AUTHOR NOTE

Welcome to the third story in my Daring Duchesses trilogy—I do hope you read the eBook, featuring Sophia and Dante, SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS, which is the introduction to the mini-series and features all of my heroines and heroes for the stories.

It has been tremendous fun writing about these three daring ladies and the three gentlemen who attempt to tame them. They fail, obviously, but fall in love with them anyway—their Daring Duchesses just wouldn’t be as adorable if they weren’t daring!

I really hope that you enjoy reading about them too.

Have fun!

About the Author

CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

Previous novels by the same author:

In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance:

THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*

THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*

THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*

LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

THE LADY GAMBLES**

THE LADY FORFEITS**

THE LADY CONFESSES **

SOME LIKE IT WICKED†

* The Notorious St Claires

** The Copeland Sisters

† Daring Duchesses

You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times. Now you can read about the new generation in Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance:

The Scandalous St Claires: Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to be tamed!

JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS

THE RELUCTANT DUKE

TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE

Carole Mortimer has written a further 150 novels for Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance, and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

AT THE DUKE’S SERVICE

CONVENIENT WIFE, PLEASURED LADY

SOME LIKE IT SCANDALOUS†

Did you know that these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Some Like
to Shock
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Peter, all my love as always.

Chapter One

May, 1817—London

‘May I offer you a ride in my carriage, Genevieve …?’

Genevieve turned sharply to look at the man standing beside her at the top of the steps leading down from St George’s Church in Hanover Square. The two of them had just attended and acted as witness at the wedding of mutual friends.

It was not the gentleman’s tone which surprised her, but the question itself, when her own carriage and maid were clearly waiting at the bottom of the steps in preparation for the drive back to her home in Cavendish Square.

There was also the fact that she was Genevieve Forster, widowed Duchess of Woollerton, and the gentleman at her side was Lord Benedict Lucas, known to his close friends and enemies alike as merely Lucifer. There was a difference in their social standing, the two of them having only been on nodding acquaintance before today, which should have dictated he refer to her as your Grace rather than by her given name …

‘Genevieve?’

She felt a quiver of awareness travel the length of her spine at the husky intensity of Lucifer’s voice, even as she realised he was looking down at her with enigmatic coal-black eyes, with one equally dark brow raised in mocking enquiry beneath the tall hat he had placed upon his head upon leaving the church.

Lucifer …

How well that name suited this particular gentleman, with his midnight-black hair curling softly over the collar of his black superfine and eyes so dark a brown they also appeared black. His cheekbones were high besides a sharp blade of nose and sculptured mouth that occasionally curved in sensual appreciation, but was more often than not thinned in haughty and unapproachable disdain above the firmness of his arrogantly angled jaw.

Aged one and thirty, Lucifer was but six years older than Genevieve, but the depth of emotions hidden behind those glittering black eyes spoke of a gentleman much older than his calendar years.

Part of the reason for that, Genevieve and all of society knew, was the tragic way in which his parents had met their deaths ten years ago. Lucifer had found the couple murdered at their country estate and their slayer had never been found or brought to justice.

Which was perhaps also the reason Genevieve had never seen Benedict Lucas wearing anything but black over his pristine white linen, all perfectly tailored, of course, to emphasise the width of his shoulders, muscled chest, lean hips and long legs in black Hessians. It was attire which should have given him an air of somberness, but on this gentleman only added to his air of danger and elusiveness.

An elusiveness, if Genevieve’s assessment of his offer was to be believed, which Benedict Lucas was now suggesting she might be allowed to breach by travelling home in his carriage with him …?

A suggestion, if Genevieve were to accept, which was so very much in keeping with her declaration a week ago to her two closest friends, Sophia and Pandora, that as widows recently returned to society after the required year of mourning, they should each of them take a lover, before the Season ended. It had been a brave and risqué suggestion on her part, Genevieve knew, and made more out of bravado than intent on her part; her painful and humiliating marriage to Josiah Forster had resulted in a physical wariness on her part in regard to all men.

She moistened her lips. ‘It is very kind of you to offer, my lord, but—’

‘Surely a lady as … daring as you cannot be feeling nervous at the idea of travelling alone in my carriage, Genevieve …?’

That quiver of awareness turned to one of alarm at Lucifer’s use of the word daring, for that was exactly the same term she had used a week ago, when talking to Sophia and Pandora in regard to their taking of a lover. It had been a conversation she was aware one of Lucifer’s two closest friends had overheard—and perhaps repeated …? It was most ungentlemanly of him to have done so if that should turn out to be the case.

Her chin rose as she looked up at Lucifer with guarded blue eyes. ‘I was not aware that I had ever behaved in a manner which any might consider “daring”, my lord?’ Nor was she at all sure she would ever be able to do so. Bravado with her two close friends was one thing, acting upon that bravado something else entirely.

Besides which, Benedict Lucas was a gentleman whom all of the ton talked of in hushed voices, if they dared talk of him at all. A man of deep and violent passions, he was known to have vowed ten years ago that he would find the person who had murdered his parents, no matter how long it took him to do it, and that when he did he would kill the man himself rather than trust to the justice of the law.

Lucifer was also known as one of the finest shots in England, as well as a superior swordsman, skills he had honed and perfected during his years spent in the army, which meant that he was more than capable of carrying out such a threat.

‘Or perhaps you have heard otherwise, my lord?’ she challenged at his lack of reply.

Benedict might have laughed at how little that expression of haughty reproach suited Genevieve Forster’s impishly beautiful face. Almost. Except laughter, amusement of any kind, was not something which had come easily to him this past ten years. Instead, his mouth now curled into a hard and mocking smile. ‘Not particularly, Genevieve.’ He continued to use her given name deliberately, having noted her earlier discomfort. ‘But I am sure it is not too late for you to remedy that particular omission, if you so choose …?’

There was no denying that Genevieve Forster was a very beautiful woman; her abundance of curls beneath her blue bonnet was the colour of flame and her mischievously twinkling eyes the colour of periwinkles. Her nose was slightly snub above full and sensuously pouting lips, her complexion that of peaches and cream. And although tiny in stature, almost daintily fragile, the swell of her breasts, above the low neckline of her blue gown, appeared full and lush.

To Benedict’s knowledge she had been married for six years, and widowed for one. She was without any male relatives, except for her stepson, the current duke, a gentleman who was several years older than Genevieve, and it was known that the two were not close. Her two closest female friends were also currently engaged in relationships which he knew took them from Genevieve’s side.

Not that Benedict had ever been known to prey on unprotected females, but as a widow of five and twenty years, that term hardly applied to Genevieve Forster. A public acquaintance with her would do well as a foil for his own movements over the next few weeks, in his capacity as a spy for the Crown, with the added bonus that her beauty and vivacity would also ensure that Benedict enjoyed that acquaintance.

‘Unless, of course, you feel it would be too daring to travel alone with me in my carriage …?’ he now challenged softly.

Genevieve bristled at what she considered to be a slur upon the independence she had tried so hard to acquire since her widowhood a year ago. She was also well past the first flush of youth. She was a duchess, and a widow, and as such she could, and would, now behave as she pleased.

Neither would she give the arrogantly mocking Benedict Lucas the satisfaction of thinking her a coward. ‘Not at all, my lord,’ she assured him frostily. ‘If you will just give me a moment to dismiss my own carriage?’

‘And your maid?’

Her spine stiffened at this further challenge. ‘And my maid,’ she conceded coolly after several seconds’ thought.

‘Shall we …?’ Benedict Lucas offered her his arm to escort her down the steps.

Genevieve’s cheeks were pale and her heart was beating a little too rapidly in her chest as she placed a gloved hand lightly upon that muscled arm and allowed Benedict Lucas to escort her down to her carriage, whereupon he excused himself to stroll across to engage in conversation with his own coachman as he waited for her to join him.

‘Are you sure, your Grace?’ May, Genevieve’s maid for the past seven years, had given a wide-eyed glance in the direction of the dark and dangerously attractive Lucifer upon being informed of Genevieve’s intention to ride home in his carriage with him.

‘I am very sure, yes,’ Genevieve stated more firmly than she felt. May knew better than most how horrific Genevieve’s marriage to Josiah Forster had been.

Her maid looked unconvinced. ‘I’ve heard such tales about that particular gentleman—’

‘That will be quite enough, thank you, May.’ Genevieve had also heard ‘tales’ about Lucifer, and all of them wicked. But what else could she have done when he had challenged her so obviously?

Run as far away as was possible, came the instant and emphatic answer!

No, she would not, could not, continue to live in the way she had been forced to live during her marriage to Josiah, frightened of her own shadow most of the time. No matter how much the thoughts of being alone with any gentleman made her pulse flutter and her stomach clench with nausea!

Besides, what could Benedict Lucas possibly do to her in his carriage in broad daylight …?

‘Is that really necessary, my lord?’

Benedict smiled at Genevieve Forster as she sat across the carriage from him, those blue eyes wide as she watched him pulling down the blinds on the windows. ‘Do you not find the sun a little … overbright?’ he drawled derisively.

She studied him for several long seconds. ‘It is a little … intrusive,’ she finally conceded abruptly.

‘Exactly.’ Benedict’s gaze continued to meet hers as he pulled down the last of the blinds. ‘This is much cosier,’ he murmured appreciatively.

‘Much.’ The coolness of her smile was belied by the telltale rapid beating of her pulse in the slenderness of her throat. ‘Tell me, were you as surprised by today’s wedding as I?’

‘No,’ he answered unhelpfully; the confidences of the bridegroom were exactly that, confidences, and they would remain so.

‘Do you think—?’

‘No.’

Genevieve Forster arched red-gold brows. ‘You have not heard my question as yet.’

Benedict gave a hard smile. ‘It is not necessary when I have no intention of discussing the private business of today’s bride or groom.’ His gaze moved to the firm swell of her breasts as she drew in a deep breath. ‘That is a very pretty … necklace you are wearing.’

‘I—Thank you.’ Her gloved fingers instinctively moved to touch the sapphire as large as a robin’s egg nestling between her breasts. ‘It was a wedding gift,’ she added stiffly.

‘Obviously your husband was a gentleman of discerning tastes,’ Benedict murmured softly. ‘Both in his wife and the jewellery he bestowed upon her.’

‘You may choose to think that if you wish, Lucas.’ Genevieve’s voice had hardened to ice.

The sharpness of Benedict’s narrowed gaze returned to her face, easily noting the twin spots of colour that had appeared in her cheeks and the angry sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes. ‘The duke was not a gentleman of discerning tastes …?’ he said slowly.

‘He was not a gentleman at all!’ she snapped scathingly. ‘And, might I say, Lucas, that if you invited me into your carriage with any intention of furthering our acquaintance, then I believe I must tell you that, by introducing the subject of my late husband into our conversation, you have failed utterly!’

Benedict’s brows rose at the directness of her statement. ‘Your marriage was not a happy one?’

‘Obviously not.’

Genevieve Forster was proving more of a distraction than Benedict would ever have guessed before engaging in conversation with her.

‘You did not find becoming a duchess suitable … compensation, for the duke’s deficiencies as a husband?’

‘I did not.’ Genevieve’s mood was not in the least lightened by the glint of humour she was sure she could now see in the darkness of Benedict Lucas’s eyes. ‘A word of caution, perhaps, for the next time you find yourself alone with a lady, might be not to mention the woman’s dead husband!’

‘If I have offended—’

‘I am not offended, my lord, I am merely bored by this conversation.’ She turned to raise the blind beside her before looking out at the street below.

Benedict sat back in stunned silence for several long seconds, as he acknowledged he had never encountered a woman quite like Genevieve Forster before. For all that he was always discreet, Benedict had known a number of women intimately this past twelve years. Women he had desired physically, but had no interest in knowing in any other way, let alone any of the private details of the lives they had led before he met them.

His intentions towards Genevieve Forster had been equally dispassionate, in that it had been his intention to use a friendship with her, as he had others in the past, as a shield to his appearance in society. Benedict usually made a point of avoiding attending any of society’s balls and parties, and it was only when it was required, in his role as agent for the crown, that he deigned to accept any of those invitations.

For Genevieve Forster to so firmly express her own lack of interest in continuing their acquaintance was galling, and yet somehow intriguing, at the same time. ‘Is there not some way in which I might redeem myself?’ he cajoled softly.

An irritated frown still creased her creamy brow as she turned to look at him. ‘I should tell you that I was married for six unhappy years and have spent the last year in mourning for a husband I thoroughly detested. As such I seek only adventure and fun in my life in future.’

Benedict had known of the huge difference in ages between the duke and his wife, but until now he had not been aware of the circumstances of Genevieve’s marriage to Josiah Forster. Now that he did, he could not help but wonder in what manner that marriage had been so unhappy. ‘And you believe me to be incapable of providing that adventure and fun?’ He arched dark brows.

‘Adventure of a kind, perhaps,’ she acknowledged in measured tones. ‘After all, you are known as the dangerous and elusive Lucifer.’

His brows rose. ‘Am I?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded derisively. ‘But fun? No, I do not believe so, my lord.’ Her smile was coolly dismissive.

Benedict’s irritation increased at that easy dismissal. ‘How can you be so sure of that without having spent any time in my company?’

‘I have spent the time of this carriage ride in your company, my lord.’ She eyed him haughtily.

‘And?’

She shrugged. ‘And that has been quite long enough to assure me that the differences in our natures would not suit.’

Benedict’s frustration with this conversation, with this woman, grew by the minute. ‘Will you be attending Lady Hammond’s ball this evening?’

She gave an elegant shrug. ‘I am undecided as yet between attending the ball or enjoying a private supper with the Earl of Sandhurst.’

‘You are thinking of supping with Charlie Brooks?’ Benedict sat forwards on his seat.

Those blue eyes widened defensively at his obvious disdain. ‘The earl is not only charming and affable, but also as handsome as a Greek god.’

The Earl of Sandhurst was all of those things. He was also known to be one of the biggest lechers in London. Which no doubt perfectly suited Genevieve’s immediate plans for indulging in ‘adventure and fun’, following marriage to a man so obviously lacking in those attributes, a man she had bluntly stated she despised.

Could it be that Benedict’s own chagrin towards Sandhurst was irritation at being told he ‘did not suit’? Maybe a little, he conceded irritably. But really, to be passed over for that lightweight Charlie Brooks, of all men!

‘I have an engagement earlier in the evening, but the two of us could have a private supper together later tonight if that is what you believe you would find adventurous and fun?’ he heard himself offering.

‘I think not, but thank you for asking,’ Genevieve refused coolly.

‘Why the hell not?’ Benedict snapped.

‘Well, for one thing, I do not appreciate being informed I would have to take second place to your other engagement earlier in the evening.’

‘It is a business appointment!’

She shrugged those delicate shoulders. ‘Then I wish you more success with it than you have had with me.’

Lucifer glared. ‘You are being unreasonable!’

Genevieve gave him a pitying glance. ‘I am sure that there are many women who would appreciate your interest, my lord, but following so soon after my unhappy marriage, I believe I require something a little more … romantic than you appear to be currently offering.’

‘Romantic!’ He stared at her as if she had completely lost her senses.

Genevieve glanced out of the window. ‘It would seem we are arrived at my home, Lucas.’ She gave him a vacuous smile as she collected up her reticule in preparation for leaving the carriage. ‘Thank you for the carriage ride, my lord, it has been most … enlightening.’

He scowled darkly. ‘There are many ways in which to have fun, Genevieve,’ he drawled softly. ‘And I believe, if you were to reflect, that you would realise that I have a much better … understanding of them than Sandhurst.’

She raised her brows. ‘Perhaps one day I might consider comparing that … understanding, and so decide for myself if that is so, but not today.’

Lucifer frowned darkly. ‘You are being extremely naïve in believing you will only be asked to enjoy “adventure and fun” with one such as Charlie Brooks.’

Genevieve was having fun right now, if truth be told. She had been very young when she married Josiah, with little opportunity to flirt with other men before that marriage; but even so, she had absolutely no doubts that she had now piqued Benedict Lucas’s interest by refusing to be in the least attracted to his dark and brooding good looks.

She might indeed be as naïve as Benedict Lucas had just accused her of being in regard to the behaviour of the gentlemen of the ton, but she was not stupid, and a man such as he would obviously see no challenge whatsoever in the easy conquest he had so obviously believed Genevieve might be to his lazily arrogant charms. It was, she acknowledged with wonder, quite deliciously enticing to know that she had aroused the interest of such a dangerous and elusive gentleman …

She gave a shrug. ‘As I said, I wish to be wooed a little before I would ever consider taking any gentleman as my lover.’

‘Sandhurst—’

‘—sent me flowers and chocolates earlier today. Accompanied by a beautifully worded card.’ She smiled at the memory.

‘Only because he is hoping to entice you into sharing his bed later this evening!’

‘I am aware of that, of course,’ Genevieve acknowledged with a cool inclination of her head. ‘But Sandhurst hoping for such an outcome to the evening will not make it so.’

Had Benedict ever felt such frustration and anger with a woman before? He could not remember doing so. Indeed, he rarely if ever allowed himself to express strong emotions of any kind. Which was not to say he did not feel them, only that he chose not to reveal those emotions to others. ‘I fail to see anything in the least romantic in Sandhurst plying you with flowers and chocolates, and prettily worded cards …’ his top lip curled up with distaste ‘… for the sole purpose of expecting you to go to bed with him immediately after the two of you have dined privately together.’

Genevieve eyed him mockingly. ‘And would you not have expected the same from me, without benefit of flowers and chocolates and prettily worded cards, if I had agreed to meet you at Lady Hammond’s ball later this evening?’

He snorted his impatience. ‘If that is so, then at least I have been honest in my intentions.’

She gave him a pitying glance. ‘Perhaps too much so …?’

His nostrils flared. ‘You are an extremely aggravating woman, Genevieve!’

She gave a surprised laugh. ‘Now that truly is honest, Benedict.’

Those black eyes glowered across the carriage at her. He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘You will find me at Lady Hammond’s ball later this evening if that should be your choice.’

She gave another cool inclination of her head. ‘I will keep your gracious offer in mind. Now, if you would not mind …?’ She glanced pointedly towards the carriage door, leaving Benedict with no other choice but to alight from the carriage before turning to offer Genevieve his hand as she stepped down beside him. She gave him another cool nod before turning to gracefully climb the steps to the front door of her home, which opened immediately for her entrance before closing firmly behind her.

All, Benedict noted broodingly, without so much as a backwards glance in his direction …

Chapter Two

‘Has Sandhurst displeased you in some way?’

Benedict turned to raise dark, questioning brows at the short and rotund gentleman who had joined him as he stood beside the crowded dance floor in Lady Hammond’s ballroom. ‘And why should you think he has displeased me?’ He spoke loudly to be heard over the noisy chatter and laughter of the three hundred or so members of the ton squeezed into the candlelit ballroom, the bell-like laughter of one person in particular catching his ear.

‘Possibly because you have been glowering at him for the past several minutes?’ Lord Eric Cargill, the Earl of Dartmouth and Benedict’s godfather, chuckled wryly.

Benedict deliberately turned his back upon the couples dancing. ‘I was merely trying to understand in what way Sandhurst might possibly be perceived as resembling a Greek god,’ he drawled dismissively.

‘Oh?’ The earl’s surprised grey brows shot up into his thinning hairline.

Benedict gave a self-derisive smile. ‘Not for my own edification, you understand.’

‘Ah.’ The older man nodded in obvious relief, before then giving a slow shake of his head. ‘No, I am afraid I do not understand in the least?’

‘No reason why you should,’ Benedict dismissed briskly, having no intention of confiding that the reason for his own interest was currently dancing in the other man’s arms!

The earl eyed him piercingly for several minutes before obviously dismissing the subject as being unimportant. ‘If I had known you were to be here this evening, then I would not have bothered to come myself.’ He grimaced. He had served as a colonel in the army for many years, and was now spymaster for the Crown under the guise of a minor ministerial post, but was no more a lover of society balls than Benedict.

‘And in doing so you would have also have deprived my Aunt Cynthia the pleasure of attending, too,’ he drawled mockingly. The earl and countess had become his aunt and uncle by long association, the couple having adopted him as their own since the death of his parents, their own long marriage sadly childless.

‘There is that to consider.’ The earl chuckled, brown eyes twinkling merrily. ‘But, much as I intend to enjoy her expression of gratitude later this evening, I am not sure even that is worth the tedious hours I have already suffered tonight in the line of duty!’ His eyes narrowed as he turned to look at the couples still dancing. ‘Who is the beautiful young woman currently dancing with Sandhurst?’

‘I believe it to be the Duchess of Woollerton.’ Benedict had no need to turn and look across the room to know the identity of that ‘beautiful young woman’.

Eric Cargill gave him a cursory glance. ‘I was not aware that Forster had taken a wife?’

‘Perhaps I should have said the widowed Duchess,’ Benedict corrected lightly.

The earl’s brows rose again. ‘That young beauty is the child-bride Josiah Forster’s kept shut away in the country from the moment he had married and bedded her?’

Benedict winced at the crudeness of his uncle’s statement. ‘So it would appear.’

‘I had no idea …’ the older man murmured appreciatively.

‘You really should try and get out and about in society more, Dartmouth,’ Benedict drawled.

His godfather grimaced at the thought of it. ‘I have deliberately engaged the services of people such as yourself so that I have no need to do so.’

Benedict had joined the army not long after his parents were murdered, venting his anger and frustration upon Napoleon’s armies for seven years, only resigning his commission after the Corsican had been safely incarcerated on the Isle of Elba—at least, all of England had believed him to be safely incarcerated! Benedict had returned to the army only briefly after Napoleon’s escape, before the tyrant was once again defeated and this time placed on the more isolated island of St Helena.

Benedict had then found the tedium of civilian life did not suit his inner restlessness in the least. His godfather’s offer of a position, working for him as one of his agents for the Crown, had helped to ease that restlessness, if not completely alleviate it, this past two years.

It could not be completely erased until Benedict had learnt the identity of the person who had slain his parents and dealt with them accordingly. Something his position as one of the Earl of Dartmouth’s agents allowed him to continue to pursue privately, and without anyone suspecting he was doing so.

Except when it came to attending evenings such as this one, which was when Benedict usually used a show of interest in a particular woman to act as a shield to the real reason for his presence. Much as Benedict abhorred the crush of such events as this one, he appreciated that they were the perfect opportunity in which to receive or give information.

It still rankled with him that Genevieve had firmly refused any intention of becoming that current interest earlier today. Even more so, when, having arrived an hour or so ago, he had thereafter been forced to observe Sandhurst’s more-than-obvious pursuit of her, as well as Genevieve’s laughing responses to the other man’s no doubt heavy-handed flattery.

Genevieve herself was a vision in cream silk and lace, with pearl droplets adorning her fiery-red curls, her eyes a deep blue and her lips a rosy peach against the creaminess of her complexion. More pearls encircled the delicacy of her throat and her creamy shoulders were left bare by the style of her gown.

‘—have not seen any sign as yet of the Count de Sevanne—Benedict, are you even listening to me?’

Benedict turned from once again observing Genevieve as she danced elegantly around the ballroom with Sandhurst, to find the earl frowning up at him for his inattentiveness. He determinedly shook off that complete awareness of Genevieve Forster’s beauty, as he instead gave the appearance of concentrating on discussing the French count, who was the reason for his own and Dartmouth’s presence here this evening. Napoleon might have been subdued, but there was no reason to suppose he would remain that way. Nor was he England’s only enemy.

Benedict gave the appearance of concentrating on his uncle’s conversation, because, even as he and Eric Cargill continued to talk softly together, his own attention wandered time and time again to Genevieve Forster, especially when she and Sandhurst left the dance floor together some minutes later in search of refreshment.

Or, knowing Sandhurst, the privacy in which to deepen their dalliance, in one of Lady Hammond’s more secluded parlours …

Genevieve, having earlier today sent word to Charles Brooks that she had decided to attend Lady Hammond’s ball rather than join him for a private dinner, had been fully aware of having Lucifer’s dark gaze upon her since his arrival at the ball an hour or so earlier. Reason enough, she had considered, to encourage and accept Charles Brooks’s attentions when he had arrived immediately after Lucifer and instantly made his way to her side before commencing to flirt with her outrageously.

A flirtatiousness Lucifer did not in the least appreciate, if the tight clenching of his jaw, and the dark glitter of his eyes as he continued to observe Genevieve beneath hooded lids, was any indication.

Genevieve had not felt so giddy with excitement for years. If ever …

Josiah Forster, a man almost forty years her senior, had offered for Genevieve halfway through her first Season, an offer which her brother had been only too pleased to accept on her behalf. The man was a duke and Genevieve would become his duchess, Colin had argued when she had protested at the idea of marrying a man so much older than herself.

It had been a fairytale wedding, with all of the ton there to witness the union. And if Genevieve had quaked in her satin slippers at thoughts of becoming the wife of the elderly and obese Duke of Woollerton, no one would have guessed it as she floated down the aisle, a vision in satin and lace, nor at the wedding supper later, as she had stood at the duke’s side, smiling and greeting their guests.

It had only been later that evening, during the carriage ride to the Woollerton estate in Gloucestershire, that Genevieve’s nerves had got the better of her at thoughts of the night ahead.

A night which had been every bit, and more, the nightmare Genevieve had feared it might be, Josiah making no allowances either for her youth or her lack of experience.

She shuddered now just at the memory of the horrors she had suffered that night, and that had only been the start of those fearful years of incarceration as Josiah Forster’s wife.

A prison Genevieve had only escaped upon his death.

Consequently this was the first London Season that Genevieve had been allowed to enjoy for seven years. And, as such, she intended to enjoy every moment of it!

And how better to do so than to know that the attentions of the handsome, blond-haired and blue-eyed Charles Brooks, whilst flattering in themselves, were made even more so because they obviously irritated the usually disdainfully detached, black-haired and black-eyed and enticingly wicked Lucifer?

It was heady stuff indeed to be the centre of attention of two such handsome gentlemen after so many years of being secluded away in rural Gloucestershire. Her husband had supervised her time and pursuits with the intensity of a hawk about to swoop on its unsuspecting prey, with the administration of suitable punishment if she did not do exactly as he wished.

Even now Genevieve could not repress the shiver of revulsion at the memory of Josiah’s treatment of her on their wedding night. She shut down those thoughts immediately as she determinedly returned her attention to the more welcome attentions of Charles Brooks. His fingers lingered overlong against her gloved hand as he handed her one of the glasses of champagne he had just acquired for the two of them.

‘To us, my dear Genevieve.’ His eyes gleamed down at her appreciatively as he gently touched his glass against her own.

‘A wholly inappropriate sentiment, Sandhurst,’ Benedict Lucas drawled dismissively even as he plucked the champagne glass from Genevieve’s gloved fingers before turning to place it on the silver tray carried by one of Lady Hammond’s footmen, with a muttered comment for him to ‘dispose of this’. ‘Our dance, I believe, Genevieve?’ He looked down the length of his nose at her, arrogant brows raised over eyes that gleamed with challenge.

To say Genevieve was astounded by his interruption would be putting it mildly. And she was furious at Lucifer’s highhandedness in removing her glass of champagne in that peremptory manner, so much so that she seriously considered refusing to go along with his fabrication; he had not so much as attempted to even greet her this evening, so how could he possibly claim this as being ‘their dance’!

Benedict, having easily read the light of battle which had appeared in Genevieve’s expressive blue eyes, now took a firm hold of her arm before striding determinedly away from the other man.

A move she certainly did not approve of as she tried to free herself from the firmness of his grasp. ‘How dare you, Lucas!’

‘I dare because Sandhurst had introduced a little concoction of his own to your champagne in order to make you more … compliant to his advances,’ he muttered disgustedly as he continued to walk in the direction of the ballroom.

Her arm stiffened beneath his hand, her face paling as she glanced back to where Sandhurst stood glowering after them. ‘What did you say …?’

Benedict spared her an impatient glance between narrowed lids. ‘A mere “thank you for your timely rescue, my lord” will do.’

‘You are talking utter nonsense.’ She eyed him impatiently as she was forced to take two steps to his one in order to avoid tripping and falling.

‘Am I?’ He gave a derisive shake of his head.

‘Of course you are.’ Her cheeks now bore an angry flush. ‘Just because I so obviously prefer the attentions of a gallant gentleman such as Sandhurst is no reason—’ She broke off her tirade as it was met with a disparaging snort from Benedict. ‘It is obvious from your behaviour that you are not a gentleman at all!’

‘And you, my dear Genevieve, have tonight proved that you are a mere babe in arms when it comes to men such as Sandhurst,’ he assured grimly. ‘Once the champagne had been consumed and the effects of the concoction had reached their desired effect, you would then have found yourself more than willing, indeed eager, to retire somewhere more private for whatever debauchery Sandhurst had in mind for the two of you this evening!’

She gasped. ‘You are merely saying these wicked things about Sandhurst in order to alarm me! Or, more probably, in an effort to make me think more highly of you,’ she added with dismissive disdain.

Benedict’s mouth firmed. ‘I very much doubt it is possible for you to think any less of me!’

‘And I am sure that I might manage it somehow!’ Her eyes sparkled with her anger.

He gave a humourless smile. ‘No doubt.’

She nodded, red curls bouncing against her nape. ‘And how would you even know about such “concoctions”, if you were not familiar with or had used them yourself?’

Benedict’s breath left him in a hiss, a nerve pulsing in his tightly clenched jaw as he came to an abrupt halt in the cavernous hallway of Lady Hammond’s London home before turning to face the infuriated Genevieve. ‘I assure you, madam, I have never needed to use such underhand practices as that in order to persuade a woman into sharing my bed!’

Her little pointed chin was raised stubbornly as she met the dangerous glitter of his dark gaze. ‘And why should you think Sandhurst might, when he—’

‘Is in possession of the handsomeness of a Greek god,’ Benedict completed disgustedly. ‘I agree with you, Genevieve, he should not need to do so. Unfortunately, your Greek god has grown weary of the chase, and those flowers and chocolates you received earlier today would have been his first and last “gallant” gesture. Sandhurst now prefers that his courtship be less … protracted and the woman willing to bed him as quickly as possible, along with any number of his less savoury friends, so that he might watch and so add to his own entertainment.’

Genevieve’s gaze wavered uncertainly at this graphic description of debauchery. Could Benedict Lucas—Lucifer—be telling her the truth? Had Sandhurst really put something in her champagne in order to render her willing to do unspeakable things, with both him and his friends? It sounded highly unlikely to her innocent ears, but at the same time she had to admit, much as the ton loved to gossip about Lucifer, she had never heard them question his honesty.

Had Genevieve been taken for the fool this evening by Sandhurst?

Could her silly flaunting of Sandhurst’s attentions under Lucifer’s arrogant nose have resulted in her not seeing what was directly in front of her own?

After all, what did she really know of Charlie Brooks, except that he was an earl, and a charming and handsome rogue? And a gentleman the marriage-minded mamas of the ton preferred that their innocent daughters avoid.

Genevieve had assumed the latter was because Sandhurst had made it perfectly clear that he had no serious intentions in regard to marriage. But her assumption might have been wrong, and in fact those young innocents may well be kept out of Sandhurst’s reach for fear they might suffer the ruin and disgrace Lucifer had just described to Genevieve so vividly.

Benedict knew exactly the moment that Genevieve began to accept that his claims in regard to Sandhurst might have some truth to them. Her face became even paler, her eyes flashing a dark and stormy blue, her full and enticingly delectable bottom lip trembling slightly.

He forced himself to relax some of the tension in his own shoulders. ‘Come now, Genevieve, there has been no real harm done,’ he cajoled. ‘No one was hurt. I succeeded in rescuing you before you had chance to drink any of the champagne, and so both you, and your reputation, remain unsullied.’

If anything, her eyes grew even more stormy at his assurances. ‘And you think that should be an end of the matter?’ Her voice was deceptively soft.

Benedict eyed her warily. ‘Is it not?’

‘Not in the least,’ she bit out with a scathing determination.

A determination Benedict readily admitted to finding slightly unnerving. ‘Genevieve—’

‘I believe you said this was our dance, my lord?’ she prompted lightly.

He blinked at the sudden change of subject. ‘It is almost over …’

‘Then we will stand and talk together until the next one begins.’ She tucked her little gloved hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Unless, of course, you fear your own reputation might suffer if you were to be seen escorting a lady who left the ballroom with one gentleman and returned on the arm of another?’ She arched challenging brows.

‘I have no interest in what others may or may not think of me.’ Benedict stared down at her impatiently.

‘Then perhaps you do not dance?’

He gave a humourless smile. ‘I believe I am right in saying that my tutors saw to my being well versed in all of the social graces, as well as the education of my mind.’

‘Then perhaps it is that you do not care to dance with me?’

Benedict knew he would enjoy nothing more than to hold Genevieve in his own arms after watching her for the past hour or more, as she was twirled about the ballroom by one gentleman or another, so allowing Benedict the freedom to admire her beauty and grace. To know that even now his own body responded, hardened, just looking at the delicacy of her bared throat and the soft swell of her breasts.

‘I have every intention of dancing with you, if only to show the cats of the ton that you have not left Lady Hammond’s home with Sandhurst as they all no doubt expect you might have done,’ he concluded tersely. ‘But first I would like your promise that you will stay well away from Sandhurst and his disreputable cohorts in future.’

She looked up at him through the long sweep of her lashes. ‘And why should you care one way or the other what I choose to do in future?’

‘You ask the most damnable questions!’ Benedict glared his impatience. ‘Perhaps it is that one of your closest friends married one of mine earlier today, and as such I feel a certain responsibility—What?’ he demanded as Genevieve smiled.

‘It is very sweet of you to feel protective towards me.’

‘Sweet?’ Benedict gave a pained wince. ‘I am certain that is not a sentiment anyone has ever dared to level at me before this evening!’

Those blue eyes glowed with mischief. ‘Perhaps other people do not know your kindness as I now do?’

‘You do not know me, either, Genevieve,’ he bit out impatiently. If she did, then she would know that at this moment Benedict’s feeling towards her were almost as disreputable as Sandhurst’s, inasmuch as he would enjoy nothing more than to drag Genevieve off to some secluded spot where he might make love to her!

She gave his forearm a conciliatory pat. ‘Do not worry, Lucas, your secret is perfectly safe with me.’

Benedict scowled even as he stiffened warily. ‘What secret?’

‘Why, that you are not really the big dark Lucifer at all, but more like one of those darling little cherubs seen in a Rubens’s painting.’ Her eyes were wide with innocence.

‘I am like—! You—I—’ Benedict found himself spluttering with an inelegance totally contrary to his normal cool control. ‘You are daring to liken me to one of those sickeningly chubby little cherubs?’

Genevieve barely managed to contain her laughter at Lucifer’s obvious disgust. ‘Well, you are not in the least chubby, of course, and you do not have golden hair …’

‘I assure you, madam, you are wrong in thinking there is any resemblance whatsoever between myself and a fat cherub!’ He glared his displeasure. ‘Genevieve …?’ He eyed her suspiciously as she could no longer contain her laughter.

‘If you could only see the indignation upon your face!’ She continued to chuckle huskily, her eyes gleaming with unholy glee.

‘You were teasing me …?’ He gave a disbelieving shake of his head.

‘Of course.’ Genevieve nodded, still smiling as she realised from his reaction that it was not something which occurred very often in regard to this particular gentleman.

Her teasing had also succeeded in distracting his attention away from her earlier remarks in regard to Charles Brooks; that gentleman had certainly not heard the last from her on the subject of his daring to attempt to make a fool of her.

If her years of being unhappily married to Josiah Forster had succeeded in doing nothing else, then it was to instil in Genevieve an appreciation for the freedoms of choice she now enjoyed as his widow. Charles Brooks had attempted to circumvent that freedom this evening with his machinations and it was not something Genevieve intended to easily forgive, or forget.

‘It is past time we danced, I believe.’ Benedict Lucas did not wait for her reply before sweeping into the throng of other couples braving the noisy and crowded dance floor.

He danced divinely. His imposing height made him at least a foot taller than Genevieve, the muscled length of his body mere inches away from her own as they danced the daring waltz together, one of his hands firm against the back of her waist so that he might guide their steps about the dance floor, the other lightly clasping her gloved fingers, with Genevieve’s hand resting lightly against the broadness of one of his shoulders in his beautifully tailored black evening jacket. He smelt divine, too—a clean and yet earthy smell that was a mixture of sandalwood and some exotic fruit, and which led Genevieve to wonder how she could ever have found Charles Brooks’s pretty good looks and overpowering cologne in the least attractive.

So entranced was Genevieve by the combination of Benedict’s undoubted height and strength, and that deliciously male smell invading her senses, that it took her some minutes to realise the two of them were being openly stared at by the majority of Lady Hammond’s guests, the conversation in the room having died down to the softness of a whisper behind open fans.

She glanced up at the lean strength of her dancing partner’s tightly clenched jaw as Benedict’s attention seemed to be fixed upon something over her left shoulder. ‘We appear to be attracting a certain amount of attention,’ she murmured softly.

His jaw became even tighter. ‘Yes.’

Her lashes lowered on to suddenly warm cheeks. ‘Do you have any idea why that is?’

‘Yes.’

She winced. ‘Do you think—can it be because of my earlier error in judgement, with regard to Sandhurst?’ Having only just rejoined society, Genevieve had absolutely no desire to behave in any way that might cause her to be immediately ostracised.

‘No.’

‘Well?’ she demanded sharply as he made no attempt to add to that unhelpful statement.

He breathed out impatiently. ‘I believe the reason we are being so closely … observed is because it must be ten years or more since I have bothered to dance with any lady at one of these tediously boring balls.’

‘Really?’

Benedict glanced down at Genevieve as he heard the curiosity in her voice. ‘Yes. Really,’ he snapped his irritation, both at the ton’s speculation at the phenomena and Genevieve’s obvious pleasure in the fact. ‘Does it please you to know that every member of the ton present this evening is now speculating as to why I should have chosen to dance with the Dowager Duchess of Woollerton?’

‘Yes.’

He frowned darkly at her candour. ‘Why?’

She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Because it is … the fun we discussed earlier today.’

‘Genevieve—’

‘Lucifer?’ Her eyes glowed deeply blue beneath the long sweep of her dark lashes, an entrancing dimple having appeared in her left cheek, as she continued to look up at him.

Benedict stared down at her in frustration for several long seconds. ‘Oh, to hell with this!’ he finally rasped his impatience as he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the ballroom before placing his hand firmly beneath Genevieve’s elbow. His expression was one of grim determination as he escorted her from the dance floor.

Genevieve looked up at him curiously. ‘Lucifer—’

‘My name is Benedict, damn it!’ A nerve pulsed a steady and rapid tattoo in the tightness of his jaw.

‘But everyone calls you Lucifer …?’

‘Rarely to my face,’ he assured grimly.

‘Oh.’ A delicate blush coloured her cheeks. ‘I had not realised …’

‘And now you do.’ Benedict was only too aware of the name by which the ton referred to him privately, but no one else had ever dared to address him in that way directly.

‘Where are we going?’ Genevieve demanded as Benedict collected her cloak from Lady Hammond’s attentive butler.

‘As far away from here as is possible,’ Benedict answered tersely as he placed her cloak about her shoulders before taking his own cloak and hat.

Having observed Eric Cargill in conversation with the Count de Sevanne whilst he was dancing with Genevieve, the older man gave Benedict a nod in confirmation that he had received the information they needed. Benedict now saw no reason why he should prolong this tortuous evening any longer. Nor did he think it a good idea to leave Genevieve here alone. For a woman aged in her mid-twenties and a widow after six years of marriage, Genevieve seemed extremely naïve when it came to an awareness of the licentious behaviour of certain gentlemen of the ton.

Himself included …

Chapter Three

Genevieve was a little surprised at having her evening brought to such an abrupt and unsatisfactory end. Although, after her error in judgement earlier, perhaps it was for the best if she left now in order to retire and regroup so that she might ‘fight another day’.

Besides which, if she did have to leave the ball earlier than anticipated, was it not better that she do so in the company of one of the most sought-after gentlemen of the ton?

‘You did not say where we are going, Benedict?’ Genevieve was careful to use his given name this time, having had no idea, until he’d corrected her, that it was simply not done to refer to him as Lucifer to his face. ‘Benedict?’ she prompted again as he made no effort to answer her as the two of them stepped from Lady Hammond’s town house into the dark of the early-summer evening.

‘Perhaps because I have not decided as yet.’ He looked down at her, his face appearing all sharp and dangerous angles in the moonlight. ‘Your reckless behaviour this evening would seem to imply you are seriously in need of a man constantly at your side to keep you from becoming embroiled in scandal.’

She gave a soft gasp. ‘That is unfair.’

‘In what way is it unfair?’ Lucifer arched his dark and arrogant brows. ‘If not for my intervention earlier, I have no doubts you would even now be in a position where you were completely at the mercy of Sandhurst’s plans for you.’

Much as Genevieve hated to admit it, she now believed that to have been the case too. ‘Is it really so wrong of me to want—to yearn—for fun and excitement?’

Benedict frowned as he saw the tears glistening in her beautiful blue eyes. His frown deepened as he recalled Eric Cargill’s comment of earlier, in regard to Josiah Forster having kept his ‘child-bride … shut away in the country from the moment he had married and bedded her’. ‘Was your marriage so very unhappy?’

‘Tortuous,’ she confirmed flatly.

A ‘tortuous’ marriage which had lasted for six years, followed by another year of mourning the husband she had not loved. That meant that this was perhaps the first opportunity Genevieve had had for a very long time in which to enjoy all that a London Season had to offer. ‘Did Forster treat you unkindly?’

Her shudder of revulsion was answer enough. ‘I will not talk of it, Benedict. It is just—It is so long since I was able to attend and enjoy parties and balls such as this one,’ she confirmed his earlier summation.

‘Some would say that you were fortunate in having done so,’ Benedict drawled, affected, in spite of himself, by the deep yearning he could see in those expressive blue eyes.

‘The “some” who have always been free to enjoy such things, perhaps,’ Genevieve conceded wistfully.

‘Unlike you?’

She sighed. ‘I have said I will not talk about any of that.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What on earth did you find to do in the country for all of those years of exile?’

‘You are very determined!’ Her little chin rose as she looked up at him. ‘Truth be told, I mainly plotted and planned ways in which I might dispose of my husband!’

Benedict found himself stunned into silence for several minutes, before he then gave in to the urge he had to laugh at the bluntness of Genevieve’s statement. And neither was it the first time that this red-haired minx of a woman had reduced him to laughter with her outrageous candidness.

She arched a red-gold brow. ‘I hope you do not suppose for one moment that I am jesting?’

No, Benedict could see by the earnestness of Genevieve’s expression that she was completely serious. His own humour lessened to an ironic tilting of his lips. ‘What did Woollerton do to earn such a fierceness of emotion?’

Her shadowed gaze dropped from meeting his dark and probing one. ‘I cannot, will not, talk of his cruelties to me.’

Benedict’s humour faded completely in the face of Genevieve’s obvious distress. He had not known Josiah Forster personally—that gentleman had been a contemporary of Benedict’s father rather than himself—but he had never heard any gossip in regard to cruelty by the other gentleman. Which was not to say it had not existed; the ton had a way of keeping the worst of its excesses behind closed doors. Certainly, keeping Genevieve’s beauty and vivacity of nature incarcerated in the country for so many years could be called a sin in itself.

Benedict frowned down at her bent head, the hood of her cloak throwing her face into shadow. ‘Name one thing which for you represents this “adventure and fun” you speak of.’

She raised long lashes, her eyes now twin pools of hurt. ‘So that you might laugh or ridicule me?’

‘I had it more in mind to gauge whether or not I might see fit into escorting you in the endeavour of your choice,’ Benedict conceded drily.

Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Benedict sighed, sure that he was making a mistake by indulging Genevieve in this way, but finding himself totally unable to refuse the appeal of the unhappiness he had brought to those deep-blue eyes by speaking of her dead husband.

Genevieve looked up searchingly into those dark satanic features, but could find no amusement or mockery in his eyes. Indeed, Benedict Lucas wore an expression of resignation rather than amusement. ‘I have always longed to visit Vauxhall Gardens in the evening in the company of a gentleman,’ she answered huskily.

His dark brows rose. ‘You are assuming, if I were to agree to take you there, that I will behave as that gentleman?’

She looked up at him uncertainly. ‘Are you saying you would not?’

He breathed deeply. ‘No. Although I do wonder how it is you have survived these past six weeks of the Season without falling into some sort of scandal or another!’

‘Possibly because, until these past few days or so, I have had Sophia and Pandora to advise me when someone or something is not quite … suitable,’ she allowed ruefully.

And, as Benedict was only too aware, this past week had seen both her close friends becoming entangled in relationships with his own friends Dante and Devil.

Genevieve looked up at him almost shyly. ‘Perhaps I am now to have a fallen angel to watch over me?’

‘It will be for one evening only,’ Benedict warned firmly, not sure he particularly cared for being referred to as a ‘fallen angel’. ‘I do not have the time, nor the inclination, to be continually available to rescue you from your own lack of insight into a gentleman’s true nature.’

‘But you will spare me this one evening?’

Benedict found himself unable to resist the excitement he could see glowing in those deep-blue eyes. At her thoughts of being allowed to visit Vauxhall Gardens, not at spending the evening with him specifically, he reminded himself firmly. ‘If that is what you wish, yes.’

‘Oh, it is!’ She smiled up at him. ‘Oh, thank you, Benedict. What shall I wear, do you think? Perhaps—’

‘Did you listen to anything I just said, Genevieve?’ Benedict made no effort to descend the steps to where their carriages now waited, the one to return Genevieve to the safety of her home, and the other to take Benedict to his club where he could overindulge in the strong liquor he currently felt so desperately in need of. ‘I will agree to escort you to Vauxhall Gardens, but only on the understanding that in future you will think more before embarking on this quest for “fun and adventure”.’

‘Could we both wear masks, do you think, so that we are not recognised? It would be so much more fun!’

‘Genevieve!’ he thundered impatiently.

‘Yes, Benedict?’ She looked up at him with guileless blue eyes.

He gave a pained frown. This woman was a troublesome minx and he rued the day that he had made the effort and stirred himself to speak with her.

Benedict also had reason to question how it was that he had so completely lost sight of his original plans to use this woman’s company as his foil in society. He now appeared to be going where Genevieve led rather than the other way about! His mouth thinned. ‘We will visit Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening, if you are available?’

‘I will ensure that I am.’ She nodded.

‘We will stroll about the grounds and arbours for an hour or so, before returning.’

‘What of the masks, Benedict?’

He breathed his impatience with her single-mindedness. ‘We will wear masks if that is what you wish.’

‘Oh, it is!’ She glowed up at him.

He looked down at her reprovingly. ‘I should warn you, there is no guarantee that the masks will conceal our true identity.’

She arched her brows. ‘And is there someone in your life at present who might find reason to … object to your being recognised out and about with me?’

Benedict raised his brows. ‘Would it matter to you if there were?’

Would it matter to her? Yes, Genevieve believed that it would. She had absolutely no doubts that Benedict had saved her from Sandhurst’s clutches this evening, and that, despite what he had said to the contrary, he would, if necessary, rescue her again if the need should ever arise. Obviously, in view of this kindness, Genevieve did not wish to be the cause of any discomfort in Benedict’s own personal life.

She looked up at Benedict through thick lashes. ‘Is there someone who might object?’

He glowered down at her. ‘As it happens, no, there is not. Which is not to say,’ he continued firmly as she would have spoken, ‘that I intend to babysit you for more than a single evening.’

Genevieve nodded. ‘Tomorrow evening.’

‘Tomorrow evening,’ he echoed wearily. ‘Now allow me to see you safely delivered to your carriage so that I might be on my way in mine.’

‘Are you going anywhere fun?’

She seemed to be obsessed with that word, Benedict acknowledged frowningly. Possibly because fun was something which had been sadly missing from her own life to date? Indeed, Genevieve behaved more like a newly come-out débutante than a widowed duchess of five and twenty. Because of Josiah Forster’s cruel treatment of her? Benedict feared so.

But despite her husband’s cruelties, Genevieve still possessed a naïveté in regard to men that was wholly appealing. His expression softened as they reached Genevieve’s carriage and he turned to tap her playfully on the end of her enchanting, slightly uptilted nose. ‘Nowhere that you might follow, little one.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Are you going to a house of the demi-monde? Or perhaps a brothel? I have long—’

‘Please do not say you have “always longed to visit” one of those two establishments, too!’ Benedict groaned in protest.

‘No, of course I have not.’ She looked up at him reprovingly. ‘That would be most improper. I have merely wondered …’

‘I am not on my way to either a brothel or a house of the demi-monde, Genevieve.’ Benedict scowled down at her. ‘Neither would I discuss it with you if I were.’ He gave a disgusted shake of his head at the impropriety of this conversation. ‘Indeed, most ladies of my acquaintance would scream in shock at the mere mention of either establishment in their presence, let alone choose to discuss such things themselves.’

‘Are you implying that I am not a lady?’

No, Benedict was not saying that at all. How could he, when it was perfectly obvious that Genevieve was very much a lady, from the top of her pearl-adorned red curls to the dainty satin slippers upon her feet. It was only that she was a type of lady, forthright and yet endearingly vulnerable at the same time, whom Benedict had never encountered before today. Indeed, he currently found himself in a position of having no idea what Genevieve would do or say next to surprise him.

‘Your enthusiasm for life is … refreshingly different, to say the least,’ he conceded gruffly.

‘And at worst …?’ Genevieve looked up at him suspiciously, sure that Benedict was mocking her in some way, but as yet unsure how. But no doubt she would have plenty of time to give thought to that before he accompanied her to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow evening!

He gave a derisive smile. ‘At worst your behaviour is such that you are likely to get your pretty fingers, and other parts of your anatomy, well and truly burned!’

Her cheeks warmed. ‘By you?’

He drew in a sharp breath. ‘I am too old, in experience if not in years, and far too jaded in spirit, for one such as you to flex your delicate little claws on, pet.’

Her gaze became searching on Benedict’s harshly hewn features and she knew that she liked and trusted Benedict, despite how experienced or jaded he might claim to be. He was perhaps both those things, but he had also shown a kindness and concern for her this evening which said he was, despite everything, a man of honour.

She smiled up at him warmly. ‘I shall very much look forward to seeing you again tomorrow evening, Benedict.’ She moved up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly upon one rigidly tensed cheek before turning to step into her carriage and instructing her driver to move on, a smile curving her lips as her last view of Benedict showed him scowling darkly in his displeasure.

Her smile widened as she thought of their visit to Vauxhall Gardens.

‘I believe I told my butler to inform you that I am not at home?’ Genevieve stood up to glare coldly at the gentleman who presented himself uninvited in the gold salon of her London home the following afternoon, her hands clutched tightly together so that he should not have the satisfaction of seeing how they trembled at his unexpected appearance here.

This morning had, predictably, been a busy one for her, with visits from both admiring gentlemen bearing more flowers and chocolates and many of the ladies who had been present at Lady Hammond’s ball yesterday evening. Most of them were calling out of curiosity in regard to the time Genevieve had spent in the company of the elusive Lord Benedict Lucas, to the degree that he had danced with her when he had not taken to the dance floor these past ten years—a fact which secretly thrilled Genevieve.

None of those ladies who had called knew Genevieve intimately enough to ask her the question direct, of course, but their curiosity was none the less tangible and highly entertaining to Genevieve.

The gentlemen who had presented flowers and bonbons had been even more pleasant, even if Genevieve was aware that those calls were being made because Lucifer’s interest had somehow succeeded in making her the latest fashion.

But her visitor of this afternoon was most unwelcome.

‘Obviously your butler was mistaken, because here you most certainly are,’ William Forster, the tenth Duke of Woollerton, mocked drily as he glanced in the direction of the obviously uncomfortable and apologetic butler standing in the doorway behind him.

‘You may go, Jenkins.’ Genevieve gave the elderly man a reassuring smile before returning the coldness of her gaze back to her unwanted visitor.

The same man had been Genevieve’s stepson for the duration of her marriage to his father, and at nine and twenty and in possession of fleshy good looks, William bore a startling resemblance to his sire. Nor had William ever made any secret of his disapproval of his father’s choice of Genevieve as his second wife. It was perhaps the only thing upon which the two of them had ever agreed; Genevieve had not been happy in his father choosing to marry her, either.

William now looked down the length of his supercilious nose at her. ‘It has been brought to my attention, by several of my acquaintances, that you have been cutting a swathe in society this past six weeks or more.’

‘Have you dared to spy on me?’ Genevieve’s eyes flashed angrily, her cheeks flushing with temper; she had spent enough years being bullied by this man and his father to know she did not intend to suffer those same bullying tactics as Josiah’s widow.

‘It cannot be called spying, when the whole of the ton has been witness to your outings with those other two silly ladies these past weeks!’

‘I believe you are referring to the Duchesses of Clayborne and Wyndwood.’ Genevieve frowned, still uncertain as to the reason for William’s visit today, because there must assuredly be a reason for him to have bothered himself in coming here. ‘Neither of whom can be considered in the least silly.’

‘That is surely a matter of opinion?’ he drawled disdainfully. ‘Nor is it of importance.’ He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘How can it be, when it is your own … behaviour with Lord Benedict Lucas, which is now in question.’

Genevieve’s chin rose defiantly. ‘By whom, might one ask?’

‘By me, madam.’ He looked at her coldly. ‘And by the Earl of Ramsey. You are acquainted with that gentleman?’

Genevieve blinked, having no idea what the earl had to do with her, or where this conversation was going. ‘I believe we have been introduced, and have met by chance a time or two in recent weeks, yes.’

William nodded. ‘He was also present at Lady Hammond’s ball yesterday evening. A fact which you were no doubt unaware of, when all of your own attention was so firmly fixed first upon Sandhurst and then Lucas.’

In truth, she did not remember seeing the Earl of Ramsey at the ball yesterday evening, occupied as she had been. Nor did she understand why she should have done so. ‘I am sure this is all very interesting, William, but—’

‘Tell me, has Lucifer been more successful than my father in parting your silky thighs without benefit of a wedding ring?’

Genevieve paled at his crudeness. ‘Why do you insist on reducing everything to the level of the gutter?’

‘Perhaps because that is where I have always considered you belong?’ William gave a scathing and humourless smile. ‘I do not believe I ever made a secret of my lack of understanding as to why my father ever bothered himself to marry a young woman without fortune or position.’

‘As I never made any secret of the fact that it was always my dearest wish he had not! That I wished to be free of the both of you!’ Genevieve’s hands were now clenched so tightly at her sides she could feel her nails digging into her palms through the lace of her gloves.

He eyed her pityingly. ‘You may thank your worthless brother for that particular predicament.’

Genevieve stood as tall in her satin slippers as her five feet and two inches would allow. ‘My brother has been dead these past six years, sir.’

‘By his own hand,’ William Forster dismissed in a bored voice. ‘A coward’s way out, I have always thought.’

‘Neither you, or your thoughts, hold the slightest interest for me, sir.’ Genevieve looked at him coldly. ‘And if Colin chose to take his own life, then it was your father’s lies and deceit that made him do so.’

Having only met Josiah Forster on two occasions before her brother, Colin, also her guardian, informed her of his offer for her, Genevieve had at first refused to even consider it. But she had been aged only eighteen and her brother had been deeply in debt because of his addiction to gambling. It was a debt the duke had promised to pay once Genevieve became his wife. Even knowing that, Genevieve had found the whole idea of being married to a man as old as Josiah Forster repugnant. But Colin’s entreaties had eventually prevailed and Genevieve had duly married her duke and returned with him to Woollerton Hall for their honeymoon period.

She gave a shudder as she once again recalled her wedding night. A night of fear, and humiliation, which had only grown in intensity as the days, weeks, and months had passed and Josiah’s cruelties towards her had intensified.

Nor had he ever made good on his promise as a gentleman to pay Colin’s gambling debts once Genevieve had become his wife, and so had left her brother at the mercy of the men to whom he was so deeply in debt.

Was it any wonder that, feeling responsible as he did for both Genevieve’s obvious unhappiness in her marriage, and his own unbearable circumstances, Colin had visited the duke one last time to ask for his help and had again been refused, before then choosing to hang himself from one of the trees in the woods at the back of Woollerton Hall?

William Forster now looked at her as mercilessly as his father had always done. ‘Your brother was weak, as well as a fool, in not demanding my father’s promise to him in writing before your wedding.’

‘And your father was not a gentleman, or a man of honour.’

‘Honour?’ William laughed derisively. ‘Why should my father stir himself to honour anything he might have said to your worthless brother, when he had already sampled your charms and found them wanting?’

Genevieve welcomed the pain as her nails now pierced the palms of her hand through the lace of her gloves, ‘I wish for you to leave my home.’

‘Not until I have said what I came here to say.’

‘You will leave my home now!’ Genevieve shook with the anger that now consumed every part of her.

‘And who is going to make me? Your elderly butler?’ William challenged confidently. ‘Or perhaps your new lover?’ His cold grey gaze roamed over her with a familiarity that made Genevieve cringe. ‘From all that I know of Lucifer, he is not a man to trouble himself in regard to any woman he takes as mistress.’

‘I am not his mistress!’ Genevieve’s eyes glowed a fiery blue in warning.

‘Yet,’ William bit out harshly. ‘And it is my intention that he never will be.’

‘And what business is it of yours, sir?’

‘For better or worse, you are my father’s widow.’ Those pale grey eyes raked over her with dislike. ‘And tomorrow morning will see the announcement of my betrothal to the Earl of Ramsey’s only daughter, the wedding to take place next month. A marriage which will be beneficial to both our families.’

‘Perhaps it behoves someone to warn that poor girl of exactly what sort of family she is marrying into—Take your hands off me!’ Genevieve gave a pained gasp as William moved to take a tight grip of one of her wrists before twisting her arm painfully behind her back, causing her to arch her back in an effort not to allow their bodies to come into any sort of contact.

‘I have no intention of releasing you until I consider this conversation to have been settled to my satisfaction.’ William thrust his face very close to her own, the warmth of his breath brushing against Genevieve’s throat, and causing her to quiver with revulsion.

‘What do you want from me?’ she gasped softly.

‘Ramsey is … something of a prude, and as such I do not believe he would appreciate it if my father’s widow, the woman who was my stepmother, and is now the Dowager Duchess of Woollerton, were to become involved in a sordid affair with the man the ton calls Lucifer. Therefore, I advise that you cease your relationship with him before such a possibility occurs.’

‘It is not for you to dictate to me whom I should or should not take as my friends,’ Genevieve refused determinedly.

‘I thought you might say that.’ William sneered at her bravery. ‘But you may rest assured, Genevieve, that if in the next month you should do or behave in such a way which might interfere with my own marriage plans, then I will personally make sure that you regret that behaviour. Am I making myself clear?’ His voice was as hard with cruelty as his father’s had always been.

‘God, how I hate you!’ Genevieve choked, wishing this conversation over, most of all wishing this man’s presence gone from her home, and the memories he had brought with him. Memories of her wedding night, followed by Josiah’s numerous cruelties to her. Of the times she had tried to escape him by running away, only to be brought back and beaten by the very same man who now twisted her arm so painfully.

‘The feeling is mutual, I assure you,’ William sneered. ‘Nevertheless, you will do as I say and immediately break off this scandalous friendship with Lucifer.’ He gave her arm another vicious twist before pushing her roughly away from him, studiously straightening the leather riding gloves he wore as Genevieve stumbled to regain her balance at the same time as she clutched her bruised arm.

How Genevieve hated this man and his father for what they had both done to her. For what William was still trying to do to her.

And she hated him even more for his confidence that she would again do as he had instructed.

‘Leave,’ she managed to choke out.

‘I will go when I am good and ready.’

‘You will get out of my house now!’ She refused to so much as sway on her feet until after William, with one last mocking smile in her direction, strode confidently from her salon and her home.

At which time Genevieve’s legs would no longer support her and she fell down on to the carpet, her wrist and arm hurting so badly that she sobbed tears of pain and humiliation, knowing that the peace she had acquired this past year, her belief that she was finally rid of Josiah, and his equally as cruel and unpleasant son, was completely shattered.

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