“Yes,” I replied. I was enjoying his attention, but the way he’d marked my family’s lack of notoriety gave me pause. There were a good deal of privileged men in the world who considered lowborn women easy prey. One dressed up in a fine gown and out of her element? Perhaps even more so.
That knowledge, however, was a shallow thing. My mind refused to linger on it, disappearing into Benedict’s warm eyes.
“Will you walk with me? I hear Lady Phira keeps a wonderful winter garden,” he said, the sound of his voice dashing aside the last of my worry. “I would like to hear about your experiences with my brother, if you are willing to share. He hasn’t returned my letters in years.”
“That’s terrible.” Perhaps I was reading too much into this man, forgetting that I’d just reminded him of what must be a difficult and painful past. “Of course.”
We left the dance floor, he hooking my fingers through his own as he led the way out of the ballroom. I stared at those fingers as we walked, mystified by them. I was letting this encounter become far too familiar, far too fast. Why, then, couldn’t I act against it?
“Good man!” Benedict addressed a servant posted beside a doorway. “Where might I find the Winter Garden?”
The servant glanced at me, then our hooked fingers. With Benedict’s focus on the other man, I finally found the will to release his hand and pressed my knuckles into my stays, half listening as the servant gave Benedict directions.
Glancing through the doors, I saw a group of men and women gathered around a table. Cards were dealt and I spied Grant with a stack of coins and three empty glasses in front of him. He looked unsettled, speaking quickly to a woman in a simple frock coat and trousers. She didn’t precisely look like a guest. A servant, perhaps?
Before I could catch Grant’s eye or speculate on what he was saying, Benedict started off with a prompting, backwards look. I trailed after him, though I didn’t remember deciding to do so.
Cool air wafted out into the hall as we entered a conservatory. The glass walls and ceiling rose around us, reflecting the light of a hundred free-flying dragonflies and highlighting the snow that lined each cloudy pane.
Beneath the glass, the world was green. The garden smelled of earth and growth, of forest and meadows, and my soul ached with the familiarity of it. Full-size trees reached towards the glass and myriad flowers bloomed in huge stone beds, ornate pots and hanging baskets. A fountain burbled in the center of the room and numerous other couples sat on benches around it, murmuring and holding hands. Other presences moved off through the shadows, more secretive, more intimate, and even the dragonflies avoided them.
I stifled a startled, embarrassed laugh behind one hand. I’d just walked into a trysting garden with a man I barely knew.
“We should go back to the ballroom,” I said, shaking my head. Then I blinked, realizing my lips were still closed. I hadn’t spoken at all, and Benedict had drawn me into a slow circuit of the outer wall.
“When was the last time you saw my brother?” he asked. We didn’t touch one another now and as I passed the cool glass, my skin prickled with cold and unease. Unfortunately, it did little to clear my head.
“Tithe,” I said. This time my tongue worked, but when I tried to turn it to talk of leaving, I found I’d forgotten my concerns. “I… My vessel had stopped there, on the journey here.”
Benedict looked at me quizzically. “And why were you coming here?”
“I’m seeking patronage,” I lied. My tongue did not want to do that, either, but I managed it. “Or employment, as a musician. Phira was kind enough to allow me to come tonight, to make connections.”
“Ah, yes, connections.” Benedict’s eyes lit and a new smile crested his lips. “I hadn’t realized you are a musician. How fine. So you met my brother in Tithe and…？”
“We were staying at the same inn and took dinner together,” I replied. “It was pleasant enough.”
“But you mentioned your connection was ‘unfortunate?’”
I winced and scrambled to rephrase myself. “He took an interest in me. Followed me, once.”
“That must have been frightening.” Benedict’s voice lowered. “I apologize.”
Memories of that night trickled back. Samuel putting another slice of bread on my plate. The way he’d looked at me before he vanished off with the inn wife and I’d robbed him. He was presumptuous and stiff, but he’d also appeared so relieved, and seemed so kind.
But Benedict had told me of another Samuel, a side of him I had never seen. A side he must have learned to hide well to have fooled me so thoroughly.
All at once, I was glad I’d robbed him. I hadn’t let him completely pull me in.
Benedict and I talked for some time, wandering the rim of the Winter Garden while I carefully spoke of Samuel. Eventually the conversation shifted, and the lieutenant told me of his ship’s commission to patrol the North Sea. His voice was soft and low, as pleasurable as the sight of him in the half-light, leaning a little forward to speak to me, his hands clasped behind his back.
I wet my lips and clasped my arms across my chest. It had been a good deal of time since I’d been in the company of a man this attractive, and my instincts were not about to let me forget it.
“You are chilled,” he noted. “Perhaps we should return to the ballroom?”
Yes, the ballroom. I wanted to go there. But even as I thought that, my will strayed. I was cold, yes, but the scent of greenery and earth was as intoxicating as Benedict was.
“Perhaps we could simply move away from the windows?” I suggested.
Benedict’s gaze wandered off down a shadowed path. “Are you being suggestive, Ms. Grey?”
I blanched. “No! Not at all.” Again, I blinked, and realized my lips had not opened. My protest remained unspoken.
“Because if you are, I am agreeable.” His dimple reappeared. He ducked beneath the arch of a weeping hemlock’s veil of boughs and offered me a hand. “You are beautiful, I’ll admit, and it grieves me to know I’ll never see you again. Perhaps you might leave me with something to remember?”
His words hit me like a splash of cold water—one which the wine in my blood made a valiant attempt to burn away.
“We just met,” I protested, half disappointed, half enamored.
“And?” Benedict prompted in a tone that made my skin prickle. His hand was still extended.
“Is my conversation not enough?” I lingered by the cool glass, the boughs between us. He looked so like Samuel in that moment, my heart gave a melancholy twist. I’d genuinely begun to like Samuel, and the truth about him felt a lot like loss.
“No,” Benedict replied simply. “And unless I have been misinterpreting your attentions all evening, it’s not enough for you, either.”
I didn’t have a response to that, which was disconcerting. What was it about him that had drawn me in so fast? Was it because he looked like Samuel, and he, it seemed, was all Samuel was not?
“Come.” The sound of his voice brushed all remaining confusion—and logic—from my mind. “Give me one moment, here, in the shadows. No one to see or judge. One kiss, before we return to our responsibilities.”