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
