Page 24 of Letters to a Wallflower
“Oh, well done!” she exclaimed after he had filled her in. “I’ve spent all evening watching the crowds, wondering if the villain who wrecked my life was here. Surely he must be. Everyone is here, tonight. I’ve peered into faces, listened to the laughter and the gossip and tried to imagine who it might be. Who cares so little for others? Who would say or print anything, truth or lie, merely to serve his own needs? I could scarcely imagine it being anyone here, but now you say we could unmask him as soon as tomorrow?”
A shiver shook her from toe to scalp. She stepped closer and moved willingly into the comfort and warmth of his arms. “Nothing feels like I thought it would,” she whispered.
He gave a low laugh. “I have an inkling of what you mean.”
“I was so confident,” she said with a shake of her head. “I had it all planned. I would win them back, bask in their approval, then turn away and let them go. But I was a fool. Their scorn brought me so low, and yet I find their approbation fails to lift me high.”
“You needed to find the strength inside you,” he said softly. “It’s what will sustain you.”
She shivered again as he traced a lock of hair to her shoulder. “I know you are right, but over these last weeks, I’ve found that, although I don’t need the approval of the ton, what matters is the affection and concern of those that truly know and care for me. Grandmama. The dowagers. Will. Even Miss Parker and a few of the other young ladies who have taken the time to become acquainted.” She lifted her gaze and wished she could more clearly see his changeable eyes. “I thought I would hate you forever. I tried to cast off my feelings for you. I thought I’d done so. But now, I find it is you I need most of all.”
“As I need you,” he breathed.
Helen nearly sighed in relief as he cupped her cheek and leaned down to kiss her. Earlier they had both been in a mood of slow and happy exploration. Now, though, their kiss quickly intensified. She could almost taste the urgency in him as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in.
Laughter echoed from the passage outside and she pulled back. “Didn’t you mention a private place?”
He breathed deeply and nodded toward the back of the room. “The butler’s pantry. A folding screen hides it from view.”
Holding hands, they made their way there. The small, closet-like space was even darker than the dining room, but as her eyes adjusted, Helen saw shelves of serving dishes and candlesticks and a counter space for the decanting of wine. Before she could see more, Ben had grasped her waist and hoisted her up onto the empty spot. She laughed, then adjusted her skirts so he could move between her legs. His hands stayed at her waist and he rested his head on her bosom. He heaved a sigh. It sounded like peace and gratitude. It sounded like love and Helen felt the sweetness of it healing the cracked pieces inside her.
His mouth settled into the curve of her neck. The sudden, soft, warmth set a frisson of desire skittering down her spine. The peaks of her breasts tightened and then they were kissing again, fiercely. Possessively.
Yes. This. This is what lifted her up. This connection made her want to face the future, even though she knew the heartbreak of losing Grandmama waited. It was Ben who gave her strength, made her feel alive, hopeful and ready.
He scraped his teeth along her shoulder, then pressed his face into the rise of her bosom above the low bodice of her gown. His hands moved from her hips to her breasts. He kneaded and molded her as his hot breath warmed her skin. When he found her nipple beneath her gown and squeezed, a low moan rolled out of her.
And a giggle sounded from the dining room outside.
They both froze.
“I’m sure I saw our venerated hero, Mr. Hargrove, duck in here,” said someone out there. The voice was full of venomous anticipation. “But who has he made an assignation with, I wonder?”
Icy certainty settled over her. She knew that tone. Leighton stood out there. She hopped down from the counter and straightened her skirts.
“Let’s find out,” someone else said.
Ben stepped in front of her as the screen was tossed away. Several people stared in at them. Helen lifted her chin and stared defiantly back. Miss Ventry gaped at her, then laughed in delight.
Helen nearly groaned. Why must it be her? Several of the woman’s cronies surrounded her, but Leighton and Lady Littleton stood at the front of the group. Her friend didn’t even look at her. He was staring at Ben with dark, gleeful triumph.
Ben glared back, his gaze roaming over Leighton as if he’d never seen him before. “Akers,” he said, his tone low and full of hate. “You! You worm!”
Leighton stiffened. For the briefest moment, he looked . . . frightened. But he turned his focus to her. “Helen, there you are. Your grandmother is looking for you.” His tone was cold. “If you ask me, her color doesn’t look good.”
It was a disaster. Her good name was ruined. Again. But at those words, she ceased to care. “Oh!” She turned and took Ben’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I must go to her.”
Ben held on. “Helen, I think there is something you must hear, first.”
She glanced at the still-sniggling group. “Yes. We must talk. But first, I must get Grandmama home to bed.”
She slipped away, moving past the smug crowd as if they were not there. As she hurried away, she was surprised to find herself not in the least sorry.
For any of it.
The sparkling stickpin. The odd, triumph combined with malevolence in Aker’s gaze. Together, they dredged up Elliott Ward’s words about the baron’s luck in gaming. He does seem to acquire the oddest things. And McKay. . . . when I turned over the Prattler. Add it in with Akers’ tendency to constantly jab and taunt and the trend of the Prattler’s late focus on Society’s peccadillos . . .
It all became abruptly clear. Ben knew it with a certainty in his bones. Akers was the new, anonymous editor of the Prattler. And then worse truth wormed its way clear. It meant that Akers was likely the one who had bullied and forced McKay to print those letters and hurt Helen.
