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
