Some Like to Shock

‘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.

Chapter Four

‘… and Sheffield had only been gone but a few minutes when Lord Daniel Robson arrived in company with Billy Summersby. They are both of them so very sweet. And the Earl of Suffolk, a gentleman who has never paid me the slightest attention before now, also presented his card and expressed a wish to take me riding with him in the park early tomorrow morning. It is all your doing, of course, Benedict, because none of those gentlemen had given me so much as a second glance before your own noticeable attentions to me yesterday evening.’

Benedict had been listening to Genevieve prattle on like this for almost the past hour: as soon as she had greeted him in her gold salon, for the whole of the carriage ride from her home, and during this boat ride across the Thames to Vauxhall Gardens. All of it nonsense, and not at all what he had come to expect from her. Indeed, it was the fact that Benedict never knew quite what to expect when in Genevieve’s company which had given rise to his feelings of anticipation of their meeting this evening. Only to have those feelings dissipate when she immediately began to rattle on like this the moment they were alone together.

‘Genevieve …’

‘—I really should thank you—’

‘Genevieve.’

‘—for my current popularity with so many fashionable gentlemen of the ton—’

‘Genevieve!’

Her chatter ceased, as she instead looked up at Benedict in the moonlight through the two slits for her eyes in the golden mask she wore over the top half of her face. She wore an evening cloak about her shoulders which prevented him from seeing the gown she wore. ‘I am sure I was only—’

‘I am well aware that you have “only” chattered incessantly this past hour, so much so that I could not get a word in edgewise,’ Benedict drawled his impatience. ‘And I am curious to know the reason for it.’

She blinked. ‘I thought to amuse you with news of my gentlemen callers today …’

‘You thought no such thing.’ Indeed, Benedict had found himself becoming less and less amused the more he heard of the visits of Genevieve’s many admirers. ‘What else has happened today that could have turned you into such an empty-headed ninny?’ he prompted shrewdly.

Genevieve would have taken exception to such a description if she had not known it was perfectly justified; she was prattling on like so many of those empty-headed ninnies in society that she most despised. Her only excuse was that she was not fully recovered from William Forster’s visit to her this afternoon. Or the threats he had made to her.

So much so that she also inwardly trembled at her own daring in keeping to her original arrangement to go to Vauxhall Gardens with Benedict this evening.

Her initial instinct had been to do as William had asked—demanded!—by sending her apologies to Benedict, but she had thought better of it almost immediately and refused to continue to be bullied by such a hateful man as William Forster. Her rebellion had been helped by the fact that she and Benedict would both be wearing masks, so that no one could say for sure whether or not it was the two of them at Vauxhall Gardens!

Truth be told, Genevieve was also loathe to give up the idea of spending time in Benedict’s company, despite the risk of incurring even more of William’s displeasure.

But there was no doubting that her enjoyment of an evening spent in the company of the most eligible and sought-after gentleman in London, at Vauxhall Gardens of all exciting places, had been severely curtailed by William’s issue of more threats to her physical well being if she did not obey him. To the point that she had begun to chatter nonsensically the moment she found herself alone in Benedict’s company.

And he looked so splendidly handsome in the moonlight, too. A black evening cloak thrown elegantly over his usual black attire and snowy white linen, and the unadorned black mask that covered the top half of his face beneath his top hat, only added to his usual air of danger and mystery.

She forced a smile to curve her lips. ‘Why on earth should you imagine that anything might have happened?’

‘Perhaps because I have come to know you a little these past two days?’ His mouth was a firm line beneath that mask. ‘And the Genevieve I have come to know, whilst lively in her conversation, does not prattle.’

‘Whilst I find the first part of your comment flattering—’

‘It was not intended to flatter, Genevieve, it is merely a statement of truth,’ Benedict assured harshly.

She avoided looking into that glittering black gaze. ‘No. Well. You are partial to the truth, I take it?’

‘Always.’

Genevieve gave a slight shiver at his uncompromising tone, at how ruthlessly that tone implied Benedict would deal with anyone who did not give him that truth. ‘Could we not just enjoy the boat ride, Benedict? Everything looks so romantic in the moonlight that I am sure—’ The resumption of Genevieve’s nervous chatter came to an abrupt halt as Benedict—Lucifer—placed his mouth firmly against her own.

Silencing her.

Stunning her.

Warming her as those firm and sensual lips moved over and against hers in slow exploration. His arms moved about the slenderness of her waist and Benedict drew her into the heat of his firmly muscled body before deepening the kiss, sipping, tasting, gently biting her lips before soothing with the hot sweep of his tongue.

Genevieve’s initial surprise was not, as she had always feared would happen, followed by revulsion at having a man kiss her. Instead, after that first shock, Genevieve found herself shyly returning those gentle kisses as she clung to the width of Benedict’s shoulders, her own lips parting instinctively to allow the kiss to be deepened.

She was leaning weakly against that hard and muscled chest by the time Benedict raised his head to look down at her with glittering black eyes. ‘What else happened today, Genevieve?’

‘I—’ Genevieve pushed against his chest to distance herself even as she blinked in an effort to clear her head of the effects of that astonishing—and totally unexpected—kiss. ‘It was most unfair of you to attempt to use seduction in order to attempt to force my co-operation, Benedict.’ She looked up at him reproachfully.

His eyes narrowed behind the unadorned black mask. ‘Seduce you into telling me what exactly, Genevieve?’

She gave a pained frown as she realised her mistake. ‘Into telling you nothing,’ she dismissed lightly, ‘for there is nothing to tell.’

‘Genevieve.’

‘Will you please desist from constantly repeating my name in that reproving manner?’ She bristled irritably as she straightened her gown unnecessarily, still flustered by that kiss. ‘I am not a naughty child to be spoken to in that tone.’

Benedict bit back his own impatience, totally aware that Genevieve was now using anger so that she did not have to answer his original question, something he was unwilling to allow her to continue to do. ‘If I considered you a child, of any description, then you would not be here with me now. Nor would I have kissed you,’ he added harshly, also aware that having intended to use the kiss only as a means of silencing Genevieve, he was now the one who was left uncomfortably aroused, his shaft a hot and throbbing ache inside his breeches.

A blush warmed her cheeks. ‘No, of course you would not. I—It is only that—’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Perhaps we should continue with this conversation once we are safely arrived at the gardens?’ She gave the boatman sitting in front of them a belatedly pointed glance.

Another excuse for delaying their conversation, Benedict guessed easily. And one that succeeding in making him even more curious as to what might have occurred to put Genevieve in this state of nervous tension. A curiosity that would have to wait as he saw they had almost reached their destination. ‘Very well,’ he conceded tersely. ‘But I advise against you using the intervening time in which to make up some excuse,’ he added sternly, standing up as they had now reached the quayside, collecting up the picnic basket and stepping out of the boat before turning to take Genevieve’s gloved hand and aid her own step on to dry land. ‘What have you done to your arm …?’ he prompted shrewdly as he saw her wince as he clasped her hand.

Genevieve continued to look down at where she was stepping rather than at Benedict. ‘I caught the sleeve on my robe on the door handle of my dressing room this morning and wrenched my arm.’

‘Careless of you.’