Forbidden

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Clearly, she didn't need to be told twice to inflict pain. Though, to be fair, he had expected she would merely give him a light pat across the shoulder or mayhap even kick him in the shin.

  Not, to his great humiliation, give such a remarkable punch that he was rendered senseless for longer than he'd care to admit. Were they allowing women at Jackson's these days? He needed to stop underestimating the chit, his nemesis, his future wife. Bitter pill to swallow, that.

  Breath whistled through his teeth as he set himself to rights and checked his body for any other sort of bruising. Naturally, he wouldn't put it past her to give a good kick after she sent him sailing to the ground.

  Although sore, nothing else seemed worse for the wear, but he did have a sneaking suspicion he looked as if he had been on the wrong end of an opening door. With one final oath for good measure, he took another soothing breath and made his way back to the box.

  Thankfully, everything was still blanketed in black. Unfortunately for him, he had the devil's own luck, so it wasn't all that surprising that the minute his booted foot stepped into his box, the stage lights came to life as the second act began.

  And he, the wounded, was no longer in darkness.

  Rather blinded by the spectacle in front of him. His eyes focused on the stage and then to his horror, Agatha. Of course the witch was laughing.

  "What the devil happened to you?" Agatha said between giggles. At least have a care for the company! What were they to think when she was not even a trifle concerned for his welfare!

  "I took a stumble," he lied. His eyes quickly darted to Katherine.

  The minx coughed. "And where pray tell did you stumble, your grace? Dare I ask the condition of the object that ran into your face?" She lifted her hand innocently to touch her cheek and winked. Not a blasted hair out of place. Gloves pristine.

  He suddenly had a very vivid image of his hands shaking her tiny little body until she apologized.

  Then again, he couldn't very well have her apologize for something he'd told her to do.

  Stupidity seemed to blare in front of his eyes like a bloody sign.

  "Benedict!" Agatha scolded. "Really! To leave Lady Katherine all by herself! Heavens! The poor dear was lost for near an hour while you were out fighting imaginary dragons!"

  "I was attacked!" he shouted, bringing quite a lot of attention to their box. He swore and quickly took a seat so nobody would be the wiser to his bruise.

  "Attacked?" Agatha's eyes narrowed. "Seconds ago you were most unfortunate to allow your clumsiness to get the best of you, and now you were accosted? By what, a child? A door?"

  Katherine snorted behind her hand but kept her eyes dancing with amusement. Lord and Lady Kerrington were staring at him as if he had just sprouted an extra head near his ear.

  "Well?" Agatha prodded.

  "Both." He closed his eyes. "It was both. You see, I was trying to find Lady Katherine amidst the crowds—"

  "—there were no crowds, Benedict, we were all seated."

  "You did not let me finish!" He shifted in his seat. "The crowds of er… air." Cough, cough. "You see, the air was quite crowded with… dust, lots of dust, and you know I am sensitive to dust, Aunt."

  "Indeed."

  At his silence she leaned in. "Oh, do go on, I believe your tale has just trumped my interest in the opera."

  Lord Kerrington nodded his head in agreement. All eyes on him. He scratched nervously at his neck and cleared his throat. "As I said, the air was crowded with—"

  "—dust, yes you've said that already," Katherine piped up cheerfully.

  "Right." He clenched his teeth. "And by the time I was able to set myself to right and go in search of Katherine, who surely must have been confused because of all the…" He choked on his lie.

  "Dust," they said in unison.

  "Yes, dust," he said emphatically. "I wandered into a darkened corner, many of those in the theatre, you know, and promptly took a stumble. My eyes had not yet adjusted to the dust-free area."

  Devil take him, he truly was the worst liar that had ever lived. Plain and simple. Didn't help one bit that he was sweating through his jacket, nor that his aunt seemed to get more agitated by the minute.

  Benedict leaned forward hoping to gain the attention of everyone and end this mortifying night. "I heard a scream."

  "No!" Lady Kerrington gasped.

  He smiled cheerfully. "Why yes, and I being the strong, courageous…"

  "—Don't forget dust sensitive," Katherine piped up again.

  "Dust sensitive," he ground out. "Ahem… man that I am, I went in search of the damsel. I'm happy to announce I made it just in time to save the woman in distress no worse for the wear!"

  Odd nobody was clapping. Should he not be honored for his bravery, fake though it may be?

  Agatha chuckled. "Interesting. For Katherine said both of you were merely lost and in a moment of panic she accidently hit you in the face because she thought she saw a rat."

  "But," Benedict sputtered. "You asked…"

  "Bravo!" Lord Kerrington slapped Benedict hard on the back. "Your Grace, my daughter was just regaling us with your ability to tell stories. I say, jolly good one! My dear," he looked to Katherine. "You were right. He does possess a certain talent. Thank you for allowing us to see it firsthand."

  "Of course." She winked at Benedict and crossed her arms.

  He gave a nervous laugh. "Ah yes, I do enjoy telling falsehoods in order to entertain others."

  "Good man, good sense of humor, good man." Lord Kerrington was still chuckling.

  Benedict scooted closer to Katherine and grasped her hand hard within his.

  She squeaked but otherwise made no movement.

  "I have half a mind to strangle you." He felt his jaw clench in frustration.

  "But, your grace?" Katherine turned her deep blue eyes toward him and whispered, "Then you would no longer be able to kiss me, and you do enjoy that, don't you?"

  Before he could speak, she shushed him. "No, no, you've had quite the ordeal tonight, your grace. Pray, do not exert yourself any further. Besides, you've kissed a woman, lived through a fight and apparently a terrible bout with dust. You deserve your rest. Just remember this one thing."

  "What's that?" Curse his voice for being hoarse with need.

  "This round goes to me."

  "Minx."

  "Rogue."

  "Flirt."

  "Devil."

  He sighed. "Agreed. I have been bested."

  "Why, your grace!" Her eyelashes fluttered. He couldn't take his eyes away from her face if he wanted to. "How sporting of you."

  And then, the woman, the very same one who had threatened his life so many years before, managed the impossible.

  She didn't sneak, but rather stomped right into his heart, threatening something much more dangerous than his life.

  His absolute and utter devotion.

  Devil take him, he'd be shocked if he lasted the two weeks without his heart, soul, life, and everything else he possessed on a platter before the girl.

  The whole idea that she could enter into his life so quickly and steal his very small heart made him deuced uncomfortable. She was more than a pretty face, and despite his desire to bed her, he found himself wanting to wed her. Perhaps he was going mad? It may be the only explanation as to why he continued to stop himself from fully ruining her, from making her his. Though his body ached with need, for the first time in his life, he was putting another human being ahead of himself. It was such an odd feeling that he found he almost needed to sit before his knees buckled beneath him sending him to the floor.

  What was this foreign feeling? Would it ever go away? Or was the only cure the very same girl that both provoked and inflamed him?

  He wasn't going to last a week.

  Then again, she wasn't sure she was going to last the carriage ride home. The man was altogether too large to fit in that stifling carriage.

  After his aunt accidently tread on her fat
her'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.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  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?