He seemed at pains to portray their marriage as a perfect union. A purely blissful experience that was all highs and no lows. As if he needed Edmund to believe as much for reasons that Selina could not comprehend.
What on earth is he doing this for?
“I was speaking with Edmund earlier too, Selina, and he has agreed to go along with our little white lie, concerning the circumstances surrounding our marriage.”
“Oh?”
Edmund sighed. “It is no bother.”
Benedict nodded once. “When the subject is broached, it will be no big thing to say that he has been in France these past few months, that he is sorry that he could not make it to the wedding but is glad to see how well we are doing. In fact…” He caught his brother’s eye. “It might not be so bad to say that now that you have seen me and Selina together, you are even more inspired to find a bride among the young ladies of the ton. Why not?”
Edmund did not look as if he liked that idea at all. “That is—I doubt that will be necessary.”
“Only if it comes up,” Benedict assured him. “It will be a good look, Edmund. You are nearing thirty, and if it is believed that you are finally searching for a bride, it will do wonders for your reputation.”
It looked as if Edmund meant to argue, but Selina saw the warning glare that Benedict shot him, and he relented. A shrug and a nod and he went back to his food.
“As you wish, Brother.”
“Good,” Benedict said. “Take it from me, Brother.” Again, he took Selina’s hand. “Marriage is not the prison that you imagine.”
There was just no need for this. That was what Selina found so frustrating.
Ever since the Mayfield Ball, she had begun to sense a change in their relationship that she had hoped might lead them to explore feelings that they had previously denied. And even when Benedict fought her on it, when he insisted on keeping things sexual and amorous, Selina could sense the change in him. The suggestion that he reciprocated her feelings but was just taking a little longer to come round to it.
The way he was behaving tonight was, to put it simply, insulting.
When they had been pretending in front of her mother and then at the Mayfield Ball, there had been a purpose behind it. Back then, the two had been unable to be around one another without devolving into heated arguments and bickering and had thus realized that subterfuge was their only option.
Things were different now. But Benedict, with the way he was acting toward her, either did not think that they were or did not want to admit it.
Selina had thought that she could wait until after the dinner party tomorrow night before telling Benedict how she truly felt. But now, she did not think she could put up with this for one more night. She needed the truth. More than that, she needed Benedict to hear the truth.
Later, when they were alone, she would tell him how she felt about him. And hopefully, Benedict would be true to himself and tell her the same.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Benedict announced happily as he followed Selina into their bedroom. “It can be hard to tell, where Edmund is concerned—you never really know which version of him you are going to get. Sometimes he likes to argue and dig in his heels just for the sake of it.” He chuckled to himself. “Perhaps he has changed these last few months. Let us hope so.”
Selina stayed back as she watched him begin to undress. He removed the jacket first and then loosened his cravat as if it was choking him. His spirits were high at least, which she counted as a good thing, as she guessed that was about to change drastically.
“Benedict,” she began as she closed the door behind her. “We need to talk.”
He looked at her, an amused frown on his face as if he thought she might be joking. “Oh no. I am not in trouble, am I?”
“That depends.” Her expression was flat, as was her tone. And the way she crossed her arms was enough to indicate that she was not in the mood for humor.
Benedict’s frown deepened. “Selina, is something the matter? If it is, you know that you can tell me—anything.”
It was remarkable how far the two had come in such a short amount of time. The very fact that Benedict did not panic at the notion of Selina opening up to him as she was about to was proof enough of that.
It spoke to the place that they were in, the comfort that they felt around one another. Which, ironically enough, was half the reason they needed to have this conversation in the first place.
“It is about the way you behaved tonight,” she said carefully. “The way you acted in front of Edmund.”
Benedict tilted his head. “The way I acted? And how was that, exactly?”
“Everything that you said tonight was a lie, Benedict. At the very least, it was an exaggeration. I mean, the story you told about how you found me in the spring! I have never heard such a tale as that one. Was I even there for it? Or were you speaking of somebody else?”
“I might have gotten the details a little…” He clicked his tongue. “I may have romanticized them a little, yes—for the sake of the story. Honestly, Selina, I did not think it was that big of a deal.” He laughed and started toward her, a look in his eyes that she knew too well. Hungry. Eager. He hoped to brush this under the rug and move on. “Now, let us not speak of my brother. Especially now that we are finally alone and?—”