“No,” he said. “Of course not. I enjoyed your companionship a few days ago, Mrs. McKay. It is not often one can relax with a member of the opposite sex who is not a relative.”
“And so I am safe because I am a recent widow,” she said. “But what if I were not still in mourning?”
He stared at her for a few moments.
“Then you would not seem safe at all,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I would be tempted to … engage your interest,” he said.
“My affections, do you mean?”
“Affection is not always necessary.”
She settled her back against the cushions behind her. “You mean you would be tempted to seduce me?”
“Absolutely not.” He frowned. “Seduction is onesided. It suggests a certain degree of coercion or at least of deception.”
Samantha could actually feel her heart thumping in her chest. She could hear it pulsing in her ears. “Sir Benedict,” she said, “how has our conversation come to take this turn?”
He smiled at her suddenly, and there was a strange fluttering low in her abdomen, for it was a smile of considerable charm. It was almost boyish—except that it was not really boyish at all.
Oh, this was absolutely not safe! How dared he? She really ought not to have let him stay.
“I believe it must have a great deal to do with the absence of Lady Matilda,” he said. “I doubt we would have spoken of much other than the weather and the state of one another’s health if she had been here.”
“No, indeed,” she agreed fervently. “But we need not worry anyway, need we? I am a recent widow and so I am safe company.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“What a very unmannerly question,” she said. “A woman never tells, sir. Younger than you, though. I believe my first impression of you was an accurate one after all. All that language and bad temper! You are no gentleman.”
But she spoiled the effect of her words by laughing. He smiled back at her.
“I am going to ring for the tea tray,” she said, getting to her feet. “Would you like something other than tea?”
“Sherry, if there is any.”
She pulled the bell rope. Tramp raised his chin for a moment, sensed that her rising did not offer any treat for himself, and lowered it again onto Sir Benedict’s right boot. Silly dog. Did he not realize that the man did not like him?
She gave the order to Rose but did not immediately sit down again. She felt uncomfortable and moved to the window, where she stood looking out. The rain had not eased.
He would be tempted to engage her interest if she were not a recent widow, he had openly admitted. She ought to have crossed the distance between them there and then and slapped his face. Or she ought to have demanded that he leave.
But it was by far the nicest thing anyone had said to her for a long, long time.
Oh, dear, she feared she would hug to herself the memory of his impudent words for days to come. How pathetic she was!
8
Ben had been aware almost as soon as he entered the room that Mrs. McKay had been crying. There had been no trace of tears left, it was true, but a slight redness and puffiness about her eyes had betrayed her. He had set out to distract her with conversation and had ended up coming very near to flirting with her.
That had not been his intention when he had decided to come. Well, of course it had not. He had expected a very dull, very formal visit with two ladies, not one. He really ought to have left immediately after he knew she was unchaperoned.
But she had been crying. And it had been apparent that she did not want to be alone. So he had stayed—very unwisely. Being alone with her here felt very different from the way being alone with her two days ago in Bea’s flower garden had felt.
Dash it all.
He had not wanted a woman in six years—not women in general, and not any woman in particular. He had even been a little uneasy about it. Had his injuries included the death of his sexual appetites? But he had been only a little uneasy since he knew he could never offer himself in marriage to any woman—not his broken self, anyway, and he was never going to be fully healed. He really could not bear the thought of offering himself outside of marriage either, since no amount of money would completely compensate for the physical revulsion any woman must surely feel if she was forced to be intimate with him.
He watched her in silence as she stood at the window. Her very dark, almost black hair was dressed in a simple knot at her neck. A few tendrils had pulled loose at the sides. They were uncrimped and hung long and straight to her shoulders. Her face was beautiful anyway. It needed no adornment. Her hideous black crepe dress could not hide the lush curves of her figure or the elegant perfection of her posture.
She had Gypsy blood, and she was sensitive about it. She had half expected he would want to leave once he knew.
She was, he thought, a woman desperately in need of a friend. And friendship was something he was quite happy to offer—for a short while, at least, until he went away.
The maid returned with a tray and set it down on a table before withdrawing. Mrs. McKay turned her head to acknowledge its arrival though she did not immediately move from the window.
“It is a dreary world out there,” she said. “It makes one thankful after all to be indoors with a fire burning in the hearth.”
“It is not dreary.” He drew his canes toward him and pulled himself to his feet as she watched. The dog scrambled up and looked at him, tail waving expectantly. Ben crossed the room to Mrs. McKay’s side. “Above the clouds, you know, there is nothing but blue sky and sunshine.”