[ Being at her side for nearly two full days now, sharing the same soap as her, spending all evening touching and focusing on her has left Benedict finely attuned to Kate, more so than normal. He can't smell her emotions, that would be ridiculous, but the sound of her heart beat shifts as he pulls his hand from her thigh and a strange stickiness to the air around them that he has to assume comes from her makes him turn his attention back to her, curious and only just starting to be alarmed.
She looks perfectly normal, focusing on her plate, but the same way she could sense someone staring at her, so can he, and he looks across the table to try and find the culprit, only to find Reggie still looking at her with a smug look on his face. He doesn't even have the decency to be sheepish when his eyes finally slide over to meet Benedict's; if anything, he looks even more smug.
Perhaps it's having grown up more or less together, forced to share a dormitory since they were eleven until Benedict left for the Temple, but he finds himself vacillating wildly between an almost pitying indifference and a nearly white-hot rage where Reginald is concerned.
Insulting him is one thing. Benedict's long ago grown used to ignoring the stupid shit that comes out of Reggie's mouth. But if he goes after Kate...
It's much harder to focus on the long, meandering story that Great Aunt Edith is telling after that. If he didn't need both hands to eat his meal, he might be tempted to put one back on Kate's leg just to make himself feel better, if for no other reason. (He doesn't question why touching her would make him feel better. He's just certain it would.)
By the time they're allowed to make their excuses and escape to their room, he's more than a little exhausted. Still, he politely stands at the french doors with his back to the room while Kate changes — would it have been easier to wait in the bathroom? maybe — and scrolls through some work emails he's pointedly not going to respond to until he returns to America. By the time she's settled in at the vanity and has started what he assumes is her nightly routine to get ready for bed, all Benedict has done to unwind is to take off his shoes and roll up his shirt sleeves, a few buttons undone at his throat. Perching on the mattress at the end of the bed with his long legs outstretched in front of him, crossed at the ankle and very nearly touching the stool Kate is sitting on, he's allowing himself to watch her, a small smile curling his lips. ]
I think your sources have the right of it. [ Is it possible for his voice to go even posher? Because somehow it has, leaving him also sounding like he should be on the news, a BBC royal family correspondent or something equally preposterous. ] It seems to me that day one was a smashing success.
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She looks perfectly normal, focusing on her plate, but the same way she could sense someone staring at her, so can he, and he looks across the table to try and find the culprit, only to find Reggie still looking at her with a smug look on his face. He doesn't even have the decency to be sheepish when his eyes finally slide over to meet Benedict's; if anything, he looks even more smug.
Perhaps it's having grown up more or less together, forced to share a dormitory since they were eleven until Benedict left for the Temple, but he finds himself vacillating wildly between an almost pitying indifference and a nearly white-hot rage where Reginald is concerned.
Insulting him is one thing. Benedict's long ago grown used to ignoring the stupid shit that comes out of Reggie's mouth. But if he goes after Kate...
It's much harder to focus on the long, meandering story that Great Aunt Edith is telling after that. If he didn't need both hands to eat his meal, he might be tempted to put one back on Kate's leg just to make himself feel better, if for no other reason. (He doesn't question why touching her would make him feel better. He's just certain it would.)
By the time they're allowed to make their excuses and escape to their room, he's more than a little exhausted. Still, he politely stands at the french doors with his back to the room while Kate changes — would it have been easier to wait in the bathroom? maybe — and scrolls through some work emails he's pointedly not going to respond to until he returns to America. By the time she's settled in at the vanity and has started what he assumes is her nightly routine to get ready for bed, all Benedict has done to unwind is to take off his shoes and roll up his shirt sleeves, a few buttons undone at his throat. Perching on the mattress at the end of the bed with his long legs outstretched in front of him, crossed at the ankle and very nearly touching the stool Kate is sitting on, he's allowing himself to watch her, a small smile curling his lips. ]
I think your sources have the right of it. [ Is it possible for his voice to go even posher? Because somehow it has, leaving him also sounding like he should be on the news, a BBC royal family correspondent or something equally preposterous. ] It seems to me that day one was a smashing success.