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I lift my head at his barked laugh, and Benedict’s back is mainly to me, but the outline of his face shows me an irritated expression.
“My interest? I haven’t been interested in six months. I invited her here out of pity,” Benedict says, and his voice is casual and almost cruel, it hurts to hear him talk like that.
Like all noblemen talk. Like all men of business and power, speak of the women that are dependent on them for money, for titles, forlife.
It’s not the way Benedict usually speaks, not around me anyway. And I hate watching him take on the same attitudes that I’ve heard all my life, the ones that have gotten me in trouble and hurt me.
Hewas like that, in Paris. He thought he could have everything. And when I finally said no to him, well…
Here I am.
My whole body is shaking, and I take a step back, hoping to disappear into the shadows.
“And what are you doing with the nanny?” The duke finally asks about me. He doesn’t even look at me when he speaks about me though. He talks about me like I’m some kind of… tool, an object. My breath hitches, and that hurts in a way I hadn’t expected. Pain flares under my breast-bone, an ache that doesn’t die. It just grows, and grows—
“Playing, you should try it sometime,” Benedict taunts his brother, leaning in close. The two of them square off, two apex predators eyeing each other up and looking like they’re about to rip each other apart. “Maybe you’d be less… tense. She’s right here, why don’t you do it while I watch?” He waves a hand back toward me, and I can’t stop it. A sound hiccups in my chest, a sob, my eyes watering as he debases me like this, when moments ago, minutes ago, he was promising me everything.
Mason draws himself up to his full height, and his eyes flare with anger. They’re so much alike, when they’re angry, and I stuff my fist into my mouth to stop from making any more noise. I need to stay still, until they’re distracted enough, then I can run. Maybe someone else will come out from the party.
“Go to bed,” he orders Benedict, like Benedict’s not an adult, but a child. Benedict breathes hard, letting out a gust of air. Mason takes a step toward him, and Benedict looks away, glancing at me.
“You’re not worth it,” he says, words cutting deep. If they were a blade, I’d be dropping to my knees, bleeding out from them.
As it is, I’m barely hanging onto my strength, hardly able to stand upright, as he stalks away into the dark, disappearing upthe stairs without another word to me.
No more looks. No indication that what he saved me from, and what we shared afterward was anything other than a game to him. Another way to draw me in deep, pull me into his plotting and planning. Of course that’s all it was. I blink away the tears, and stand here, in front of the duke.
Benedict left me to pay for his sins, and mine, all by myself. My lungs feel like they’re going to collapse.
I can’t even look at the duke. I can only wait for him to drop his punishment down on my shoulders, for the transparent way Benedict debauched me, and I let him.
Mason sighs, and the sound crackles up my spine. I freeze. Here it comes.
“You should avoid spending time with my brother,” Mason says, in the empty hall, just the two of us to witness my shame. My eyes flick up to his face, taken aback his first words aren’tget out. His eyes linger on the wrinkled, rumpled fabric of my dress, and my face must be so red because it’s on fire from horror.
“I—”
He holds up a hand, stopping me from saying anything else.
“I don’t need or want excuses from you.” His gaze is flinty, hard, as he looks at me. “I know what my brother is. This time, it’s not your fault. But you need to know who he is as well. You’re not the first, or the last, of the household staff he’s seduced—”
“I haven’t done anything with him,” I protest, cutting him off. The duke’s lips press into a thin line, not a smile, but a grimace.
“And let whatever happened tonight be the last of it,” he says sternly, and I hold my breath. He’s really… not going to punish me? Throw me out? I should be out the door right now, with not even time to pack my things. “Or you will be leaving Wester Hall, do you understand? Do not let him catch you, or use you. Come to Mrs. Harris, Mr. Matthews, or myself if the other two are unavailable.”
I nod, mute, tongue stuck to the top of my mouth. Would he still send me away if he knew what I was doing to save his life? That his survival depending on me unraveling the knots and twine that his brother has looped around his neck? I should be grateful for this reprieve. What happened tonight was such a huge failing. Not with Frisco, but with Benedict after. The panic of nearly being assaulted took over my senses. But I don’t know how to tell Mason this, because if I do, it might come out that I hit Lord Frisco.
He gives me one more look over before shaking his head, and I hate seeing that expression on his face, like he knows all he needs to about me, and has made up his mind and found me wanting. It makes a shiver race across my skin, because I want to open my mouth to tell him, to spill the whole truth about Benedict’s plot.
The rage between them is too raw and easily ignited, though. If I speak out I know it’ll just lead to the worst thing happening. He’ll come after Benedict, and they’ll both be lost. I can’t trust the duke not to fly into a fit and try to kill his younger brother, and I can’t trust Benedict not to fight back. They’ll try to settle this like nobles, instead of like civilians. And that’s a promise of death by hanging for both of them.
But still… he should at least know about Frisco, in the library, sleeping off Benedict’s mean hook. I open my mouth, but he cutsme off with a sharp slice of his hand through the air.
“Bring Madeline to my rooms tomorrow morning after her breakfast. Pack for a week-long trip. I’ll be taking her away on a trip. And—” He turns away from me and begins walking back toward the party where light spills at the end of the hall, festive noises emerging from the drawing room. My eyes widen. A trip? My tongue is thick in my mouth, throat tight. This wasn’t on any itinerary, in fact if I remember right, Madeline has a piano recital before the weekends.
He pauses, shoulders straight and broad, like he can carry the whole world on them and not even flinch. When he speaks next, his voice is cast low, and rough, “lock your door tonight. My brother dislikes being told no.”
He disappears back into the drawing room, the light falling on him and enveloping him for one last moment before he’s gone.
