With twisting guilt, he recalled the crazed instant when he’d lost his mind. When she’d pressed herself against him, giving and soft, her sweetness flooding his senses. When he’d pulled her closer instead of pushing her away…
I deserve to be drawn and quartered.
His sins were already too many: he was a murderer, a recovering opium addict, and an all-around bastard. He would not add seducer of an innocent to the list.
Furthermore, he would not betray his friendship with Livy’s father, the Duke of Strathaven. For years, Ben had kept company with selfish scoundrels like himself. Ben’s destructive tendencies had led to his estrangement from his remaining family member, his sister Beatrice. While he’d worked to make amends, she remained wary of him, and he did not blame her.
Some sins were unforgivable.
Strathaven was the rare male friend Ben had who he actually respected. The duke and, indeed, the whole Strathaven family, had offered Ben steadfast support. The thought of dishonoring their kindness churned Ben’s insides with self-loathing.
And hurting Livy? His tenacious little queen who had reminded him how to smile, to laugh, to see the promise of life rather than its worst?
I would rather tear my heart out than harm a single hair on her head, he thought starkly.
“Your mind is a restless ocean this eve,” Chen said.
Ben dragged his attention to Chen, who was drinking tea and watching him.
“I cannot seem to control my thoughts,” Ben admitted.
“The harder one tries, the less control one has.” Chen set his cup down on the table without making a sound. “The goal, therefore, is not to try.”
This sort of paradoxical saying was typical fare for the shifu. At first, Ben had thought Chen’s principles were nonsensical and wholly un-English. Over time, however, he had begun to see the wisdom and usefulness of the other’s philosophy.
Unlike the quacks Ben had previously consulted for his opium problem, Chen had not prescribed the taking of waters, bedrest, or bloodletting. He’d introduced Ben to a new set of skills. Ben had learned to sit and contemplate the workings of his mind, a surprisingly daunting task (who knew that being still could be so damned difficult?). He’d built his stamina and strength through physical and mental exercises. He’d even temporarily removed meat from his diet…which had led him to consider terminating the treatment.
Yet his instincts had urged him to continue. Had known this was his last hope. Having hit despair’s rocky bottom, he’d had nothing left to lose. He had been a wreck, his drinking and opium use raging beyond his control. His entire existence had been focused not on chasing the pleasure of the drug but on avoiding its consuming anguish.
More and more and more. For less, less, less.
The more he took, the less of a man he became. Less of a human. Less of a soul.
He had dabbled with opium for years. Arabella had introduced it to him…the way she had introduced many damaging things into their marriage. The familiar tide of regret and remorse rose.
“Tossed on the waves once more.” Chen raised his brows. “What is this storm that has taken hold of your mind?”
Ben set his cup down with a clink. By nature, he was a private man, disinclined to trust. Yet Chen had been present with him as he had sweated, hallucinated, raged, and wept through his withdrawal. Chen had also helped Ben to recognize that the demon of craving would always have a corner of his mind. It was ready to pounce at any opportunity. And nothing gave it more power than anger, shame, and secrets…things Ben possessed in spades.
Expelling a breath, he said, “It is a girl.”
“Ah,” Chen said.
Ben heard a hint of disapproval in the other’s tone. During the recovery period, Chen recommended abstinence from what he called “vices” (and what Ben had thought of as a good time). On the list were activities such as sexual congress, drinking, and gambling. It was rumored that Chen, himself, was celibate from all three.
Ben had managed to give up alcohol and gambling which, he had come to realize, had fueled his temper and recklessness. Without them, he was clearer of mind and more in control of himself and his actions. Giving up fucking, however? That was a different story.
To his credit, he had abstained for several months. During that time, he had recognized how destructive his marital relations had been. His relationship with Arabella had brought out the worst in both of them.
When he’d started bedding women again, he did it on his own terms. His rules were simple: no games (other than those mutually agreed upon), no manipulation, and no emotional attachments. He was always in control of his sexual encounters, and the women he tupped had matching needs. Cherise Foxton, for example, craved the feel of a man’s firm hand on her backside as much as Ben liked the feeling of dominance.
His partners were, without exception, ladies of experience, and he made sure they got what they wanted out of the negotiated transaction: pleasure, money, or both. He thought he had found a way to appease his hot-blooded nature without anyone getting hurt...or hurt in a bad way, at any rate.
Livy had destroyed his complacency.
I knew then what I wanted from you. Her words tore through him like a bullet. I wanted you to touch me, kiss me. To be with me the way you were with her.
He did not know which was worse: the fact that he had inadvertently exposed Livy to his degenerate behavior or that she had been intrigued by it. Recalling her wide-eyed interest sent a hot, unsavory thrill up his spine.
Stop it, you bastard. You will not fantasize about debauching Livy. Ever.
“Your lady must be quite fascinating.” Chen’s tone was dry. “She appears to hold your thoughts captive.”
“She is not my lady,” Ben said curtly. “She is the daughter of a friend. I’ve mentioned her before. The girl I rescued from the pond.”
As part of his healing, he had shared his
