Chapter One
Late January, 1819
Gordon House, London
If asked later, Benedict knew he would have no explanation as to why, as he handed his hat, cloak and gloves to Lord Henry Gordon’s butler, he also lifted his gaze up to the gallery above the entrance hall.
Fate, perhaps?
Whatever had caused Benedict to make that glance upward, it felt as if by doing so he tilted his world upon its axis, as he found himself unable to look away from the most exquisitely beautiful young woman he had ever set eyes upon.
Her fingers gripped two of the carved oak balusters as she pressed her face against them. Her arms were bare and delicate. A cluster of golden curls surrounded a heart-shaped face as pale as the finest porcelain. But most startling of all were the deepest blue eyes Benedict had ever had the pleasure of gazing into.
To Benedict, she most resembled an angelic being, much like those painted on some of the ceilings in churches Benedict had once visited while traveling in Italy.
Impossible to see her figure when she was down on her knees, but he believed her hands and face indicated her to be both slender and young.
Benedict sincerely hoped she was already a woman and not still a girl, considering the manner in which his cock had completely engorged the moment he set eyes upon her.
Before he could enquire of the butler as to exactly who she was, there was a flutter of movement behind the golden-haired angel as an older woman dressed completely in black grasped hold of one of those thin arms. She hissed several inaudible words as she pulled the angel to her feet.
No doubt bruising her skin in the process, Benedict realized with a scowl.
The older woman continued to mutter words Benedict could not hear as she dragged the young woman away from the gallery. In the process, unfortunately, also removing her from Benedict’s sight.
Who the hell could that exquisite woman be?
A maid in Lord Gordon’s household, perhaps?
She had not been dressed in the uniform of a maid, her gown having been a swirl of blue silk before she was pulled out of sight.
As far as Benedict was aware, Lord Gordon did not have a wife, nor was he known to have any children, legitimate or otherwise.
Benedict was especially grateful the delectable creature could not be Gordon’s wife; otherwise, he might have to quietly and quickly dispose of the older man and so make her a widow.
What the hell…?
Benedict did not have the luxury of such impetuous thoughts as those, let alone the freedom to act upon them. His life, by necessity, was one of careful thought and control. It was his way of preventing people from delving too closely into his life, both here in London and at his country estate in Surrey; most especially his estate in Surrey! It was these traits which had earned him the reputation in Society as being a cold and arrogant gentleman.
“Doctor Lord Benedict Winter,” Gordon’s butler announced as Benedict swept into the drawing room.
Lord Gordon made no attempt to get up from where he lay prostrate on a couch. Nor did the latter’s putrid shade of green in the least flatter the older man’s florid complexion and the bruises on his face and neck, both sustained when he was attacked the previous evening.
Lord Gordon was a regular visitor at Club Venus, which catered to gentlemen’s carnal needs and was owned by one of Benedict’s three close friends, the Duke of Blackborne. The previous evening, Lord Gordon had been attacked and beaten after leaving the club. As the doctor Blackborne retained to care for the health of the ladies residing there, Benedict had also tended to Lord Gordon after the attack, with the added promise of visiting the older man today to ensure he had suffered no delayed ill effects. The man was aged in his sixties, after all.
“Any news as to who did this to me, Winter?” Gordon demanded in lieu of a greeting.
Benedict was accustomed to such rudeness as this being shown toward him simply because he had chosen to enter a profession. It was the reason he preferred to treat the poor and those ladies resident at Club Venus. Many in Society assumed that because Benedict had trained as a physician, this now put him on the same social standing as a tradesperson.
Those who made such an erroneous assumption were swiftly shown the error of their ways. As Lord Henry Gordon was about to be.
Benedict looked down the length