The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,55

sending feckless young bucks to the sponging house.

Geoff flung up his hands. “Good God!” he said, looking and sounding genuinely amazed. “When I lay it all out like that I realize that it’s as if I’m already married.”

Benna couldn’t resist laughing.

He narrowed his eyes at her and, quick as an adder strike, he grabbed and pulled her onto his lap, forcing her to straddle his thighs, holding her waist in an unbreakable grip. “I think I love you, you scrawny, bossy harpy. Won’t you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

Benna looked down into his eyes, which had darkened as he stared up at her. She recognized his dilated pupils as signs of his desire and her own body was already responding: her pulse pounding, her sex swelling, and her inner muscles clenching as she imagined him filling her. She wanted him, that was true enough. But did she love him?

As she stared down at his handsome face she considered her feelings for him—those aside from lust. Even now, after months of his best behavior—albeit interspersed with periodic lapses—she did not trust him not to hurt her.

Maybe once she might have been able to love him—back before she’d seen the worst of him: his selfishness, his willingness to manipulate anyone for his own reasons, and his callous treatment of far too many women—more than a few of whom had lost not only their dignity but also their hearts to him.

Benna could not forget those parts of him existed, even though he no longer showed that side of himself to her.

“Well?” he said, his charming smile reminding her of the night that he’d rescued her from that beating. “What do you say, love?”

“I’m honored, Geoff—really. But I—”

Some emotion flickered behind his dark blue gaze—disappointment? Anger? “Shh, never mind, love. What a cow-handed clod I am to be rushing my fences. Let me make up for my clumsiness.”

He yanked her head down, crushing her mouth with his.

Benna gave as good as she got, the desire she felt for him mingling with guilt that she could not give him what he wanted.

They consumed each other, their kiss turning into a battle of wills.

She felt the hard, throbbing ridge of him beneath the silk robe he wore and ground against him, making him shudder.

Well, maybe she couldn’t give him love and marriage, but she could give him the next best thing: pleasure.

Benna slid off his lap, shoved his thighs wide, and dropped to her knees.

He gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Mmm, I like the way your mind works, darling.”

Benna pushed open his robe and exposed his thick, hard shaft. She took him in her hand and pumped him slowly, marveling at his beautiful body, just as she always did.

“Oh God, Ben.” He sucked in a harsh breath, his lids lowering, hips pulsing as he thrust into her tight fist. “I want you so badly,” he said, his voice more of a groan. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

Benna shook her head as she lowered her mouth. “Let me give you pleasure, Geoff.”

He stilled only for a heartbeat, and Benna wondered if he heard the second part of that thought—the part she left unspoken: because I cannot give you love.

But she must have imagined his hesitation because he gave a low, wicked chuckle, threading his fingers into her hair and pushing down her head while raising his hips. “Yes. Take me deep, my darling Ben, just the way I like it.”

Chapter Sixteen

Cornwall

1817

Present Day

A few days after the shock of discovering that Fenwick was haunting the area Benna suffered another surprise.

She had just sent the two new lads she’d hired in Truro—Gordon and Jem—off to the south close to work on the fence and was preparing to start repairing some stonework when Kenneth Pike arrived.

Pike had shown up an hour ago, arriving with several other servants the earl had apparently hired last week. He was in his mid-thirties and had the shrewd, knowing eyes of a man who missed little.

Benna knew within five minutes of meeting Pike that he was going to cause her problems.

But what could she do about it, other than quit?

So, instead, she put him to work.

Stonework was a slow, careful task that required strength but very little thought.

That was just as well because Benna’s mind was racing: why had the earl hired this man? Was he trying to get her to quit? Did he—

“Mr. Piddock?”

Benna looked up to find Nance in the doorway. “Aye?” she asked, her arms screaming