Chapter Five
“And yet you’re here. I bet at one time you had said that you would never step foot in the Lyon’s Den. Never buy a husband.”
“Be careful with your bets, Duke.”
“Lady…” he waited for her to fill in her name.
“Amelia.”
“I’m always careful with my bets, Amelia.”
“Yet you’re here.”
“Who’s to say I’m not exactly where I intended to be this evening?” He watched as her eyes widened in disbelief. Curiosity. Like she wanted to ask him a million questions in a follow up. But she held her tongue.
“If it’s here you intended to be, you’re about to be disappointed. We’re leaving tonight for my family’s country estate.” Her steady gaze indicated that she expected more of a reaction from him, but he wasn’t about to give in.
This whole situation was one giant shock. One loop of chaos. One altogether asinine decision after another. So the fact that she wanted to leave tonight was hardly adding any additional absurdity to the night.
“When are you leaving?”
“We are leaving now. You can have your things sent for. Before you make a counteroffer, let me tell you this. I’ve paid Mrs. Dove-Lyon handsomely for this arrangement.
She assured me that you were the right one for me, and erm…
my situation. I’ll take you back to Penbrooke Manor for one week to make sure this is the right course of action.
If my sister agrees to it all, then you’ll both be married at the end of the week before my father returns with—”
Benedict’s intrigue grew immeasurably at her cutting herself off.
“Never mind.” She brushed her hands down her dress and pushed her already smoothed hair back into her severe bun. “Are you ready?”
Amelia was a walking contradiction. She was obviously obsessed with etiquette and poise, yet here she was on the verge of a scandal. And apparently it was the second one. She was using a potential scandal to clean up another.
But this was what Benedict had signed up for. He wanted to embrace the scandal, roll around in it a little, then stand up, brush himself off and show the ton that as a duke he could do whatever he wanted.
“Where’s the carriage?”
“My carriage is out front. I don’t know where yours is.” This woman was prickly. Always responding with the words of most resistance. It wasn’t a wonder why she had come to accept her spinsterhood.
“I’ll ride with you.” If she could be difficult, so could he.
“I think not.” Unsure if she was intentionally avoiding his eyes or not, he observed Amelia slip her gloves on.
“I think it makes the most sense. I’ll be making arrangements for a second carriage to collect my things. No need for the extra horses. Besides, there could be highwaymen out there at this time of night.”
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
He didn’t doubt that for one second, but still…he was awarded small amounts of joy every time he could needle her a little.
“I’m going with you. Now…” he moved two fingers in a walking motion. “Are you walking out on your own? Or shall I carry you over my shoulder?”
Her gasp was reward enough.
“Let’s go.”