It is me hideous scars, she thought with a familiar, bitter certainty.Me face, me unladylike hands. I am nae the kind of woman men like him desire.
She met his gaze then, holding her chin high despite the hurt. It was something she learned to do long ago.
“Goodnight, Yer Grace.”
She turned, walked back into her chamber, and with a quiet, decisive click, locked the door between them.
Benedict stood in front of the fireplace, a glass of brandy in his hand. He set it down on the mantle and paced to the window of his room, staring down at the moonlit grounds.
The quiet click of her door locking still echoed in his mind.
Click. Click. Click.
He had been a fool to think a woman like her, a woman who had faced a boar to protect her siblings as a young girl and dressed as her own brother to save him from a duel, would simply accept his terms.
She wanted more, of course she did. Her bravery was reckless, yes. It was also captivating. She was captivating. In what manner? Surely, he could not even begin to describe it… Yet it preoccupied his thoughts like a metronome in an empty room. She had a determined quality he had not seen in a very long time, one which intrigued and infuriated him.
He walked back to the fireplace and took a long sip of his brandy, the amber liquid burning a path down his throat.
Mr. Flark entered the room and began to quietly lay out his clothes for the next morning. Benedict assumed he would then make an exit, but he began polishing his shoes. He knew well that Flark was stalling, but for what reason, he did not care.
All he could think about washer.
“Is there anything else you need, Your Grace?” Flark asked finally, as he refreshed Benedict’s tumbler from a nearby decanter. “I have made sure your correspondence went out to post and your appointments have been drawn up tomorrow so that you have a clear schedule.”
Benedict shook his head as he took the glass, his eyes still on the fire. Like that fire, he felt hot, wild, out of control. He was a man who prized order and predictability above all else. He had offered a bargain, a logical, emotionless contract to solve a problem for a woman who had passed the prime age for marriage. Yet, she was a force of nature.
“Her Grace’s countenance seems well for her first day… content, I suppose,” Flark commented, folding a waistcoat. “The staff have been quite taken with her, even in the few hours she has been here. And young Lord Oliver seems to have quite taken to her as well…”
Benedict’s jaw tightened at the mention of their dinner once more. He knew Flark was trying to be helpful, to give him an opening to talk.
Flark had been a part of the staff for Benedict’s entire life, first as his father’s valet. In some ways, he was as close as family, perhaps more so. All his father had shown him was coolness, drinking himself into oblivion in the years that preceded his death, nearly throwing the duchy into ruin. But he didn’t want to talk about it.
“She is a duchess now, Flark. Her place is here. That is that.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. It is a fortunate thing that she is so well-suited to the role.”
Benedict said nothing further, yet the muscle in his cheek twitched as he rubbed it with the cool glass.
Yes, Isla is well-suited to the role in a way I had not anticipated…
She was not a mere ornament meant to decorate his arm as he attended the tiresome events of the ton, which he cared naught for. Isla was made of greater character than that. Her worth, he realized, was not measured by the envy she might inspire in other ladies, or by the perfect sweep of her gown. She was deeper, infinitely more substantial than a beautiful, silent accessory.
A familiar surge of admiration struck him, the same powerful feeling that had hit him when she had stood up to him at the duel, and likely faced down that boar in the forest. She had stood up to him, the respected Duke of Ealdwick, with an iron spine of resolve that was simply not expected.
Nonetheless, he knew that Isla would take on her duties as Duchess quickly. Not because she was docile or eager to please, but as a woman of substance and strength who understood the weight of responsibility. She would not be merely present. She would act. And in that moment, the truth settled upon him.
I did not secure a prize to display, but a true partner who would stand firm against the shallow currents of my world.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his palm over them, seeing her reaction to his coolness just minutes ago. She had looked at him with such hurt in her eyes, a wound he had inflicted with his thoughtless words.
I must wade carefully, so I do not get in over my head. This is not my first marriage, but it should be my last. For my son, for the stability of this household.I cannot muddy the waters with any undue emotion, on my part or hers.
He had a son to protect, and he would not allow himself to be distracted by a woman’s soft heart, no matter how much he found himself intrigued by her. He knew that her scars were a source of embarrassment, that they weighed heavily upon her. Yet, he found them oddly beautiful, a testament to the will that she held in her heart to fight and to protect what was precious and right. He admired her curves and tall stature, her bright green eyes as radiant as the Scottish Highlands.
Perhaps it was just as well that she had no idea how beautiful she truly was to him.
“That will be all, Flark,” Benedict said as he handed him the empty glass.
