Some Like to Shock. Кэрол Мортимер
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his dark and probing one. ‘I cannot, will not, talk of his cruelties to me.’
Benedict’s humour faded completely in the face of Genevieve’s obvious distress. He had not known Josiah Forster personally—that gentleman had been a contemporary of Benedict’s father rather than himself—but he had never heard any gossip in regard to cruelty by the other gentleman. Which was not to say it had not existed; the ton had a way of keeping the worst of its excesses behind closed doors. Certainly, keeping Genevieve’s beauty and vivacity of nature incarcerated in the country for so many years could be called a sin in itself.
Benedict frowned down at her bent head, the hood of her cloak throwing her face into shadow. ‘Name one thing which for you represents this “adventure and fun” you speak of.’
She raised long lashes, her eyes now twin pools of hurt. ‘So that you might laugh or ridicule me?’
‘I had it more in mind to gauge whether or not I might see fit into escorting you in the endeavour of your choice,’ Benedict conceded drily.
Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Benedict sighed, sure that he was making a mistake by indulging Genevieve in this way, but finding himself totally unable to refuse the appeal of the unhappiness he had brought to those deep-blue eyes by speaking of her dead husband.
Genevieve looked up searchingly into those dark satanic features, but could find no amusement or mockery in his eyes. Indeed, Benedict Lucas wore an expression of resignation rather than amusement. ‘I have always longed to visit Vauxhall Gardens in the evening in the company of a gentleman,’ she answered huskily.
His dark brows rose. ‘You are assuming, if I were to agree to take you there, that I will behave as that gentleman?’
She looked up at him uncertainly. ‘Are you saying you would not?’
He breathed deeply. ‘No. Although I do wonder how it is you have survived these past six weeks of the Season without falling into some sort of scandal or another!’
‘Possibly because, until these past few days or so, I have had Sophia and Pandora to advise me when someone or something is not quite … suitable,’ she allowed ruefully.
And, as Benedict was only too aware, this past week had seen both her close friends becoming entangled in relationships with his own friends Dante and Devil.
Genevieve looked up at him almost shyly. ‘Perhaps I am now to have a fallen angel to watch over me?’
‘It will be for one evening only,’ Benedict warned firmly, not sure he particularly cared for being referred to as a ‘fallen angel’. ‘I do not have the time, nor the inclination, to be continually available to rescue you from your own lack of insight into a gentleman’s true nature.’
‘But you will spare me this one evening?’
Benedict found himself unable to resist the excitement he could see glowing in those deep-blue eyes. At her thoughts of being allowed to visit Vauxhall Gardens, not at spending the evening with him specifically, he reminded himself firmly. ‘If that is what you wish, yes.’
‘Oh, it is!’ She smiled up at him. ‘Oh, thank you, Benedict. What shall I wear, do you think? Perhaps—’
‘Did you listen to anything I just said, Genevieve?’ Benedict made no effort to descend the steps to where their carriages now waited, the one to return Genevieve to the safety of her home, and the other to take Benedict to his club where he could overindulge in the strong liquor he currently felt so desperately in need of. ‘I will agree to escort you to Vauxhall Gardens, but only on the understanding that in future you will think more before embarking on this quest for “fun and adventure”.’
‘Could we both wear masks, do you think, so that we are not recognised? It would be so much more fun!’
‘Genevieve!’ he thundered impatiently.
‘Yes, Benedict?’ She looked up at him with guileless blue eyes.
He gave a pained frown. This woman was a troublesome minx and he rued the day that he had made the effort and stirred himself to speak with her.
Benedict also had reason to question how it was that he had so completely lost sight of his original plans to use this woman’s company as his foil in society. He now appeared to be going where Genevieve led rather than the other way about! His mouth thinned. ‘We will visit Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening, if you are available?’
‘I will ensure that I am.’ She nodded.
‘We will stroll about the grounds and arbours for an hour or so, before returning.’
‘What of the masks, Benedict?’
He breathed his impatience with her single-mindedness. ‘We will wear masks if that is what you wish.’
‘Oh, it is!’ She glowed up at him.
He looked down at her reprovingly. ‘I should warn you, there is no guarantee that the masks will conceal our true identity.’
She arched her brows. ‘And is there someone in your life at present who might find reason to … object to your being recognised out and about with me?’
Benedict raised his brows. ‘Would it matter to you if there were?’
Would it matter to her? Yes, Genevieve believed that it would. She had absolutely no doubts that Benedict had saved her from Sandhurst’s clutches this evening, and that, despite what he had said to the contrary, he would, if necessary, rescue her again if the need should ever arise. Obviously, in view of this kindness, Genevieve did not wish to be the cause of any discomfort in Benedict’s own personal life.
She looked up at Benedict through thick lashes. ‘Is there someone who might object?’
He glowered down at her. ‘As it happens, no, there is not. Which is not to say,’ he continued firmly as she would have spoken, ‘that I intend to babysit you for more than a single evening.’
Genevieve nodded. ‘Tomorrow evening.’
‘Tomorrow evening,’ he echoed wearily. ‘Now allow me to see you safely delivered to your carriage so that I might be on my way in mine.’
‘Are you going anywhere fun?’
She seemed to be obsessed with that word, Benedict acknowledged frowningly. Possibly because fun was something which had been sadly missing from her own life to date? Indeed, Genevieve behaved more like a newly come-out débutante than a widowed duchess of five and twenty. Because of Josiah Forster’s cruel treatment of her? Benedict feared so.
But despite her husband’s cruelties, Genevieve still possessed a naïveté in regard to men that was wholly appealing. His expression softened as they reached Genevieve’s carriage and he turned to tap her playfully on the end of her enchanting, slightly uptilted nose. ‘Nowhere that you might follow, little one.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Are you going to a house of the demi-monde? Or perhaps a brothel? I have long—’
‘Please do not say you have “always longed to visit” one of those two establishments, too!’ Benedict groaned in protest.
‘No, of course I have not.’ She looked up at him reprovingly. ‘That would be most improper. I have merely wondered …’
‘I am not on my way to either a brothel or a house of the demi-monde, Genevieve.’ Benedict scowled down at her. ‘Neither would I discuss it with you if I were.’ He gave a disgusted shake of his head at the impropriety of this conversation. ‘Indeed, most ladies of my acquaintance would scream in shock at the mere mention of either establishment in their presence, let alone choose to discuss such things themselves.’
‘Are you implying that I am not a lady?’
No, Benedict was not saying that at all. How could he, when it was perfectly obvious that Genevieve was very