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“Please don’t presume to guess at how I feel.”
Miss Wyre flushed and looked away. Benedict hadn’t intended his voice to come out so icy and angry. It happened almost without him thinking.
“Ideserve that, I suppose.” She said in a low voice. “Just as you deserve to feel furiously angry and never wish to see me – or Cordelia – again. I can’t imagine that it’s worth very much to you, but I am sorry.”
“You are right.” Benedict said harshly. “It is not worth very much to me. I told you, did I not, how much I value honesty in others. This news is disappointing to say the least. You are not only a common liar, Miss Rosaline Wyre, but in fact one of the greatest and most thorough liars I have ever met. That’s a title of some distinction, let me tell you.”
Benedict drew in a sharp breath after his outburst. Miss Wyre was staring at the ground now. He had expected tears, a flurry of explanations and excuses, or perhaps defiant anger.
Miss Wyre only looked sad.
“Iunderstand. You don’t have to accept my apology, and frankly I don’t expect you to. Here.” She extended a small purse full of coins.
Benedict stared at it as if she had handed him a handful of spiders.
“What is this?”
“My share of the bill at Dainty’s. You paid for it all, but under false pretenses. I must pay you back.”
“No, thank you.” This time, Benedict intended his words to sting, and sting they did.
Miss Wyre flushed, putting the purse back in a pocket somewhere.
“Very well. I shall leave you alone, Your Grace.”
She executed a wobbly but serviceable curtsey, turned on her heel, and walked briskly back the way they had come.
CHAPTER7
Benedict slammed the door to the library so hard the windowpanes in the room rattled. One small ornament toppled off a shelf altogether. He stood for a long moment in the center of the room, breathing hard and deeply.
Only then, when his rage had somewhat receded, did he allow himself to think.
Miss At… no. MissWyrehad lied to him. Although, in truth, Miss Atwood had also helped to deceive him. Somehow, that didn’t sting as painfully as Miss Wyre’s deception.
He felt foolish, he felt angry, he feltdisappointed. He had thought that Miss Atwood – or rather, Miss Wyre – was somebody he could come to like, to respect, maybe even to…
Well,thatwas always going to be unlikely.
You are so angry because you really did like her,whispered an insidious voice in Benedict’s head.You started towantto see her again. She was entertaining, and intriguing, and clever.
Benedict growled under his breath.She lied to me,he reminded himself.
Yes, and isn’t that impressive?
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He reminded himself that all of Miss Wyre’s entertaining personality was false, even the parts he had admired.
Especiallythe parts he had admired.
Banishing the memory of Miss Wyre’s miserable, wretched face as she told him the truth, he sat heavily down in his favorite armchair, reaching over for the bell and tugging angrily on it. He needed tea and a generous helping of whiskey.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
“There you are.” Benedict barked. He assumed it was one of the footmen or maids, come to see what was wrong. The bell had barely stopped swinging, so whoever it was couldn’t be answering that summons yet. “Tea, if you please. Oh, and pour me out some whiskey from the sideboard.”
“It’s far too early for whiskey, I think.”
Benedict flinched. “Oh, Grandmother, it’s you. I thought… never mind.”
