Page 15 of The Duke and the Temporary Bride

Benedict was sure not to engage his new wife as they ate their supper. Confined to a small dining room toward the back of the inn, it was just the two of them at a round table. Raucous noise from the common room beyond drifted through the closed doors, breaking the silence somewhat, but nowhere near enough to completely undo the tension that lingered like a thick smog.

I must be careful. The way I behaved earlier in the carriage cannot happen again. No matter what.

Most of all, he had to be wary of his wife’s abrasive personality and hot temper. She seemed specifically designed to frustrate him, and if he allowed her to, there was no telling what might happen.

“This is good,” she said in an effort to break the silence.

Their meal was barley pumpkin soup and freshly baked bread—a simple fare, to say the least.

“It is adequate,” he agreed without looking at her. He was desperate not to so much as glance in her direction.

“I did not realize how hungry I was.” She chuckled as she slurped her soup. “I have half a mind to dunk my entire head in the bowl.”

“I would ask that you do not,” he said, still not looking at her.

“I was only joking…” she murmured, more to herself.

To this, Benedict gave no answer. He was thinking of the night ahead, when the two would be forced to share a bed. If this was a proper marriage, one that he wished for, it would be his right to take his wife as a husband ought to on their wedding night.

But there was nothing proper about this marriage. In fact, Benedict had resigned himself not to sleep with his wife at all. She did not want him, and this did not surprise him one little bit. So, if he did bed her, it would be forced, taken not given, and the thought of that sickened him.

People assumed Benedict was a monster. The scars that covered the right side of his face implied as much. And pair that with his short temper, it was no wonder that his wife was already terrified of him. That shehatedhim. Thus, he was determined to prove her wrong.

That is if she does not bait me. If she does do… No! She already thinks that I am some sort of animal, trapping her in a marriage she does not desire. Do not give her a reason to confirm it as true.

Benedict could not help but remember what had just happened between them in the carriage. The way she had provoked him, the way she had tested his temper. She must have heard the things people said about him, and for reasons he could not fathom, she seemed determined to find out their truth.

That was what scared Benedict the most, and that was the reason he was so careful not to engage her. While he was not a monster, he had a temper of fire and brimstone, and if he didn’t keep it in check… he shuddered to think what he might do.

“It is tomorrow morning that we will arrive?” his wife asked.

“That is right.”

“So, if I was so inclined, I would be able to travel back to London within a day?” She lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips, slurping it purposefully. “If I was inclined.”

“And why would you be?”

“No reason,” she said, and he sensed the sarcasm in her voice. “Just making conversation.”

Benedict had not wanted this marriage. If he had his way, he would not have proceeded with it. But his brother’s actions had forced his hand, and rather than risk sullying his good name and adding muck to his brother’s reputation, he had agreed to marry Selina.

But this was not to be a traditional marriage. Benedict could not dare consider such a thing. What he wanted, what he prayed for, was that once they arrived back at his estate, he could avoid her as often as possible, to such a degree that he might be able to pretend she did not exist.

For her own safety, as well as his…

He dared to look at her, feeling a tightness in his chest because he remembered once more what had just happened in the carriage. She was far too beautiful for his liking, far too gorgeous, and hard to look away from. His heart beat furiously as his eyes lingered on her plump lips then traced the column of her throat, which had him salivating.

Suddenly, he became aware of Selina looking at him. She wore a knowing smirk, and his eyes widened before he quickly looked away.

He gritted his teeth and swallowed a spoonful of soup. Self-control. Calmness. Do not give in to temptation. He repeated that mantra in his head as he and his wife ate a very awkward, very silent supper together.

The first of many, Benedict assumed. A marriage that he did not want and was now forced to endure, for better or for worse.

Selina gasped when she walked into the bedroom.

She had changed in the changing room next door, slipping into a nightgown that was made from thin linen—nothing too scandalous, but she felt naked in it. Her heart had beat furiously as she braced herself to enter the room, where she knew her husband was waiting, still not entirely sure what would come from that night.

The light was dim—a single lantern sitting beside the bed provided the only illumination, leaving the room mostly in darkness. His back was to her, and he wore nothing but a pair of breeches. It was this sight that had her gasping.

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