Benjamin took his own step closer. “You’re threatening me, Charlotte. Does that seem quite wise?”
“This isn’t a threat; it is a warning of things to come. Betray me, lie to me again, and I shall secure your devastation twice as easily as you think to secure mine.” Her heart hammered in her chest. “There is nothing in this world more dangerous than a woman with nothing left to lose.”
CHAPTERTWELVE
One moment, Benjamin had been fighting a vixen for his life, as much as one could when faced with a pen knife, at least. The next, he was walking down Bond Street as though he hadn’t a care in the world, stall and shop owners vying for his attention, his money. And he was locked in an engagement of sorts to the very woman who branded him a monster.
He lifted a hand absent-mindedly to the cut on his cheek, mirror to his scar on the other. It was shallow, thank heavens. It had mainly healed in the three days since Lady Char—sinceCharlotte’sattempt at incrimination. If he was not so worried for her plan, he might have laughed.
“Nasty bit of business, that must have been.” Pollock’s voice came from beside him, a little muffled as he had turned away to inspect the wares of a cobbler. “Mind telling how you acquired such a mark?”
Benjamin turned to the stock as well, trying not so obviously to absorb all he could of the Baron’s son. If he was to act a gentleman, he would need to learnhow.He held himself a little straighter, swooped his hair back as Pollock swept his and then tousled it again once he caught sight of himself in a shop window. “A man must have some secrets.”
Pollock, who still leaned over admiring the buckles on a slipper, turned to him with a grin. “Secrets… of the feminine design?” He reared back up. “It has nothing to do with Lady Charlotte Fitzroy, does it? Rather, nothing so droll as that?”
Benjamin startled. “Why do you suppose it hasanythingto do with Lady Charlotte?”
“Oh, you know how London society is.” Pollock hesitated. “Perhaps you do not. There has been hearsay about a potential liaison between you since your dance at the ball. Supposedly, the woman is quite intrigued by you, or so says the friend of a friend of a friend,” he gestured with a rolling of his wrist.
That anyone should be privy to any sort of entanglement between him and Charlotte… well, it meant the woman worked fast, fanning the flames of their sham courtship before he had even had his breakfast. “Efficient little minx,” he noted beneath his breath.
“What did you say, good man?”
“I said, I shall not pronounce myself either way,” he fudged.
“A man of mystery till the very end.” Pollock nodded. “I like it. Come! If we’ve any luck of arriving at Baxter’s before noon, we shall need to pick up our pace, or so goes it. The man is not one for tardiness, not at all.”
Pick up their paces they did, practically trotting away from Bond Street toward Berkeley Square, near which lay Pollock’s favored tailor. The man was a supposed eccentric and a dandy at that, but Pollock swore there was not a man in London who could fashion a waistcoat as crisply as he could. Benjamin had been seen two days before by an apprentice tailor at Pollock's to take measurements for the seamster proper. With any luck, his set of suits would be complete.
Having agreed to aid Charlotte in her madness, she had suggested he suit and boot himself as was appropriate. He had sent word to Pollock post-haste, and the man had been shadowing him ever since. Benjamin was surprised to find he quite liked his company. Rafael was not pompous as he expected a person of his birth to be, nor particularly disagreeable. He smiled a lot and welcomed the opportunity to show Benjamin—rather,Huxley—around the town as a point of pride more than a burden. It was strange for a friendship to not also be an exchange, a little unnerving too.
Pollock clapped his hands together as they arrived before a small bow-windowed building at the end of Bruton Street. Behind the glass, Benjamin spied jackets of every fashion and color, though most were black. Above the display, in brown painted letters, read ‘Baxter,14 Bruton,Tailoring,Hatter’.
“After this,” Pollock began, swinging the door open and tolling the shop bell, “I shall take you to Harris’. Lady Charlotte will hardly recognize you by the time we are done.”
Benjamin Fletcher hardly recognized the man staring back at him. He looked himself over in the standing mirror of Pollock’s townhouse cloakroom, not quite knowing what to make of his reflection. He was dressed in a fine, knee-length, chocolate-brown overcoat, beneath which Baxter had fashioned a waistcoat to match with glinting bronze buttons. His cravat was high, dazzlingly white, and starched so strongly he feared it might cut him at the jaw. His buckskin trousers were a rich black to match his boots, and they felt stiff and odd as he moved about. There was little to be said of comfort in his attire, but he did have to admit he felt ratherstriking.
He gave the lapels of his coat a whiff. Beneath the smell of the tailor’s shop, the cologne he had acquired, called ‘Classic Harris’, whatever that was supposed to mean, had given his attire an added touch of fancy.
Pollock came bumbling down the stairs. “I’ve had my man pack your things for you. He shall load them on the carriage for us before we make for Hyde Park.” He stepped into the small cloakroom with a contended sigh, fastening his cuffs. “With any luck, we shall arrive before the women do.”
The women.Benjamin swallowed a groan, knowing exactly who he meant and not daring to speak the name aloud as though he might summon her. With a genteel smile, Pollock gestured for the front door.
They arrived before Hyde in the late afternoon—not so late that it was an odd time for a promenade, but not so early their walk might drag out unnecessarily. There was a nip in the breeze, made all the worse for the clear skies, and Benjamin suffered it in phases as the fire of his fear rose and fell like the tide within him.
Down he walked, parallel to The Longwater, each step resounding with strange formality. The park was alive with bustle. Mothers and daughters in pressed velvet coats walked side-by-side, chatting as they went. Gentlemen rode past on their thoroughbreds, their coats whipping behind them, hoping to draw wistful sighs from the walkers. A game of pall-mall was underway in a more secluded spot, though the venture felt inane given the wintry London clime. It was a far cry from Five Fields—a far cry from anything Benjamin had ever known—and for all the allure of a world such as this, he knew he would never belong. It simply was not in his blood.
At the corner of the drive down which they ambled, where the road forked into a bridge, Benjamin felt Pollock tap him on the arm. He nodded forward, and Benjamin followed his gaze… to where the Fitzroy party had set up camp. He noticed their carriage first, a deep navy blue emblazoned with the Richmond coat of arms. Along the bank, someone had set up a blanket of sorts, and the eldest of the Fitzroy offspring, the Marquess of St Chett, lounged on a folding chair, reading. He was bundled up in a thick, overlarge green coat, not taking his chaperoning very seriously at all.
And then, at last, he saw them—the Fitzroy sisters. They were walking away from their brother, their steps in time. Charlotte was dressed in a muted red, her sister in blue. She pointed to something in the sky, but Benjamin didn’t bother looking up. He was so transfixed by her, the woman to whom his heart was untruly promised. She was ravishing, even from what he could see of her at a distance, her cheeks and lips nipped red from the chill. It would not be hard to sell their story, he realized then, for no gentleman, not even Huxley could fail to fall in love with her.
They caught their attention ere long and convened around St Chett’s repose. Greetings were given, and pleasantries were shared, but Benjamin did not hear a word of them, not even as he spoke. He was far too preoccupied trying to catch Charlotte’s eye to see if she, like him, was suffering a most terrible bout of stage-fright. She didn’t return his look, not until they were alone, wandering down to the Serpentine like lovers.
“I appreciate you coming here,” Charlotte said to break the ice. She trembled for the cold and wound her coat more tightly around herself. Were it not for all the prying eyes, Benjamin might have sought to fend off the chill for her. Were they not natural enemies, too. “Though I must say, I cannot begin to imagine how you convinced Mr. Pollock to arrange a meeting so quickly and… naturally.”
Benjamin laughed, finding himself feeling quite out of sorts. He looked back at St Chett, who was not looking at them at all. “I hardly had to do a thing. He mentioned his desire to see your sister again and asked whether I would be kind enough to distract you while he had his wicked way with her.”
Charlotte gasped and glanced over her shoulder. She batted him on the arm when she realized his jape. “I did not realize things were so easy between us that you could allow yourself to tease me.”