31
Propelled by grim determination, Ben scaled the tree in Lady Fayne’s garden. As Livy had once described, one of its sturdy branches conveniently extended toward a second-floor window, which had to be her bedchamber. At the windowsill, he reached for the double glass panels; he’d been prepared to break in if need be, but the panels opened smoothly.
The damned chit didn’t even bother to lock her windows on the way out, he thought with simmering rage.
Climbing through the window, he landed in the room, which was faintly lit by a fire in the hearth. He was certain the chamber was unoccupied, for he had no doubt that he’d spotted Livy at the Hellfire Club tonight. In disguise again, in a place more disreputable than the Black Lion Inn and Cremorne Gardens combined. After she’d given him the slip, he’d made an excuse to the Horsemen and headed straight over to Lady Fayne’s.
If Livy had snuck off to go to the club, then she would need to hail a hackney to get back, not the easiest thing on a busy Saturday night in Mayfair. He reckoned she wouldn’t be home for another half hour. When she arrived, he would confront her. He would not let her get away with lying to him…with risking her goddamned neck. Not to mention her virtue.
He couldn’t allow himself to imagine what Livy had been exposed to on her little jaunt through an orgy. If he did, he might plow his fist through the nearest wall.
What was she thinking? he raged. Did she follow me, think it was some kind of lark? Bloody hell, she gave me her word…and I will not be lied to. Even by her.
He strode toward her bed in the far corner. He would wait for her there, he thought with dark satisfaction. She would sneak back in, thinking she’d pulled the wool over his eyes. She’d prance toward her bed and then…
He would catch her red-bloody-handed. There would be no more lies or excuses. Deep in his gut, he’d always suspected that there was something she wasn’t telling him. Yet he’d let his feelings—his love, why not call a spade a spade—sway him. He hadn’t wanted to confront his worst fears: that she was deceiving and manipulating him.
God, he thought with a stab of anguish, it was his marriage all over again.
Approaching the canopy bed, he made out a lump beneath the covers. Pillows no doubt, the oldest damned trick in the book. He stalked over…and froze.
Livy lay there, asleep. Her lashes were dark fans against her cheeks, and an ivory counterpane was pulled up to her neck. She looked like a slumbering angel.
She’s been here the entire time? he thought numbly. I imagined seeing her…she wasn’t at the club? She didn’t lie to me?
Disbelief warring with hope, he reached for the coverlet. As he pulled it down, he dreaded that he would expose a trollop’s black gown. What he found was a chaste white night rail.
Remorse pumped through him. Along with shattering relief.
Bloody hell, I’m an idiot. This is Livy, not Arabella. She would not betray me.
At that moment, Livy opened her eyes. She blinked, as if surfacing from a dream. She stared up at him…and a dazzling smile of welcome lit her eyes. “Ben?”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely.
She sat up. “What are you doing here?”
One look at Ben’s face as he struggled to answer her, and Livy could tell that he hadn’t expected her to be here. That he now felt guilty for suspecting her of being at the club. Of course, that made her feel guilty for her charade. Yet Charlie had said that Ben’s safety depended upon Livy’s concealment of the truth…and Livy would do anything to protect the man she loved.
Livy pushed aside the confusing tangle of thoughts. She would sort things out later. The truly important thing was that Ben was here, and they were together after what had felt like an eternity of separation.
“Whatever the reason, I’m glad you came. I’ve missed you so much, Ben,” she said with heartfelt sincerity.
“Ah, bloody hell.” He framed her jaw with his hands. He was shaking a little, his eyes bruised with shadows, his hair disheveled waves around his face. “Livy, I…I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, as if struggling with himself; when he opened them, need glittered in the blue depths. “It’s been hell without you. God, I’ve missed you.”
He bent his head, and she tipped hers up, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. The taste of him, being in his arms…nothing had ever felt this right—this essential. In a blink, the desperate tensions of the night transformed into another kind of need. He must have felt that way too, for when she parted her lips, he delved in, a feral sound rising from his throat.
They fell onto the bed, melded by their fiery kiss. She threaded her fingers through his rough-silk hair and pressed herself against his hard length, her tongue dancing with his. She tasted a trace of whisky, and while it was not unpleasant, it was strange because the Ben she knew abstained from spirits. It reminded her of his night at the club: the scene with Cherise Foxton came rushing back, billowing the flames of possessiveness. The need to reestablish her claim collided with desire, and it was a combustible combination.
Livy rolled atop Ben, and he let her, the dim light showing the glint of surprise in his gaze. She attacked him with feverish passion. He groaned when she peppered his bristly jaw with kisses and suckled his earlobe, flicking it with her tongue. Tearing off his cravat, she nuzzled the strong, warm column of his throat. His spicy male musk maddened her with wanting. She wanted more of him, but his clothes were in the way.
When she fumbled clumsily
