Page 34 of The Duke and the Temporary Bride

“Harris!” Benedict said with some relief. “What on earth is going on?”

“I thought it best that you hear it from me, Your Grace.”

“That noise!” It was growing louder, more aggressive. Benedict shoved a finger into his ear as if to block it out. “It is horrid. Where is it coming from?”

“Next door.”

“I know that! Why? Who is doing that?”

Mr. Harris grimaced. “It is Her Grace. She has decided to take up playing the flute and thought the room next to your study was a perfect place to practice.”

Benedict blinked and leaned back. “She did? Why on earth…” It came to him slowly, a little slower than it should have. “Ah, I see.”

“I asked her not to,” Mr. Harris added hurriedly. “I suggested a room downstairs and out of the?—”

“It is fine, Harris,” Benedict grumbled as he sat back down. “It is nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Shall I tell her that it is too noisy for your work?” Mr. Harris suggested. “Perhaps that will make her practice somewhere else.”

“No…” Benedict pursed his lips. “Somehow, I do not think that will worry her.” Another loud screech had him wincing. “Not one little bit.”

He knew what she was doing. Punishment for breaking his promise to break his fast with her. For suggesting that they call a truce, only to break that truce immediately.

His wife certainly was something special.

Mr. Harris left, and Benedict attempted to return to work, all the while forced to listen to what was an objectionably horrendous noise. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It made his skin break out into goosebumps. Shuddering. Shifting. Trying to block his ears but still able to hear it.

I have half a mind to storm into that room, break the flute over my knee, and be done with it! See how she likes that!

Benedict reminded himself not to lose his temper. That was what she wanted. If he did so, then she would have won. But if he sat there and let her finish, pretending that he hadn’t heard her, letting her play her little game until she got bored, then he was certain that would be the end of it.

Easier said than done.

As the minutes ticked by, Benedict felt his patience running thin. His leg was bouncing. His fists were clenched. His anger was flaring. He felt like a snake being charmed out of its nest, only this was an entirely different sort of charm,

Does she want me angry? Surely, she must know what will likely occur if that happens? Or is she just so desperate not to be made a fool of that she has not thought that far ahead?

Benedict knew the best course of action was avoidance. Being nice to one another had elicited a rather alarming reaction that had nearly seen him kiss her where she had stood. While getting into a fight was much the same, only with less control.

To not see her at all was the only move to make. And yet…

The noise continued. It grew louder. If he did not know any better, she was standing right by his wall and blowing the flute as hard as she could. Likely, that was exactly what she was doing!

Ignore it… do not let her get to you… do not take the risk…

Benedict only had so much self-control. It was one note in particular. One long, drawn-out screech that was like nails dragging down a chalkboard. His entire body spasmed at the sound, and he jumped to his feet without thinking. And then, giving in to his anger, he strode across the study.

“She wishes to see me angry!” he roared to himself as he threw open the door. “Let us see how she likes it!”

Chapter Twelve

The door flew open as if it had been kicked in.

“What do you think you are doing?” Benedict swept into the room as if being carried by a tempestuous gale, red in the face, his body shaking.

Selina could not remember a time she had seen him so mad.

“Oh, hello,” she said pleasantly. The flute was still pressed to her lips, and she made sure to keep it there, projecting a sense of calm that contrasted with the sudden bout of fear at seeing her angry husband. “Is something the matter?”

---