Chapter 12
Benedict
Every wall, every corridor, every breath of air in my home is marked by Madeline Clarke’s presence.
I can’t escape her. Not that I want to; but for so long this home has been empty. With Georgiana long passed and Derrick rarely stepping foot over the threshold, it has been mine in every sense of the word.
Now it’s been ours. For three weeks. And I don’t know how I feel about that.
She doesn’t try to dominate the space—she isn’t loud, isn’t demanding—but somehow she’s everywhere. I hear her laughter echoing from the kitchen, smell her perfume lingering in the hall, see the curve of her hip disappearing around a corner just as I enter a room.
We’ve developed an odd rhythm. She stays mostly in her suite, working on her laptop or chatting with her sister, wandering the grounds when she thinks I’m too busy to notice.
I bury myself in meetings and calls, staring at documents I can barely read.
But we keep running into each other anyway.
The house is vast and yet suddenly much too small.
And every morning, without fail, we share breakfast.
It’s torture.
Today she sits across from me at the long walnut table, hair pulled into a careless knot, skin flushed from the shower.
She likes sugar in her coffee, cream thick enough that she swirls the spoon three, four times before tasting it.
Sometimes she licks the cream from the spoon before setting it aside.
Sometimes she just presses her lips to the rim of the mug and tilts her head back, throat exposed, lips parted.
I grip my coffee cup hard enough to crack it.
I can’t look at her without wanting. And yet I can’t look away.
The only thing that assuages the tension is the fact that she hasn’t gone into the woods again. Not since the day I went with her—insisted she needed protection. As if she couldn’t handle herself.
Maddie should’ve taken it as an insult. She did, I think, snapping at me, trying to outpace me.
But then we got so much closer…
Too close.
I shouldn’t want her like that. Shouldn’t be thinking about catching her around those corners, pressing her back against the walls, pulling her into a private room to listen to her crescendo again, over and over, her core clenching around me.
She isn’t mine, even if I want it to be true—even if I keep saying it out loud to try and make it true.
There’s a light knock at the doorway, and Hugh steps in. I straighten up, grateful to have those sinful thoughts interrupted. Though if Hugh is here, back from Europe, it means Derrick might trail in right behind him at any moment.
Madeline gives him a genuine, welcoming smile. If this situation wasn’t so fucked I’d be happy to have her at my side—a perfect hostess, seamless addition to my life.
Hugh drops into the chair beside me with his tablet and mutters, “He dipped out of the country before I could find him. From what I can tell, he’s in Thailand now.”
My jaw locks.
“Festival,” Hugh adds with a grimace, trying to speak quietly. But it’s just the three of us; Maddie can hear every word. “Friends, drugs, women. The usual. I can head back out first thing if you want me to.”
It feels like my body is being tugged in a dozen different directions.
Part of me is tempted to send Hugh back right away. To book the flight to Thailand, get Derrick home immediately, hand Maddie off to him with a few signatures and more regrets.
The other part of me wants to let my son languish in his debauchery. The idiot doesn’t know what he’s missing; what he could have at his fingertips.
“Christ.” I shove my plate away, the food suddenly tasteless.
My son has disappeared into another country while my brand-new wife sits across from me sucking jam off her thumb.
“No, I won’t do that to you, Hugh. Just stay in contact with him for now.
Try to talk reason into him. He still picks up your calls? ”
Hugh nods. In some ways, I think, he’s been more like a father to Derrick than I have.
I should be focusing on damage control, on dragging him back by his collar and forcing him into responsibility. Instead, all I can think about is Maddie’s mouth and how badly I want it wrapped around… something else.
Hugh glances at me, then at her, and back at me again. He’s too sharp, too loyal, but not blind. “We’ll get him back,” he says carefully, but his eyes are full of questions.
I don’t answer.
By afternoon, I’ve convinced myself I’ll make it through the day without snapping. That lasts right up until Cameron shows up.
Cameron is one of my property managers, sharp enough to handle two locations in Colorado and one in Salt Lake City, but green enough that he insists on face-to-face updates. He arrives in a tailored suit, briefcase in hand, and launches into a report before we’ve even left the foyer.
“Mr. Bronson, thanks for making time. We’ve run into an issue with the Aspen ballroom renovations—the contractors are demanding—”
He stops. His eyes flick past me.
Maddie has appeared at the top of the staircase, barefoot, wearing jeans and a soft sweater that slides off one shoulder. She looks curious, not at all self-conscious.
“Ben?” she asks lightly. “Do we have company?”
The word we twists in my chest. How does this all come so easily to her? Guilt grinds at me like a stone in my shoe; why can’t I just accept that she’s part of my life? Even if it’s only temporary?
Cameron blinks. “I… forgive me. Is this—?”
“My wife,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “Madeline.”
His brows shoot up. The calculation in his eyes is instant: he’s just realized exactly what the gossip columns have been circling.
The truth.
Maddie pads down the stairs and offers her hand, smiling like she was born to defuse tension. “It’s nice to meet you, Cameron. Do you manage the Aspen property?”
He clears his throat, shaking her hand. “I do, yes. As well as Boulder and Salt Lake City, Utah.”
“Lovely,” she says, her smile brightening. “I’ve always admired Boulder in particular. Didn’t you do a complete redesign of the terrace a few years ago? The floral wall during spring looked incredible.”
I watch Cameron’s ears redden as he stammers out thanks.
We move into my study, but Maddie doesn’t retreat. She follows and curls into one of the leather chairs by the fire, listening as Cameron explains the problem: contractors demanding more time, a wedding party threatening to pull their booking, press sniffing around for scandal.
“Nightmare,” Cameron finally ends with, exhaustion and stress lining his face.
Maddie tilts her head. “Why not host the rehearsal dinner in one of the smaller dining rooms? Dress it up as exclusive, intimate, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Offer them a tasting menu with pairings from Crown but you did, and you were right. You’re… good at this.”
Her cheeks color faintly, and for some reason the sight makes my pulse pound.
I take a breath, steadying myself. “Let me take you to dinner.”
Her brows furrow. “But we have dinner here, every night…”
She’s right; every night in the dining room, the same as breakfast, the same temptation, unless I have a business meeting or a call that keeps me away.
I shake my head. “No. Let me buy you dinner. In Aspen. Tomorrow night, as a thank-you.”
Her lips part, the smile dropping away, and for a moment my heart pounds harder. The fear that she’ll say no rears its ugly head. But it’s her right—not to want something like that with me. Something intimate.
Especially when I keep assuring her that I’ll pawn her off on my son, as soon as he gets back.
“You’re sure?” Maddie asks, nerves pitching her voice.
I nod once, forcing myself to remain calm, collected, and professional. But inside, I’m anything but. She chews her lip, tongue darting out to soothe the spot, and then says: “Okay. Tomorrow.” Starting to stand, bare feet on the floor, she hesitates. “If you’re sure.”
Then she’s gone, like a ghost, or a figment of my imagination that I dreamed up in a haze.
I turn back to the mountain, not wanting to admit just how dangerous this is.