Forbidden (40 page)

After his aunt accidently tread on her
father's foot with her cane, well, he'd felt a bruised foot as well
as a bruised ego, no doubt.

Meaning, her parents had left the opera
early.

Thanking the heavens that she still had
Benedict's fire-breathing aunt with them, Katherine soon realized
her joy would be short-lived. When the very dragon toppled over in
her chair.

"Oh, you two stay, stay! After all, you are
betrothed."

"I will see that Lady Katherine reaches her
home this evening," Benedict had drawled, his smirk giving way to
the utter satisfaction he most likely felt with Katherine in his
clutches again.

"Well, if you insist." The dowager looked to
Katherine.

"I would be delighted to stay and watch the
remainder of the opera with his grace."

"Well, that's settled!" The dowager nodded
her head slowly. The poor thing did look quite put out; perhaps she
was coming down with a cold? Which is exactly what she had
suggested to Benedict.

He laughed, and stated that she was known for
having a list of ailments, all of which were nonexistent but always
helpful in her manipulations and strategies.

They were silent during the rest of the
opera.

And in the carriage.

Until, all of a sudden Benedict stopped the
carriage a block from her house. "You cannot be silent!"

"Why ever not?" she near shouted.

"It isn't like you!"

"Pardon?"

"Silence? Beauty? Intelligence? Devil take
me, it isn't at all like you! Be disagreeable. Saints alive, help a
man out! It would be so much easier to marry a woman who was…
was…"

She must have hit him harder than she
thought.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly.
You desire for me to be undesirable."

"Bloody hell, yes!" He lifted his eyes
heavenward and sighed happily. "Do you not understand? I was just
getting used to the idea of being married, of being forced — nay,
coerced, perhaps manipulated is a better word? Yes, manipulated —
into marrying you! At least then, I knew I could keep my distance.
After all, you'd probably send me to an early grave, and then I
wouldn't have to suffer alongside you in holy matrimony."

"How romantic."

He shrugged. He would shrug at a time like
this. Devil take him.

"But now, don't you see how much more
difficult it is going to be for me to be… Well, to be…" He bit his
lip and scowled.

"Selfish?" she offered.

"Yes!" he roared. "Now wait one minute, I
wouldn't necessarily say it's selfish for a man to want to live his
life without the irritation of a woman by his side."

"Your words are like poetry," she gushed
mockingly.

Banbury glared. "I do not want marriage.
Least of all with a woman who can throw a right punch with the best
of them, nor one who I can't imagine without pigtails. Besides, she
picked you."

"By she you mean the dowager? Were we not
just discussing this last night? She picked me for your cousin, not
for you. Truly, you need to learn the art of humility."

"She tricked me," he said, ignoring her.
"Besides, you're stuck with me. Forget the courting, hang it all!
You will marry me, and you will be boring!"

Perhaps she should tell the footman to take
them to Bedlam instead of her home. "Are you unwell?" She leaned
forward and lifted a hand to his cheek.

"Why the blazes would I be well? A few days
ago, I was happily drinking the night away at a gambling Hell. And
now, now, I'm… going to the opera with my aunt of all people! Along
with my soon-to-be wife. By God, I'm going to have a wife…" He
leaned his head back against the seat.

"And an apoplectic fit if you don't calm
down," she added.

He glared. "My thanks. That was ever so
helpful in putting my mood in a better state."

"I don't love you," she stated rather
boldly.

He opened his eyes and burst out laughing.
"Truly, a man can't hear that enough. It is akin to a woman
confessing that she only has days to live and has never been with a
man, or when the proprietor suddenly announces that the whiskey is
free."

"You don't love me."

He paused.

Good God, why was he pausing?

The air in the carriage swam with
tension.

"No?" The word hung as a question between
them. He blinked his eyes a few times as if trying to ascertain
that they were still functioning, a side effect of the dust no
doubt.

"No." She nodded and leaned forward. "But,
your grace. We are stuck. Let us think nothing more of crying off
or trying to best one another. Can we not simply be friends?"

"Marriage and friendship?" He looked
skeptical as his eyebrows drew together.

She nodded.

"I guess this means you won't try to be
boring."

"I cannot be what I am not."

His eyes narrowed.

She cleared her throat and patted his hand.
"Just like you cannot help but be disagreeable and grumpy with a
nasty habit of forgetting to smile."

Banbury opened his mouth to speak, but she
kept talking.

"And let us not forget your horrid talent at
telling a fib. Gracious, my three-year-old niece could do it
better. Dust? Really?"

"In my defense, I
am
sensitive."

She grinned. "Remind me to bring dust to our
ceremony."

"Wouldn't shock me at all if you arrived with
pistols firing, let alone dust."

"It would be less than you deserve," she
added.

"Minx." He tapped the roof of the carriage
and sighed. "Friends?" His hand was outstretched in a manner
signaling a peace of sorts. So why, when her gloved hand touched
his, did she feel that she had just made a deal with the devil?

He smiled.

She gulped. Because the truth hit her full
force. She didn't feel like she had made a deal with the devil. The
deal was already done, and the devil looked quite pleased.

What's a Devil to Do?

He was worse than
a
woman. His own mood swings were driving him mad; he could only
imagine how Katherine felt. That was, if he was one to care about
others' feelings, which of course, he wasn't.

He was the devil after all.

It was morning, precisely two days since the
dreaded ball where his life had been changed forever, and less than
twenty-four hours since his last erotic kiss with the woman that
was to be his wife. By his calculations, he had less than two weeks
before the Kringle Ball. The very same ball that would seal his
fate as a leg-shackled duke.

When had he lost control of his life?

Was it the day he'd stepped into Agatha's
house? Or perhaps the very second he decided to accept her
invitation?

And now he was stuck.

With a wife he didn't want. Well, that was to
say he didn't emotionally want her. Wanting her physically was
quite another topic entirely. His body replayed images of her
responsive kiss over and over again until his only solace was
whiskey.

He finished half the bottle. Not a proud
moment since he wasn't one to normally drink alone.

The problem was he saw no way out of this
predicament. Contrary to popular notion, he truly did possess a
heart, though it was small, and at times he did wonder if it worked
properly. Especially considering he rarely felt guilty for ruining
women left and right. It had always been a sport, a way to pass
time, an entertaining amusement.

But now, he had one woman. One irritatingly
attractive woman who was depending on him to make one right
decision amidst all the bad ones.

He swallowed, suddenly wishing he wasn't
nursing a headache or nausea, for the whiskey called out to him
again.

There was no way out of the mess.

It would be helpful if the chit would at
least be agreeable. His demands were straightforward and honest,
but in the end, it wouldn't have mattered if she tried to be
boring. Her eyes shone with intelligence.

Nor if she tried to be indifferent; her mouth
often curved into a mischievous smile when she thought nobody was
watching.

But he watched.

He noticed.

Devil take him, he was actually falling for a
woman who wasn't his mistress.

Which meant he was in danger of creating the
biggest scandal the
ton
would ever see or talk about for
centuries.

The Devil Duke was successfully becoming
besotted with the very woman he was going to marry.

Wonders never ceased.

He smiled, despite a herculean effort not to,
and took a slow sip of coffee.

"Your grace, this just came for you. It is
urgent that you respond straight away." His butler bowed, but made
no move to leave.

Benedict took the letter into his hand and
broke the seal.

A house party.

Gads, he hadn't been to a house party in
years.

He continued reading.

The party was to be thrown at Lord Marks'
estate just outside London.

A holiday party.

His mind worked sluggishly through the
details. It would be endless days filled with ice-skating and
games.

It sounded like the exact opposite of
something he would normally agree to.

Which was why, when he wrote his acceptance,
he nearly banged his head against the table in order to conjure up
part of his old self.

"Deuced idiot is what I am," he mumbled as he
closed his eyes, and contemplated returning to bed.

But then a thought struck him.

A devilish thought, one that brought a
cheerful smile to his face and did wonders for his headache.

Katherine.

What he needed was to put her in situations
where she would yet again prove disastrous and dangerous, and would
successfully kill any sort of attachment he had for her. It would
remind him that she was not any type of woman he wanted to marry.
This was so simple! The girl was as clumsy as she was beautiful.
Put the girl in skates and she would find the thin ice.

He laughed aloud nearly scaring himself in
the process, for he had just laughed over the thought of a girl
falling into an ice pond.

His smile faded. Did he truly just imagine
her beautiful body falling into an icy hole? What in the blazes was
wrong with him? Perhaps she could just take a tumble, reminding him
again that she was not fit to be a duchess and certainly unfit to
be wed.

On the other hand, considering his
imagination had run away with him again, mayhap he should return to
bed?

No, no, he scolded himself. He had
preparations to make.

One day later

Katherine glared at
the
man sitting opposite her. The carriage hit a bump; she
glared harder. Could he not feel the penetration of her stare?

"You're going to hurt me if you keep
glowering at me in that fashion, or worse your eyes will be stuck
in that position, and we both know how offensive you find me." He
grinned, his dimples mocking her every nerve.

Drat the man! Days ago, she had not thought
him capable of emotion, let alone smiling! And now he was
practically enthusiastic. When she agreed to be his friend despite
having to marry him, it seemed the best course of action.

In her defense, she had thought to only see
him a few more times before the Kringle Ball, and at worse, every
day.

But now, she was to spend four days in his
company.

In his cousin's company.

She'd be shocked if she didn't expire from
the emotional turmoil of it all.

Add in ice skating and other games, and she
was a ball of nerves. It had been pure luck on her part that she
had managed not to accost the duke in the past three days.

Surely her luck was running out.

Benedict grinned again. Yes, it was most
definitely running out.

"Am I to understand that you've never ice
skated before?" he asked, looking idly amused. If she could call
inspecting her gloves and smiling amused.

"I am quite skilled at ice skating, your
grace."

He cursed aloud and leveled her with a glare
so intense, she was surprised her face didn't go up in flames.

"We are to be husband and wife. I believe you
can cease from calling me your grace, at least in private."

"Sorry, Benedict."

His teeth clenched. "Don't know why you'd
have such trouble saying my name now, you were deuced good at
screaming it when you were busy trying to plan my demise."

Katherine bit her bottom lip trying to keep
from smiling. "I was concerned for your welfare."

"Concerned?" He tilted his head and leaned
forward. "Pray tell, were you concerned before or after I was
knocked out from a tree branch those many years ago?"

She managed a stoic face. "After."

"And when I fell off the balcony?"

"Before."