Page 22 of Bound By her Earl

Feared they would show that his mother had known Dowling to have been a criminal and instead of turning him in to the proper authorities, had blackmailed him over it.

He tried not to let his thoughts show on his face as he addressed his friend.

“Yes, yes, have your laughs. A courtship is important business, though.”

Evan looked skeptical. “You aren’t flustered by serious business, Moore.” His mouth twitched. “Are you perhaps less ambivalent to Miss Rutley than you initially believed?”

And damn Benedict’s traitorous mind because the image this evoked was of unruly black curls that heralded their owner’s penchant for sass. It evoked a pouty bottom lip that deserved to be nipped.

It took him far too long to realize that Evan had been, of course, speaking of MissAmandaRutley.

“No,” he said more gruffly than was perhaps necessary, given the innocent teasing of Evan’s comment. But he was off kilter, not only because of the letters but also because he was not a man who was commonly plagued by unwanted thoughts.

“No,” he repeated more calmly. The last thing he needed was Evan probing into what was wrong. He didn’t know what was worse, that his friend would uncover that Benedict had been having…thoughts about Miss Rutley the elder or that Benedict suspected that his mother had knowingly protected a criminal.

Well, no—the latter was certainly worse.

But…

Even if his motherhadknown Dowling to be not a gentleman as he had claimed but rather a scoundrel of the worst kind, surely, she hadn’t known him to be complicit in Lady Grace Miller’smurder. He’d known his mother to do desperate, foolish things in order to gain the attention of men which she seemed to crave like some men craved the drink.

But she wouldn’t do somethingthatfoolish. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it.

He tried not to dwell on the difference between those two statements.

Either way, he would figure out what had happened and deal with it accordingly. Most likely, he’d have to have an uncomfortable conversation with his mother about the idiocy of blackmail, since if someone had done something that meritedbeingblackmailed, they might very well be capable of worse crimes as well.

Like murdering an innocent young lady in cold blood.

Evan was still looking at him, so Benedict drew his mind back to the present, lest his friend probe further into the direction of his thoughts.

“I am merely calculating my next move,” he said, turning his face to look out over the crowded ballroom. Why was it always so deucedly crowded, too? Why did no hostess ever think of how many bodies couldreasonablyfit into her ballroom and then invitefewerpeople than that? Surely a favorable mention in the gossip papers couldn’t be worth the stuffiness and the stepped-upon toes.

“I’d calculate quickly,” Evan said, tipping his chin to an area to Benedict’s left. “Your lady awaits.”

Benedict followed Evan’s gesture. The crop of curls caught his eye first—damn him, truly—but then he saw, just beyond their elder sister, Amanda and Rose Rutley stood, facing in his direction. He caught Amanda’s eye, and she brightened.

Benedict did not feel the same enthusiasm, thankgoodness.

“Right,” he said to Evan. “Duty calls.”

As he left his friend behind, he heard the other man laughingly echo the wordduty.

Well, hell. What did Evan know? He wasn’t looking to marry anytime soon. His father was a legend in the political sphere; the Duke of Graham would likely remain in his title for decades to come if from no other force than sheer determination.

Benedict put these thoughts behind him as he approached the three Rutley sisters, who were talking and laughing together. As he grew close, Rose indicated to her sister; Emily turned, a smile still lighting her face.

That smile, Benedict could not fail to notice, was uncommonly pretty.

It vanished the second she registered him.

Her shift into the scowl stopped him like a physical force. Had he never seen her smile before? She looked rather lovely when she smiled. She should do it more often.

Then he mentally shook himself. What did he care if Emily Rutley smiled or not?

“Oh,” she said flatly as he reached their small group. “It’s you.”

He chose to ignore this. He was, he reminded himself, a grown man. He did not have to be drawn into childish banter with a cantankerous miss who fashioned herself her sister’s guard dog. He could rise above. He could simply refuse to engage. She would eventually grow bored, no doubt.

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