The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,47
here she was, working for yet another scheming degenerate—a man who had the morality and conscience of a rotted log.
And now he wanted this from her? After rejecting her so coldly that she had cried herself to sleep for a week?
Not. Bloody. Likely. No matter how much she might want it or how good it would feel.
“No.” Benna shoved him back, this time with some force.
For a moment, she felt him resist and icy panic skittered down her spine.
If he were to force her, she would not be strong enough to resist him.
But he heaved an exasperated sigh and flung himself onto his back, shaking her rickety bed.
“Hell, Ben. I can’t believe you cling to such puritanical scruples after all this time with me,” he groused. “Or is it that you are still mad at me over the last time?
Benna gave a humorless laugh. “Oh, you mean the only time? The time when you took my maidenhead and then treated me like a diseased doxy five minutes later?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he insisted.
“You’re right,” she said, “It was more like ten minutes—after you fell asleep on me.”
He groaned, sounding like a whiney schoolboy. “So? I never promised you anything or lied to you, did I? All I did was—”
“Bed me and behave like a callous spalpeen ten minutes after.”
He snorted. “Spalpeen?” When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “Fine, you have me there. I was a bit harsh—”
It was Benna’s turn to snort.
“I was exceedingly harsh.”
Benna suspected that was the best apology that she would ever get from a man who never apologized.
“What do you want from me, Geoffrey? We have a good arrangement, don’t we? Why wreck it?” Indeed, ever since Geoff had come back from Edinburgh he’d been almost enjoyable to work for.
Well, she amended, maybe not enjoyable. But at least not unbearable.
“But … would becoming lovers really wreck things?” he asked, sounding tentative for the first time since she’d met him.
“Probably. Besides, why risk what we have?” Just because you’re bored and have nobody else to bed?
“Because … dammit, Ben! Because I missed you, all right?”
“Missed me? But I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“I meant that I missed you when I went to Edinburgh without you.”
Even though it was dark, Benna turned her head to stare at him.
“What?” he demanded, turning on his side to face her, the light illuminating just one of his eyes and part of his forehead.
“That was months ago, Geoff. Why are you suddenly—” Benna felt his hand on her side and flinched.
“Please, don’t,” he said
“Don’t what? Deny you the fleeting pleasure of my body tonight?”
He reached out to stroke her again. “Don’t pull away from me, Ben—” He gave a growl of frustration. “Lord, I can’t call you that. What’s your real name?”
“I cannot believe you, Geoffrey” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation and stupefaction. “You’ve known me for years and this is the first time you thought to ask me my real name.”
He groaned. “I know, I know. I’m a selfish clod.”
“Go on,” she said.
“And I’m heartless, unprincipled, self-centered, capricious—is that enough? My vocabulary isn’t that extensive.”
“That’ll do for now,” she said, amused but disconcerted by this unprecedented version of her normally vapid, selfish, conscienceless employer. “So tell me, why do you think I don’t trust you, Geoffrey?”
“Oh, hell, Ben. I know. And I don’t blame you—it’s probably wise not to trust me. I daresay I’ll revert to being my arsehole self tomorrow.”
“Or even before you leave my bed.”
He gave a choked laugh. “So, you won’t tell me your name?”
“Ben has worked well enough up until now.”
“I’m so sorry—you can’t know how much I regret so much of my behavior toward you.” For once, there was no trace of mockery in his voice.
Benna was stunned speechless.
“Even though I can’t see you I can feel your astonishment,” he said drily. “Trust me, you can’t be more astonished by my … feelings”—he said the word as if it were the pox—“than I am. It’s just—well, I didn’t realize myself how important you’d become until I had to do without you.”
“Didn’t like polishing your own boots, tossing your lovers out of your bed when you’re finished with them, and making all your own travel arrangements?” Rather than the dismissive insouciance she’d been hoping for, she sounded nervous and confused.
Once again, he caressed her hip with his hand, but in a soothing, comforting way, rather than a sexual fashion. The same way a man would touch a woman he loved and cherished.