Chapter 325: A Gentleman Undone
Chapter 324: A Gentleman Undone
The moment Benedict stepped out of the training grounds, he did not slow his pace.
His valet, Oliver, had scarcely managed to keep up with him as they made their way through the palace corridors. The earl offered no explanation for his hurried departure, nor did he acknowledge the curious glances cast his way by the servants they passed.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
By the time he reached his chambers, he pushed the door open with more haste than dignity.
"Oliver," he said, loosening his clothes, "would you be so kind as to bring me a basin of cold water?"
His valet blinked in surprise.
"At once, my lord."
Oliver disappeared without another question.
Benedict exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
What in the Goddess’ name had just happened?
He had nearly disgraced himself.
No...
That was not entirely true.
He had disgraced himself.
He had fled from the princess without so much as a proper explanation, bowed in the most awkward manner imaginable, muttered something about improper thoughts, and then all but escaped as though the palace itself had caught fire.
He groaned softly.
She must think him utterly mad.
A knock sounded upon the door.
Oliver entered carrying a large porcelain basin filled almost to the brim with cold water.
"You requested this, my lord."
"Thank you."
The valet placed it upon a nearby table.
The instant Oliver stepped back, Benedict bent forward without hesitation and plunged his face into the icy water.
The cold surrounded him at once.
He remained there for a while.
When he finally lifted his head again, droplets ran freely down his face and into the basin.
He drew a slow breath.
It had only helped a little.
He closed his eyes.
He had been managing.
That was perhaps the most frustrating part.
Ever since he saw Princess Lyria in the training grounds, her scent had lingered around him like the sweetest fragrance carried upon a spring breeze. It was soft, warm.
He had noticed it during their previous meetings.
He had simply never been close enough to appreciate just how dangerous it truly was.
Throughout the lesson, he had kept himself under control.
Even when she stood close enough for him to correct her posture.
Even when she laughed.
Even when she smiled.
He had reminded himself repeatedly that she was a princess deserving of nothing less than perfect respect.
Then the training had continued.
She had begun to tire.
Perspiration had gathered from the exertion, and her scent had deepened until it drifted around them in gentle waves.
It had become sweeter.
Warmer.
Far more noticeable.
Even then...
Even then he had managed, though barely.
He had focused upon correcting her stance.
Upon intercepting her punches.
Upon reminding himself why they were there.
Then...
She had removed her training vest.
Benedict inhaled sharply before lowering his face into the basin once more.
Cold water enveloped him again.
He remained beneath it longer this time before finally resurfacing.
Water streamed from his hair, but he scarcely noticed.
It had not been the removal of the garment itself.
Good heavens, no.
She had remained perfectly respectable.
Far more respectable than most ladies undertaking physical exercise ever managed.
That had never been the issue.
The issue had been everything else.
The moment that outer layer had been removed, it had been as though the smallest barrier between them had vanished.
Her scent had surrounded him so completely that every instinct he possessed had focused entirely upon her.
It had filled his senses.
Occupied every coherent thought.
And, quite against his will, he had noticed things no gentleman ought to notice.
The graceful line of her neck.
A single bead of perspiration slipping slowly downward before disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt.
The gentle rise and fall of her breathing after exertion.
He shut his eyes tightly.
"Goddess preserve me..."
His wolf senses had urged him closer.
Far closer.
Had she remained standing before him another few moments...
He truly did not know whether he would have maintained the distance he had fought so hard to preserve.
His honour demanded better.
She deserved better.
She deserved a gentleman.
Not a man struggling against instincts she could neither see nor understand.
Benedict leaned over the basin again.
How could she possibly know?
She had looked at him with complete innocence.
Concern and even confusion.
She had thought she had offended him.
The very thought tightened something painfully within his chest.
She had apologised to him too.
When he had been the one wrestling with entirely improper thoughts.
He groaned aloud before lowering his face into the water for a third time.
The cold shocked him.
Still...
It was not enough.
He remained there until his lungs protested and let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a muffled scream into the basin itself.
Oliver jumped so violently that he nearly dropped the folded towel he had been holding.
"My lord!"
Benedict blinked.
Only then did he remember he was not alone.
"I beg your pardon, Oliver."
The poor valet looked thoroughly alarmed.
"Are... are you unwell, my lord? Shall I summon a physician?"
"No."
Benedict accepted the towel Oliver hurriedly offered him.
"I am perfectly well."
That was a lie.
He had never felt less composed in his entire life.
He dried his face slowly before draping the towel across his shoulders.
No.
He would not dwell upon the princess.
He simply would not.
He was Earl Hawthorne.
Surely he possessed enough discipline to think of something else.
Work.
He would immerse himself in work.
Work solved nearly everything.
He crossed toward his writing desk with renewed determination.
Several letters awaited his attention.
He picked up the first.
Read precisely one sentence.
Then realised he had not absorbed a single word.
His thoughts had wandered once again, and so he set the letter down and attempted to read it again, but the handwriting blurred before him.
He sighed.
There was scarcely any work requiring his immediate attention in the palace regardless.
Most of his responsibilities remained back within his own territory, managed competently by those he trusted.
He groaned.
"Surely this is punishment," he muttered.
Oliver wisely pretended not to hear.
Benedict rose abruptly.
"No."
He shook his head.
"I require a run."
Oliver looked outside.
"It is still raining, my lord."
"I noticed."
"The paths shall be rather muddy."
"I noticed that as well."
"The weather is quite dreadful."
"It is."
Oliver hesitated.
"...You still intend to go?"
"I do."
The valet sighed in quiet resignation.
"As you wish, my lord."
A short while later, Benedict stood outside.
Rain fell steadily from heavy clouds overhead. Within moments, his hair and clothing were soaked through.
He scarcely cared.
The cool rain upon his skin helped, but it was not enough.
His boots carried him instinctively toward the field where he and Alistair had run together some time before.
This time, however, he had learned from their previous mistake.
Oliver remained nearby.
Holding every article of clothing.
Watching over them with remarkable vigilance.
Benedict stepped into the swaying grasses.
The familiar shift came naturally.
Bones reshaped.
Fur spread.
Moments later, the light-brown wolf stood where the man had been.
He lifted his head.
Rain soaked his thick coat.
Then he ran.
Across the endless field.
Through grasses bending beneath powerful paws.
The cool earth yielded beneath each stride as the wind rushed past him.
He ran until the rain gradually softened.
Ran until the clouds finally began to part.
Ran until the last drops ceased falling altogether.
Only then did the wolf slow.
He lifted his head toward the clearing sky.
The air had become cleaner after the rain.
Yet...
Even now...
Beneath the scent of wet earth, fresh grass, and distant flowers...
He could still catch the faintest lingering trace of her.
He closed his eyes and lifted his head toward the sky, a howl echoing across the quiet field.