It wasn’t like that between Georgie and himself. Yes, there was lust, a sizzling animal attraction that continued to stun him. But more than that, they shared a love of adventure, found the same things funny. She was full of wild ideas and schemes. He could see himself being interested in her, fascinated by her, for the rest of his days. He didn’t want to stand up in church in a few weeks’ time and have her think he was pretending to love her. He wanted her to know that he meant every word, that he was sincere in his desire to be joined with her forever.

Was it fate? All he knew was that he’d dodged more bullets than one man should reasonably have survived, so somewhere the cosmological odds must have been in his favor. Maybe this was the same. He’d found the one woman he could be happy with. With whom he could break the pattern set by his own parents.

The fire crackled and reality made an unwelcome, crashing return. Impossible. His lack of money would always be an insurmountable obstacle. He couldn’t even give her the title her mother so desperately wanted. He could give her nothing but himself, and how could that ever be enough?

“You’re frowning,” Seb murmured unhelpfully.

“Shut up.” Benedict glared at him, but it was without heat.

Unease and despair bloomed in his chest. Time was running out—only a few short weeks of the season remained. He and Georgie would announce their engagement, marry, and then she’d leave him. She’d go back to the wilds of Lincolnshire or set off on some years-long grand tour of Europe without him. And he’d have to let her go, loving her, wanting her. Unable to burden her with the admission of his love.

He might as well cut out his own heart.

Alex refilled his glass and gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. “Women, eh?”

Benedict grunted. Carpe diem, that was his motto. He still had a few weeks left with her. He would enjoy each moment as it came. His knee started to bounce, his foot tapping in a jiggle of impatience as he calculated when he could see her next. Make love to her next.

He wanted a full night with her, not a few furtive, stolen hours. He wanted the luxury of time to savor her, to learn the feel of every part of her, from the smooth, fragrant valley between her breasts to the texture of her nipples under his tongue. He wanted the creamy skin of her inner thigh, the sleek, supple muscles of her belly, and the warm, heaven-scented slickness at her core. He wanted to hear the sounds she made, that sharp intake of surprise followed by a moan of pleasure.