“Your father loves you. His affection shines in his eyes whenever you’re in the same room.”
“His love helped me through the most difficult time of my life.” Benedict had no memory of his mother, but his father had been full of compassion and wisdom when Cassandra refused his suit. “Consequently, I cannot condemn him for his rakish behaviour.”
“Does he love Mrs Seymour?”
Benedict shrugged. “Who can say? I’m not sure he’s capable of loving a woman.”
“Everyone is capable of romantic love,” she said with some amusement, but then her smile faded. “Except for my father. He’s cold when it comes to anything other than advancing his position.”
Before the mood turned depressing, Benedict shuffled to the edge of the seat and straightened his coat. He leaned forward to brush a crease from her skirt and Cassandra’s excited gasp confirmed she welcomed his advances.
“Come, let me introduce you to Valerie. She’ll find you something disgraceful to wear to a demimonde soirée.”
* * *
Benedict waited for an hour in Valerie’s drawing room while the lady played modiste to his wife. When the women returned, they took to whispering and casting knowing smirks in his direction. They explained that the maid needed to make alterations to the gown, and it would be best if Cassandra remained in Valerie’s care until Benedict called to take her to Mrs Crandall’s depraved den.
An uncomfortable prickle rippled across his shoulders at the thought of trusting someone else with his wife’s safety. But then Tregarth arrived, and so Benedict kept his father company while the ladies ventured upstairs.
Hours passed, leaving him barely enough time to head back to Jermyn Street to bathe and change into suitable attire.
Upon his return, Valerie instructed Benedict to wait in the hall while she went upstairs to call Cassandra. His wife appeared soon after, dressed in a sumptuous red velvet gown trimmed with gold brocade.
Good Lord!
He held his breath as he drank in the delightful sight.
The sleeves skimmed her shoulders, accentuating the elegant column of her throat. The scandalously low neckline drew the eye to the soft swell of her breasts. And yet that wasn’t what made him want to take her in his arms and ravish her senseless. No. It was the bright glint of happiness in her eyes that made him want her. It was the confident way she descended the stairs and the unspoken words that passed between them.
He stared at her for the longest time, trying to contain the roiling emotions in his chest. “You look divine,” he whispered when she reached the bottom step. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he noted the teasing curl draped over her shoulder. “Alluring. Elegant.”
“Valerie is as talented as Madame de La Tour when it comes to how a woman should dress.”
He could not argue.
“Doesn’t she look wonderful?” Valerie’s voice captured Benedict’s attention.
“She always looks wonderful.” He found Cassandra attractive with bird nest hair and wearing a dirty chemise. “But yes, you have exceeded yourself, Valerie.”
“The advantage of red is it suits most women,” Valerie said.
Indeed, Valerie was twenty years Cassandra’s senior with ebony hair streaked grey at the temples. Tregarth preferred mature women to the young widows gracing the ballrooms.
; “You wore red the first night we were introduced.” Tregarth appeared at the drawing room door, cradling a glass of brandy. He leant against the jamb, looked relaxed in just his shirt sleeves.
Valerie smiled. “You remember.”
“I shall never forget.”
Benedict cleared his throat. “Well, we have taken enough of your time and shall leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening. We have a soirée to attend.”
Tregarth straightened and stepped out into the hall. “I shall be here all night should you need me.”
After thanking Valerie for her assistance, Benedict escorted Cassandra to their carriage. They had not spoken privately since their heated kiss hours earlier. Being in the confined space brought the memories flooding back.
“You should prepare yourself for what you might encounter this evening,” he said. Despite all that had occurred, she was still an innocent at heart. “The rogues who attend Mrs Crandall’s events have no conscience. Their morals are rather lax.”