He’d been rangy and a bit gangly at twenty when she’d let him seduce her.
No, she’d seduced him, more fool she.
“How very flattering. At least we can agree on something. We hate each other.”
“I don’t hate you, Evie,” he said with sad softness. “I make it a practice not to hate—it drains one so. Think of the last two years you’ve wasted hating me in print.”
“You made it too easy, my lord,” she snapped. And he had—she’d almost pushed him out of her mind until she’d returned to London to man the paper her father had won. But there was Baron Benton Gray, the ultimate libertine, cutting a sexual swath through the ton with cheerful, heedless grace. His antics had infuriated her and roused a need for some sort of retaliation. He seemed to be managing his life quite nicely without her, even after his pledge of enduring love. Rubbish. She’d known the emptiness of his words then, and knew it now.
“I’ve done nothing more than what most men of my acquaintance do. Could you not have been seeking some other kind of amusement rather than vengeance? A vengeance I didn’t deserve, by the way. It was you who rejected me .” As if to take the sting out of his words, he tapped her nose with a forefinger. Ben looked completely at ease hovering over her, untroubled by the heat and scent between them.
“My stories had nothing to do with our misbegotten past. I need to get home,” she ground out. “My father . . . I never know how his nights will be.”
“So how then have you managed to spy on me? I hate to think I’ve kept you from being a dutiful daughter.”
“Some things are worth doing.” Pointedly, she turned her head and counted the crammed shelves that lined one side of the little room. Most of the books had not been covered in tooled leather and gilt, and showed obvious sign of wear. Of someone reading them many times over. Benton Gray? The idea seemed absurd. When would he have time when his every waking moment was spent in debauchery?
“Whose books are these?” she asked.
“Mine. I told you that. And if you want to be seriously impressed, I could escort you upstairs to the true library in the house, but then we’d have to get dressed.” He nibbled all too casually at her earlobe. For once Evangeline wished she had all her hair back so she could cover that sensitive spot. Most of the time she did not miss the snarling mass of coarse black hair that had defied taming, but right now she wished she could veil her face with it and shut herself off from Ben.
He still pressed her into the soft carpet, the quality of the weave so high she could not complain it was making her bare bottom itch. Ben seemed enamored now with the spot just under her ear and was giving it altogether unwelcome attention. Evangeline swallowed a cry and sank her fingernails into his shoulders. “Get off me.”
He lifted with lightning-like speed, withdrawing his cock from her passage with ruthless efficiency. Her damp skin puckered with the loss of his body heat as she struggled to sit up. He remained on his back, staring at the pattern the fire left on the ceiling.
“This must not ever happen again, Ben. I cannot imagine why I was so foolish to let myself be taken in by you.” Her voice wavered, diminishing the intensity of anger she surely felt, mostly at herself. She might even be pregnant, and then her life would be ruined for sure.
“Whatever you say, my dear.”
His drawling words infuriated her further. “You could be pox-ridden for all I know.” She tugged up for the crumpled strip of cloth she used to bind her breasts, not that she needed it.
His hand stayed hers. “Evangeline, I urge you to examine me,” he said, each word dripping ice.
Her eyes darted to his cock, curled now in its nest of golden hair. There were no blemishes to be seen, but that meant nothing. She was about to tell him so, but he squeezed her hand, causing her considerable discomfort.
“Do you really think I would
No, she’d seduced him, more fool she.
“How very flattering. At least we can agree on something. We hate each other.”
“I don’t hate you, Evie,” he said with sad softness. “I make it a practice not to hate—it drains one so. Think of the last two years you’ve wasted hating me in print.”
“You made it too easy, my lord,” she snapped. And he had—she’d almost pushed him out of her mind until she’d returned to London to man the paper her father had won. But there was Baron Benton Gray, the ultimate libertine, cutting a sexual swath through the ton with cheerful, heedless grace. His antics had infuriated her and roused a need for some sort of retaliation. He seemed to be managing his life quite nicely without her, even after his pledge of enduring love. Rubbish. She’d known the emptiness of his words then, and knew it now.
“I’ve done nothing more than what most men of my acquaintance do. Could you not have been seeking some other kind of amusement rather than vengeance? A vengeance I didn’t deserve, by the way. It was you who rejected me .” As if to take the sting out of his words, he tapped her nose with a forefinger. Ben looked completely at ease hovering over her, untroubled by the heat and scent between them.
“My stories had nothing to do with our misbegotten past. I need to get home,” she ground out. “My father . . . I never know how his nights will be.”
“So how then have you managed to spy on me? I hate to think I’ve kept you from being a dutiful daughter.”
“Some things are worth doing.” Pointedly, she turned her head and counted the crammed shelves that lined one side of the little room. Most of the books had not been covered in tooled leather and gilt, and showed obvious sign of wear. Of someone reading them many times over. Benton Gray? The idea seemed absurd. When would he have time when his every waking moment was spent in debauchery?
“Whose books are these?” she asked.
“Mine. I told you that. And if you want to be seriously impressed, I could escort you upstairs to the true library in the house, but then we’d have to get dressed.” He nibbled all too casually at her earlobe. For once Evangeline wished she had all her hair back so she could cover that sensitive spot. Most of the time she did not miss the snarling mass of coarse black hair that had defied taming, but right now she wished she could veil her face with it and shut herself off from Ben.
He still pressed her into the soft carpet, the quality of the weave so high she could not complain it was making her bare bottom itch. Ben seemed enamored now with the spot just under her ear and was giving it altogether unwelcome attention. Evangeline swallowed a cry and sank her fingernails into his shoulders. “Get off me.”
He lifted with lightning-like speed, withdrawing his cock from her passage with ruthless efficiency. Her damp skin puckered with the loss of his body heat as she struggled to sit up. He remained on his back, staring at the pattern the fire left on the ceiling.
“This must not ever happen again, Ben. I cannot imagine why I was so foolish to let myself be taken in by you.” Her voice wavered, diminishing the intensity of anger she surely felt, mostly at herself. She might even be pregnant, and then her life would be ruined for sure.
“Whatever you say, my dear.”
His drawling words infuriated her further. “You could be pox-ridden for all I know.” She tugged up for the crumpled strip of cloth she used to bind her breasts, not that she needed it.
His hand stayed hers. “Evangeline, I urge you to examine me,” he said, each word dripping ice.
Her eyes darted to his cock, curled now in its nest of golden hair. There were no blemishes to be seen, but that meant nothing. She was about to tell him so, but he squeezed her hand, causing her considerable discomfort.
“Do you really think I would
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