Chapter Five
Benedict was suffering from the very devil of a headache at the moment. Not to mention he could not seem to eradicate the absurd lust he felt for Miss Isabella Hilgrove. A lust which had only been abetted by the reckless actions of his sister the evening before.
He stared down at the rashers of bacon laid out before him on the sideboard and felt slightly queasy. There were poached eggs also, and kippers as well. To say nothing of hothouse strawberries and pineapples, plump grapes, and succulent citrus from Westmorland House’s very own orangery.
He did not want to eat. All he wanted to do was rail at Callie and bed Miss Hilgrove.
Not necessarily in that order, as it happened. He would certainly prefer to bed his typist first. And often. But that was not going to happen. Because he had honor, and Miss Hilgrove would likely as soon hit him with a fire poker as allow him to so much as kiss her. Last night, he had been tempted.
Sorely tempted.
And then his sister’s untimely interruption had ruined all. Or perhaps, depending upon the manner in which one was regarding the entire affair, Callie had saved him. Either way, since she had been the cause of the initial problem by encouraging Miss Hilgrove to trespass upon his private library, she still owned much of the blame.
After all, even if she had not expected him to be at home, she knew damn well that his private library was out of her reach. He did not want Callie to cross the threshold, let alone Miss Hilgrove…
Damn. That was a lie. He wanted Miss Hilgrove in his private library. And he wanted to debauch her there. It was true. Against the shelves of books lining the walls. He could well imagine taking her there, plunging deep inside her. But that was not meant to be, of course. She was a virgin. A respectable lady. A woman of reason, as she had suggested.
And being reasonable was clearly not a gift of his, for if it were, he would not currently be lusting after the prickly proprietress. Nor would he be envisioning sliding his hands beneath her proper black gown, discovering what hid beneath her prim exterior. And neither would he have almost kissed her last night.
On a stifled groan, he placed some bacon on his plate, then added a portion of luscious fresh fruit as well to balance the decadence of the meal. He needed sustenance, it was true. Sweets and fats were the best ways to combat a stale drunk. He heaped some more fruit on his plate for good measure, and then carried all to his seat, where the Times awaited him just as he preferred.
Keen to distract himself from unwanted thoughts, he read an article about the recent assassination attempt of a Fenian in New York City. But not even descriptions of a six-inch blade slicing through flesh with enough force to nearly sever an arm were sufficient to keep his mind from flitting back to Miss Hilgrove. To wondering what it would have been like to kiss her.
This would not do.
He speared a chunk of pineapple with his fork and turned his attention to reports from Khartoum and the earthquake, which had produced severe damage in Andalusia. He reminded himself that he must divert additional funds to the relief efforts.
“Good morning, Benny,” announced his sister cheerfully as she glided into the breakfast room.
He stood and offered her a formal bow. “My lady.”
He was going to have to convince the hoyden to cease referring to him as Benny, at least before the servants and Miss Hilgrove. Of course, Miss Hilgrove would not long be a part of his day.
Six more days until he won their wager.
Six more days until she walked out of Westmorland House, never to return.
Why did the thought fill him with such a deep pang of regret?
He settled back down and busied himself with the newspaper whilst Callie filled her plate. Thoughts of Miss Hilgrove were temporarily replaced by news concerning the blockade of Formosa’s coast. But by the time he reached a lengthy article concerning German colonial policy, his mind had once more returned to her.
She had smelled so sweetly, and in that bold, vibrant dress, her hair worn softly rather than in the severe knot she ordinarily favored, she had been so feminine and lovely. The scents of orris root and Pears soap would give him an erection from this moment on, he feared.
Fucking hell. What was wrong with him?
His sister seated herself with a happy hum.
“Why the devil are you so cheerful?” he asked.
She paused, appearing startled by his grim query. “And why are you not cheerful, Benny?”
She required a reason? He had legions of them. This particular dialogue could not be conducted with an audience.
He flicked a glance to the servants who attended them. “That will be all, thank you.”
Callie slanted a knowing look in his direction the moment they were alone. “Oh dear. Are you going to take me to task for sending Isabella to your library? I saw you hiding in the shadows when she left the room, you know.”
Isabella.
The mere utterance of her given name should have no effect upon him. And yet, he could not deny the frisson it sent over him. The hunger.
No more of this nonsense, you dolt.
“Perhaps we ought to begin with why you intentionally sent her to my private library,” he countered wryly.
Callie’s expression turned mischievous. “We were looking for a book. I thought perhaps it could be found in your private library. You are so territorial about that bloody chamber, I did not dare venture within myself.”
“That will not wash, my dear.” Grimly, he laid down his fork. “Miss Hilgrove told me she had been sent to your library to fetch a volume of poetry.”
“Of course I told her it was my library. She would not have gone if she supposed an ogre such as you awaited within.”
