Page 32 of The Duke and the Temporary Bride

“Only mostly,” he joked.

“Only when you bring it out in me,” she countered. At the door now, she paused and asked, “I shall see you soon?”

“As soon as I am able,” he agreed with a smile.

She took that as a clear agreement, returned his smile, and then stepped into the hall.

As soon as he was alone, Benedict stumbled back and leaned against the desk as his mind, and indeed the room, spun around him. It had started off so promising, an agreement to treat one another with respect and not pretend as if the other did not exist, only to be upended by a pesky attraction that he had not considered possible.

Yes, he found her breathtaking, that was obvious. But his desire for her, and her own for him, always came in the heat of passion—perfectly explainable and, more importantly, avoidable.

What happened just now… that was something else entirely.

It was something he did not understand but knew intrinsically that it was best avoided. Easier to know that he and Selina could never work than daring to wonder if they might.

He wanted their relationship to be agreeable. He did not want to avoid her and pretend she did not exist. But he also did not wish to explore feelings that he was certain could only lead to trouble and heartache, a reminder to himself and the world that he was a monster on the outside as well as on the inside.

Being hated was something he was used to, and seeing as she was going to be leaving soon anyway, was it not better to stoke those feelings, rather than fight them?

Surely, that was safer. If not harder to do, at the same time.

To join her for breakfast or not to join her? Even now, he could not say what he should do.

Chapter Eleven

It had been twenty minutes since Selina left Benedict’s study, and still, he had not joined her for breakfast.

“Shall I have your plate made, Your Grace?” Mr. Harris asked as he hovered behind her chair.

“No… not yet.”

She looked again at the door, expecting any second to see her husband walk through it. An apologetic smile on his face, an explanation about time getting away from him, a chuckle, an eye roll, and they would put this little misstep behind them.

Good luck with that!

“He often becomes inundated with work,” Mr. Harris explained as if he could read her mind. “Because he underestimates just how much work he has and how long it will take him.”

“Is that right?”

“It is not unusual for me to have to drag him out of his study at night. Otherwise, I have no doubt he would simply fall asleep at his desk.”

“I had no idea he was so busy,” Selina said dryly.

“Do not take it personally, Your Grace. I have no doubt that he meant to join you. He still may…” The butler sounded none too confident in that final statement.

She was still watching the door. Still clinging to the final vestiges of hope that had carried her out of Benedict’s study not twenty minutes ago, bringing a smile to her face because she had been certain that things were about to change for the better. And she was still refusing to believe that her husband could be so darn rude!

But the doorway remained empty. There was no sound coming from beyond, no rustling from upstairs or the sound of a door swinging open to indicate that he would be down shortly. Silence was what Selina heard, a sound she had become all too familiar with of late.

Benedict was not coming.

“On second thought, Harris, a plate would be lovely, thank you.”

“Right away, Your Grace!” Mr. Harris hurried toward the kitchen.

“Oh! Harris,” Selina called before he vanished. A most sorrowful thought came to mind, one she did not wish for but was unable to scrub clean once it had taken root. “Would you please fetch me a bottle of wine? The same that was served with supper last night.”

Mr. Harris frowned. “Wine, Your Grace? Are you sure?”

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