Ben clenched his jaw. He had a clear view of Sheffield, and he did not like the way the young blond Adonis was looking at Livy…as if she were the next course of the delectable supper. Sheffield had been sneaking glances at her bosom all night, and Ben was tempted to tear the bounder’s well-coiffed head off. Luckily, a liveried footman arrived with the next course, interrupting Ben’s murderous fantasy.
As Ben slashed into the tender veal roulade, exposing its innards of asparagus and lobster, he brooded over his reaction to Sheffield. He told himself that he was not jealous. Knowing the dangers of that green-eyed beast, he’d vowed to keep it locked away.
Arabella had adored his possessiveness, poking and whipping his bestial nature into a frenzy. She had been delighted every time he fought a duel over her. Every time he lost a friendship. Every time he stupidly and shamefully hurt another in the name of her honor. Whenever he’d come home bloodied and damaged, she had always wanted to fuck like mad.
Chen had helped Ben to realize how destructive his jealousy had been. His temper had controlled him, rather than the other way around. Now he took pains to separate his emotions from tupping. He would never let himself be manipulated by a woman again.
But Livy was different. Ben was protective of her…in a brotherly way. He wanted to keep her safe from cads like Sheffield who might take advantage of her youth, innocence, and beauty.
And, hell’s teeth, she was beautiful, he thought in bemused wonder. He caught another glimpse of her through the centerpiece. His little queen had always been a pretty thing, but when had she blossomed into an irresistible woman?
Seemingly overnight, Livy had unfurled with sensual perfection, every detail of her designed by nature to stir the male imagination. Her glossy coronet looked almost too heavy for the tender stem of her neck, begging for a man’s hand to take down those thick tresses. Although her mouth was a bit wide for conventional beauty, her lips formed an alluring pink pout. Her pale blue gown exposed her creamy shoulders, the rounded swell of her breasts…
Bloody hell, this is Livy. Ben’s mind whirled in confusion. Why are you thinking about her lips and breasts?
At that instant, Livy’s glance collided with his. His breath caught oddly when her eyes, the clear green of a mountain spring, lit up in a way that they hadn’t for Sheffield. As he watched, she brought her hand to her décolletage, and he had to swallow as those fingertips trailed over the upper swell of her breasts. Christ, what was she doing…?
Then he realized that her fingertips had landed on a glittering object in the hollow of her throat: the tiny golden crown he had given her. She was showing him that she was wearing his gift. Then she smiled at him.
Beneath the table, he went instantly and ignominiously hard.
“Do you prefer it young and tender, Hadleigh?”
At the commanding voice, Ben swung his gaze to his host. Seated at the head of the table, the Duke of Strathaven was looking at him, raven brows arched over eyes too much like Livy’s. Guilt seared Ben’s insides, his neck heating beneath his cravat.
Devil and damn, had his host gleaned his salacious thoughts? While Strathaven was a famously devoted husband, he had been a rake in his younger days, and Ben did not doubt the man was familiar with the less than civilized workings of the male mind. And he was even more certain that Strathaven would not take kindly to Ben lusting over his daughter.
“I beg your pardon?” Ben cleared his throat. “To what are you referring?”
“The use of veal instead of beef in the roulade. Her Grace insisted it would make a difference.” A crease formed between the duke’s brows. “What else would I be talking about?”
“Nothing, Your Grace.” Ben felt like a fool as well as the lowliest form of life. “I misheard you. The roulade is superb.”
“I suppose that means my better half is right again,” Strathaven said with a mock sigh. “I hope it doesn’t go to her head.”
“I heard that,” Her Grace said clearly from the other end of the long table.
Strathaven raised his glass. “To my lady, whose hearing is as impeccable as her judgement.”
The guests laughed and joined in the toast to the Duchess of Strathaven, who blushed and rolled her eyes. Livy, Ben noticed, was smiling at the affectionate banter between her parents. He wondered what it would have been like to grow up with the security of a loving family. His own had maintained the appearance of harmony until the incident that had led to his sister Beatrice’s scarring. Then the familial façade of contentment had come tumbling down, and Ben’s pursuit of vengeance against the man who’d injured Bea had resulted in more tragedy and pain.
Ben knew better than to trust happiness. He was neither equipped for nor deserving of it. These days, his goals were to maintain his hard-won self-mastery and, if possible, to atone for some of his past sins. If he could achieve those two things, he would count himself content.
“What do you think of Sheffield?”
At Strathaven’s low-pitched query, Ben felt as if he’d suddenly been dropped into a jungle full of tar pits. He ventured forth warily. “In what sense?”
“In the sense of having him join my family.”
He is not good enough for Livy was Ben’s immediate thought. No one is.
He forced himself to say casually, “He is rather young, don’t you think?”
Strathaven shrugged, the gesture belied by the shrewd gaze he had trained upon the fellow in question. “Sheffield is four years older than Livy. His fortune is large, and he will inherit a marquessate.”
“But will he be a good husband to her?” Ben questioned in an undertone. “She is a rare sort of female, not cast from the usual mold.”
Strathaven gave him a wry look. “If by rare, you mean that she is as headstrong as they come, then
