Bronwyn Scott – Craving the Rake's Touch (страница 3)
“How do you know such a thing?” Sarah asked, then she put her hands up as if to ward off the answer. “No, wait. I don’t want to know. What about Badgley? Surely there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Nothing is the operative phrase there, my dear,” Benedict continued, relentlessly slashing through her offerings. “He’ll never be much of anything in bed or out.” He let his eyes rest on her, roaming her body in a hot glance so that there was no mistaking his intent. “Could you live with such a man, Sarah, a man who could not rouse you? Forever is a long time when it involves a cold bed.” Even when the bed was warmed by some of London’s most, ah, talented beauties, forever was a hellish eternity, he was discovering.
“Your crass assessment is unnecessary and unwelcome.” Sarah met his gaze evenly but the gaze was not without a hint of heat, not without a trace of memory of a time when she had roused to him, to his touch, proof that she knew what was possible and that she hadn’t forgotten, either.
“You have to admit, Sarah, it does matter who you choose. You don’t know the first thing about those men out there. What if your plan fails?”
Sarah began to move, circling him, her expression thoughtful and considering. Benedict shifted on the desk, keeping her in his line of sight. He’d been hunting her with his words but now he felt like the prey.
“You’re right. I must choose carefully even if it must be quickly. I don’t know them, not like a man would know them. But you do.” She stopped her stalking and fixed him with a hard stare, like a schoolmaster who had come up with the divine punishment for an errant student. She tapped thoughtfully against her chin in contemplation and Benedict knew before she spoke he wasn’t going to like this.
“You’re going to help me. You’re going to tell me everything about each one of them and I’ll weigh the pros and cons. Dinner is at seven. I’ll see you then for round one.”
Benedict groaned as she swept past him in a froth of tulle and rosewater. This wasn’t punishment, this was purgatory.
Why the hell had he ever agreed to such a request? Benedict shoved off the desk and began to pace the room, his body filled with restless, frustrated energy. He knew why.
He’d never really gotten over Sarah, no matter how hard he’d tried, and oh, how he’d tried. The gossips weren’t far wrong when they said he’d bedded over two hundred women. The tally might not be two hundred, but it was close. Sometimes he went for a string of weeks with a new woman every night, but to no avail. None of them took. None of them could erase the memory of Sarah in his arms.
And yet, despite those efforts of near epic proportion, he’d not hesitated to set all that aside when he’d learned of the impending scandal. He could tell himself it had been because of his promise to Ren, but that would be something of a lie.
When he’d jumped on his horse this morning with a hastily packed valise, leaving a wake of broken appointments behind him, his one thought had not been “inform Sarah of impending doom.” It had been “save Sarah.” He’d had no plan. He only knew he had to reach her before the scandal did. He had to give her time to prepare and if that failed he was prepared to do what was necessary, what he’d wanted to do all those years ago before her father had thrown his suit in his face. Then he’d walked into the drawing room and seen all those men thinking they could claim his Sarah and her encouraging it in that apple-green tea gown. She was lovelier than his memories had allowed; her hair richer, her eyes bluer, her laugh more alluring, her gestures more graceful. Every man in the room wanted her and his anger had stirred.
Frankly, more had stirred than his anger. His desire to claim, to possess, had roused. The primal man in him had wanted to toss her over his shoulder and carry her out of there, had wanted to lay her down and strip that gown off her, had wanted to stake that claim in the most blatant ways a man can possess a woman, to show her what she was giving up, what she was risking by bartering herself in a hasty marriage for short-term gains.
He’d meant it when he’d said she was putting herself in a dangerous position. Marriage in Town was permanent. Marriage not only gave a man rights to a woman’s reputation, her family and her connections, but it also gave him rights to her bed and to her body. He would not allow Sarah to surrender those things carelessly, not when her father had been so judicious in protecting them.
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