Page 11 of A Kiss Gone Wylde
“I think,” Lady Marguerite said, rising to her feet, “That we should leave the two of you alone for a bit. With the door open, naturally.”
“Naturally,” he agreed. “Thank you for your understanding.”
Ushering Cordelia and Charity out of the room, Lady Marguerite paused at the door to meet his gaze. She was very direct when she stated, “This is a dicey situation, Davenport. I am certain you are aware of that.”
“Yes. I am well aware of that fact, madam.”
She nodded. “Your willingness to set things right despite my niece’s poor choices and lack of judgment is very much appreciated. I wanted to let you know that I am aware of— well, I know that this was not how you planned to marry.”
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the topic. He didn’t wish to discuss Anne. Not with anyone. “I can’t imagine it is how Miss Wylde imagined getting married either.”
“Quite right.” Marguerite looked over her shoulder one last time at her niece and then exited the drawing room.
Alone with her, Payne took a deep and steadying breath before he turned to his betrothed. There was no midnight silk draping her slender form that morning. In the way of all young and unmarried ladies, she was dressed in drab pastels that did nothing for her. If nothing else, marriage would at least allow her more wardrobe options.
“Miss Wylde,” he said.
“Lord Davenport,” she replied, her gaze focused on the book in her lap.
“I dreaded coming here this morning,” he admitted. “We disagreed so sharply last night that I had convinced myself our marriage would be naught but one endless battle, skirmishes bleeding into one another until we cannot tell where one ends and the next begins.”
She looked up then, meeting his gaze for the first time. “I thought the same. I kept imagining that this is a guaranteed path to unhappiness.”
“Under the circumstances, I would think that we could call one another by our given names… Payne.”
“Payne,” she said, the word rolling over her tongue almost as if she were trying it out. Then she continued, “I would rather not be called Benedicta. I detest that name. My sister and my cousins call me Benny. It suits me much better, I think.”
He placed the flowers on the table before her and walked toward the window which faced out onto the street. “I don’t know about that. Benny sounds like the name for a very young and possibly unwise girl. Benedicta sounds like a woman grown, with a bit of wisdom and gravitas. I should think that would suit you very well.”
“Is that intended to be complimentary or aspirational?” A small furrow formed between her brows with that question.
“A bit of both, I suppose. You accused me of being autocratic last night. And I suppose that is true.”
“You accused me of being reckless and willful… I can admit that is true, as well,” she conceded. “Willful I will have to own as a true character flaw. Recklessness occurs far less frequently.”
He smiled slightly. In this setting, in a drawing room with no danger and no imminent threat to anyone’s person or reputation, she was charming. “I am often autocratic, but I am certainly willing to work on that.”
“And arrogance? Are you willing to work on that, as well?”
His lips pressed into a firm line. It was more an attempt to hold back a grin than because he was actually perturbed by the question. “Let’s not press our luck.”
“Fair enough. So what do we now? Just pretend that we’ve been courting for however long it is that a couple normally courts prior to a betrothal?”
“We shall promenade today, as will be expected. There will be lots of stares,” he warned. “Pointing and whispering will also be present in abundance. There may even be some who give us the cut direct. The important thing is that none of this will be permanent. As soon as we are wed, the scandal will be resolved entirely… And speaking of marriage, my signet ring is hardly the sort of betrothal ring that is appropriate under the circumstances. I’ve brought what I hope will be a more suitable option.”
Removing the small box from his pocket, he left his station by the window and took a seat next to her. He held the box out to her, “I will not go down on bended knee. Under the circumstances it would be both ridiculous and undignified… After all, we both know that refusal is not an option for either of us. That doesn’t mean we cannot make the best of it, however.”
* * *
Benny accepted the small ring box, all the while trying to still the trembling of her fingers. After several attempts and the latch remaining firmly engaged, he leaned over and placed his hand over hers. She shivered at the unexpected warmth of his hand over hers. How could his touch have such an effect on her but every time he spoke it only ruined things?
As she stared at his hand, noting the size and strength of it, the fact that his skin was sun bronzed compared to her very pale complexion, the contrasts were somewhat startling. But those weren’t the reason her breath caught or that her stomach fluttered. It was the spark. That indefinable spark that ignited inside her at his touch. And it was the fact that he apparently felt it too. His hand stilled, his gaze locked with hers and she could see… what? Desire, hunger? Certainly things she did not really understand, but was only beginning to have an inkling of.
Then his thumb flipped the latch and he withdrew his hand, his gaze shifting from hers. Air rushed into her lungs with such intensity that it made her somewhat lightheaded. And then Benny looked down at the diamond ring nestled in a bed of silk. It was a large setting and would have been ostentatious but for the delicate nature of the design.
“It’s lovely.” Benny offered. “Thank you.”
“Try it on. We will see if it needs to be sized.”
