than what we deserve.” He gave an odd-sounding laugh and threw back his head.
Benna raised the glass and drained it in four laborious swallows.
This time, when she lowered the glass, the room spun around her. She put down her glass and missed the table entirely.
“Whoops,” Geoff said. “Look who’s finished celebrating. Come on, lass.” He stood and reached out a hand for her, the gesture so achingly familiar that Benna felt something warm trickle down her cheek.
A sob slipped out of her. “I’m sho—I mean I’m so shorry, Geoffy.”
“Shhh, hush now. No tears. Who would have pegged you for a blubbering drunk?”
Benna gave a watery, choked laugh. “Shorry,” she whispered. She gazed up at him, seeing three Geoffs, hoping he knew what she was trying to say.
“I know you are, love.” He pulled her to her feet and deftly slid his arms beneath her, cradling her to his chest. “You seem so … substantial but you’re just a slip of a thing, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice subdued.
Benna’s head lolled back. “Urgh, shhkinny,” she mumbled.
“Let’s put you to bed—mine tonight, I think.” The door to his chambers was already open, the room still toasty warm from the fire Benna had fed when they’d returned from their carousing.
For somebody who’d just consumed the better part of two bottles of claret Geoff worked with remarkable deftness to undress her.
“Shank you,” she muttered when he unbuttoned her fall and pushed down her breeches and drawers.
“It’s always a pleasure to undress you, Benna.”
She smiled woozily as he pulled the blankets up to her chin and then kissed her temple.
“Get some sleep, love,” he whispered. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long, difficult day.”
***
Benna didn’t know what it was that woke her, but she knew immediately that she was alone in the bed.
The room was so dark that it took her a moment to remember where she was—Geoff’s bedchamber.
Her head was pounding like a war drum. But behind the pain something niggled, something that had been swimming just at the edge of her consciousness, around and around and around like a circling shark.
God, her head hurt. What had she been thinking to drink so much? She rarely drank at all, knowing how poorly she tolerated it.
But Geoff had been pouring the wine down her throat.
Geoff.
Her lips curved into a smile as she recalled how tenderly he’d undressed her before tucking her into—
Benna. He called me Benna.
She jolted upright, or, at least she tried to. That’s when she noticed that her wrists were tied together, as were her ankles.
“Geoff!” Her voice was shrill with terror.
“Shhh, don’t be frightened, love. I’m right here. Sorry I had to tie you. But I know how strong you are, for all that you don’t look it. I couldn’t risk you getting the upper hand and kicking my arse, now could I?” Geoff chuckled, his voice eerie and disembodied in the darkness.
Benna shifted clumsily, until she was on her side. She could barely see the outline of his head; he was sitting in a chair by the fire.
“What’s going on, Geoff?” she asked, her voice froggy.
She saw his hand lift and realized he was drinking.
“Are you drunk?” she demanded.
“No, I wish I were—Lord knows I’ve been trying hard enough. I’ve not stopped drinking all night, but I’m as sober as a bloody judge.”
Every hair on Benna’s body stood up at the chilling deadness in his voice.
“Tell me why you are doing this?”
“Don’t you want to ask how I know your name, Benna?”
Benna squeezed her eyes shut; so, she’d not dreamed it.
Her drink-addled mind struggled to make sense of it, but she came up with nothing. “I don’t understand, how—”
“Come now, Benna. I taught you better than that. Think, my dear.”
So Benna thought. It turned out to be a good exercise as it cleared her mind of both alcoholic haze and debilitating fear.
“You found out in Edinburgh, didn’t you?”
“Very good, Benna. You were quite right to refuse to go with me. Of course that, in itself, told me there was something there you very much wanted to avoid.”
“How?”
“It was young Lord Jevington—whom you were so anxious to protect—who inadvertently led to your undoing. The third night I was there he told me that he’d met a gentleman who was eager to play—somebody who’d heard about my skills. He took me to a rather unusual house on the Royal Mile—an ancient old place with overhanging gables. The house had belonged to the Dukes of Wake since 1477. That’s what the current master, the