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Benedict frowned. He knew he hadn’t misread any signs of reluctance. He had no interest in forcing his attentions on a reluctant lady – no man of quality would. Miss Atwood had been every bit as drawn to him as he was of her, he was sure of it.
“Why not? If you’re concerned about your reputation, I can assure you that nobody is around besides us two.”
She was shaking her head. “No, that isn’t it. Your Grace, I’ve not been honest with you. You think I’m somebody I’m not.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Imean that I’m not a suitable wife for a duke. Perhaps I once was, but certainly not now. You said, didn’t you, that your wife must have certain things. Breeding, wealth, and all that sort of thing. That was the very least a woman must have for you to consider her as a bride.”
Benedict was beginning to get a headache. Miss Atwood’s continued refusals were stirring something heavy in the pit of his stomach. She was regretful, she was miserable, and he simply did not understandwhy.
“Idon’t understand what you are trying to tell me. The Atwood family has an unblemished…”
“I’m not Cordelia Atwood.”
There was a silence.
“Ibeg your pardon?”
Miss Atwood – or whatever her name was – gave up on tucking her hair underneath her bonnet. She tugged the thing off her hair, shaking raindrops from the brim. She looked tired, Benedict thought.
“My name is Rosaline Wyre.” She said wearily. “I’m the daughter of Matthew and Isabella Wyre, the Baron and Baroness of Wyre.”
Wyre. That name twinged a memory in Benedict’s head. He frowned harder, trying to catch onto the fleeting thought.
The girl – Rosaline – smiled tiredly, as if she knew what he was thinking.
“The debtor. My father has been the subject of many scandals. We have lost our place in Society, as well as our fortune, and then some. My father is very talented at spending money he does not have. My brother’s inheritance and my sisters’ dowries were all run through years ago, of course. Mine too, naturally. I am not Out this Season, and you won’t see me at any dances or dinners.”
Benedict stared at her. He had been duped. He wasn’t sure how or why, but the familiar icy feeling of anger was beginning to clamp its claws around his guts.
“So, Miss… Miss Wyre, would you care to tell me why you presented yourself as Cordelia Atwood? Does Miss Atwood know?”
“Yes.” Miss Rosaline Wyre looked thoroughly miserable now. “It was Cordelia’s idea. She didn’t want to meet you, Your Grace. She and I are still friends, despite the fact that our families now move in very different circles. She wanted you to be put off, so she asked me to meet you in her stead and be as unpleasant and unfriendly as possible.”
She met Benedict’s eye squarely as she spoke. Her voice was dull and resigned, committed to telling the truth although she must know how terrible it made her seem.
Benedict wanted to sit down, but there was nowhere to sit aside from the muddy, damp grass at their feet.
He’d be damned if he’d let this impudent, insufferable chit of having the satisfaction of seeing how shocked he was.
The humiliation was almost too much to bear.
So, Miss Atwood – whoever she was – had apparently been so disgusted by the idea of meeting him that she had tasked some impoverished friend to meet him instead. No doubt money had changed hands.
What made it all worse was how thoroughly Benedict had fallen for the deception. He hadn’t doubted for a second that this woman was who she said she was. He was entranced by Miss Atwood’s unique qualities and honesty – which he now knew were as false as any Society belle’s simpering ways – and intrigued by her.
Hedkissedthe woman, for heaven’s sake. She’d allowed him to kiss her, and clearly wanted to kiss him back.
Benedict became aware that he was squeezing his hands into fists at his sides, clenching until his knuckles stood out white.
“Isee.” He said, privately pleased with how levelly he spoke. “You lied to me.”
“Yes.” Miss Wyre answered simply.
“May I ask what has caused this revelation? Did you intend to continue this deception all the way to the altar, perhaps?”
Miss Wyre smiled sadly. “I very much doubt it would have gone that far, Your Grace. I did not realize… the truth is, someone will find out sooner or later. I don’t wish to hurt you any further or open you up to any sort of embarrassment. The fact is, I am at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to theton.You and I would never even speak at a ball, let alone promenade together in the Park.Idaresay you are angry and humiliated…”
