the old childhood name, and for a moment it stabbed Benedick to the heart.
He was gone before Benedick could react, too late for him to have the footmen restrain him, disappearing into the gloomy afternoon. And Benedick knew that if Brandon had his way, that goodbye would be final.
Richmond appeared in the open door. “I gather Master Brandon won’t be here for dinner.”
Benedick sighed. “No.” He looked at Richmond’s impassive face and sorrowful eyes, and he felt the same pain in his own heart. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I won’t let him go forever.”
“Yes, my lord.” There were tears swimming in Richmond’s old eyes. “I have faith.”
Benedick wasn’t much in the mood for dancing, but staying home and brooding would be even worse, he thought as he strolled into the brightly lit vestibule of Worthingham House, surrendering his greatcoat to a waiting servant. Another crush, another night of heat and noise and boredom. He glanced around at the other late arrivals, nodding at one couple, exchanging a few words with another as he mounted the massive staircase. He could hear the music drifting down, and he grimaced. The Duchess of Worthington preferred the music of her youth, all from the past century, requiring stiff, practiced moves and very little pleasure. He had every intention of going straight for the card room when Lady Marbury, a plump young matron he’d once shared a few pleasurable nights with, came sidling up to him, a sly expression on her face.
“There you are, Rohan,” she said. “We wondered what was keeping you! You’d best be careful, or Harry Merton will steal a march on you.”
He kept his confusion from his face, smiling blandly. “I doubt it. Harry’s tried to best me a number of times and always failed. What, pray, is he attempting now?”
“Why, Lady Carstairs, of course! She said you had sent her on ahead, but really, Lord Rohan, you shouldn’t keep a lady waiting quite so long.”
His expression was so well schooled that the avid Lady Marbury didn’t notice that his face froze as every curse he’d ever known danced through his brain. He smiled at her. “Then I’d best protect my field,” he said. “Direct me to them and I will explain to Harry that trespassing is never a wise idea. Particularly when there’s a Rohan involved.”
“He’s over by the embrasure on the left,” she said. “Just right for them to slip into, if Lady Carstairs were a little more mobile. Alas, she has that sprained ankle, but I imagine she could hop if the urge hits her.”
He knew he should say something pleasant, flirtatious, even kiss her hand. Without a word he turned and stalked across the ballroom floor, barely acknowledging any of the greetings. He couldn’t see her, but he could see the men ranged around her, and he wasn’t sure whose neck he wanted to ring, Merton’s or Melisande’s.
He slowed his pace as he approached them. He could see her now, sitting in state on a divan that must have been brought in for her use, surrounded by laughing, flirting men, and he ground his teeth. What the hell was she doing being the center of attention? And where had she gotten that totally indecent dress? It showed most of her exquisite breasts, and he felt a sudden surge of fury. He hadn’t seen her breasts, touched her breasts, and yet here they were, on display for every lascivious idiot in London.
He pushed through the crowd, and they parted easily enough until he loomed over Melisande, who looked up at him with a limpid smile. “Rohan!” she greeted him with feigned delight. “I was afraid you might stand me up.”
Merton was sitting next to her, holding her gloved hand in his, and Benedick simply looked at him, a possessive glare in his eyes, his smile a dangerous warning.
Merton dropped her hand and stumbled to his feet, but he giggled anyway. “Heavens, Rohan, you terrify me. I was merely keeping your lovely lady company while you were dreadfully late. Really, I would think you’d know better how to treat a lady. If you send her on ahead, you risk having other men poach on your lands.”
“I’m not a fallow deer,” Melisande said brightly.
Merton giggled again, looking down at her. “No, my dear lady, you’re a plump little partridge, just ripe enough to be irresistible. But I have no interest in being called out so I will cede my place.” He gestured toward his abandoned gilt chair with a