Suzanne flung open her door to the silk store at the same time as Ben opened his own.

  “Quick! Come and see!” He pulled her across to the window, though she noted he did not to allow himself to be seen. There was a great deal of commotion below. The watcher was back, but now he seemed to be issuing orders to a party of soldiers, some carrying flambeaux. They had dragged another silk merchant from his house, just three doors away. The merchant’s wife stood in the street, wringing her hands and begging for mercy for her man. Her pleas made no difference. In a matter of minutes, he was manacled and led away. The watcher, looking very pleased with himself, followed in the wake of the soldiers.

  “Do we dare to hope that the danger is over?” Suzanne asked.

  A strong arm stole round her waist. “I think, my love, that we may indeed dare to hope. For many things.”

  Guillaume was so delighted with the latest developments that he was unusually talkative the following morning when Suzanne sent him upstairs with Ben’s hot water. “That old fool was bound to be arrested. Half of Lyons knew where his sympathies lav.”

  “Really? When we first saw that spy out there, you all thought he was watching this house. All of a sudden, you’re remarkably well informed.”

  The old man grinned. “The way to be well informed, sir, is to frequent certain taverns in this town. Normally I have too many chores to see to in this house, but the mistress said it was vital to the cause. She even gave me silver so that I could buy a drink here and there, where it might help to loosen tongues. It worked, too, though it took hours that I could not really spare.”

  She said we would not be disturbed Ben marvelled at Suzanne’s resourcefulness. A spying mission for Guillaume and a quiet house for Suzanne’s tryst. Extremely neat. His love was worthy of a place in the Aikenhead Honours.

  Ben decided to voice the question that was preying on his mind. “Mademoiselle Suzanne normally brings up our morning coffee long before this. I hope last night’s disturbance has not upset her?”

  Guillaume shook his head. “She’s sitting in her office, as right as nine pence. I have no doubt she’ll be here as soon as she’s read her letter.”

  “What letter?” Ben thundered.

  Guillaume did not know the identity of the sender. All he could say was that the handwriting was not Marguerite’s.

  Ben hastily wiped off the last of the shaving soap. The letter might bring vital intelligence. He must risk going downstairs, even though he might be seen.

  Just as he reached the hallway, Suzanne came flying out into the hall. “Oh, Ben, I have such wonderful news. Marguerite and Jacques are married!” She waved her letter. “I don’t understand it all, but that part is beyond doubt. Jacques has taken Marguerite to his family in England.”

  Ben twitched the letter out of her fingers and began to read. It was from the curé in Normandy, who wrote in a cryptic style much like Marguerite’s. Marguerite had married her betrothed, he said. Did that mean Jack? Ben supposed it must do. There was a paragraph of pious advice to Suzanne about never allowing her heart to rule her head. That was wise, but
a little late now.

  The final paragraph was very puzzling. Ben scanned it again. “What on earth does it mean? How can your mama’s assessment of Marguerite’s betrothed have been exactly right? And why should that make him a most suitable husband?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand that, either. Perhaps I should ask Mama? She will have to be told about Marguerite’s marriage, in any case. She will be cross, I dare say, that Jacques did not ask her permission.”

  “From Normandy?”

  “It is the way things have always been done in our family. Mama thinks she is still entitled to the privileges of rank, even though we…” She stopped short and let out a long, shuddering breath. Her eyes grew round. “I remember now. What Mama said. But surely…? No, it must have been. It was the only time she saw them together.”

  Ben took her by the shoulders, as if he were about to shake her. “Suzanne, what on earth are you talking about? You make no sense at all.”

  She smiled beatifically. “Tell me, Ben,” she began innocently, “is it true that your Jack is the son of a duke?”

  Ben continued stroking the tender skin at the side of his wife’s breast. He seemed intent on rousing her passion yet again. He had cause, she decided. It was, after all, their wedding night.

  The new Lady Dexter was not about to succumb without a fight. She tiptoed her fingers lazily across the tops of Ben’s thighs, venturing occasionally on to the lower part of his belly. Never any lower. That would come later, but a little more wifely torture...in the shape of the things she would not do...was a necessary preliminary. He was beginning to writhe against the sheets. It was most gratifying.

  “You deceived me.” His voice began normally, but ended in a gasp when Suzanne ran the edge of her fingernail down his hard length.

  “I did not, sir! You simply assumed I was a merchant’s daughter. If you had asked me outright, I would have told you my mama is the Marquise de Jerbeaux.” She paused, reflecting on that. “Probably. Besides, my deception is no worse than yours.” This time, she circled his flesh with her fingers and squeezed gently, provoking another gasp of pleasure. “I am an aristocrat’s daughter. You are a viscount’s heir. We love each other to distraction. So I think we are equal, do not you?”