Chapter 19
“Iwill not do such a thing, I say! Why should I waste one more minute looking for that infernal beast? Perhaps if I do find her, I will have her stuffed and mounted. That way, she would not have to trouble anyone anymore!” Benedict huffed.
The duke was furious at the thought that the dowager duchess believed he was the only one who could solve her problems.
He stood in the hallway, trying to fix the cuff of his coat that suddenly did not look right to him. He was already late for a meeting, but the old woman chose that time to block his path. Her face expressed an air of utmost tragedy.
“You do not understand! Lupita is the light of my life! I cannot imagine her gone. Can’t a man of your respectable discipline spare a moment for an old woman and her dog?” she asked.
“Your Grace, you are hardly without canine companionship,” the duke reminded the Dowager Duchess. His tone remained impeccable, but he was beginning to sound weary. “You will still have Pepita. I believe a woman of your stature will manage with one dog.”
The dowager gave an outraged gasp.
“What? Are you telling me to make do with Pepita? Benedict, you do not have a soul. You do not even care about animals. Pepita will be devastated without her sister. They even share a bed and dinner. They have an unbreakable bond!”
Was the damned woman batting her eyelashes? He certainly hoped not.
“I have already instructed one of the stable hands to comb the grounds. He is currently finding assistance from the rest of the staff. Now, I really must meet with the Earl of Roxborough. I am already late,” he ground out, as he tried to hold on to the last of his patience.
“The earl can wait! You are a duke. You outrank him! He will also understand that this is a matter of life and death!”
The poor woman probably believed what she was saying. Benedict had to keep himself from sighing heavily. It was not the way he would have liked to start the day.
“While that may be true about the rank, I have never and will never use it as a reason to be late for a meeting. Moreover, it is not a matter of life and death. It is a poodle!” he exclaimed, unhappy that he was losing his temper.
“A poodle? Lupita is a Pomeranian!” the dowager duchess sounded completely affronted.
“Still not a matter of life and death, Your Grace,” he said grimly.
“Oh, it is to me, Benedict!” the dowager’s face crumpled. Benedict had to control the urge to roll his eyes. Why did the dowager duchess and her niece both have to inspire terrible behavior from him?
“Fine,” he sighed heavily, running a hand through his usually neat hair. Today, he suspected the strands would be sticking out as he spoke with the earl. “I will go to the library to see if she is there. That rodent seems to enjoy the library far too much.”
“Pomeranian.”
“Rodent,” Benedict insisted. Then, he sighed as the dowager pretended to wail. “Dog. If I do not see the damned dog there, I will leave for my meeting as I should.”
He turned on his heel and strode down the hall, while the dowager tried her best to catch up with him. He turned toward the library, to the last place he had seen Lupita. Was there a chance that the dog was actually trying to bother him in his space?
No. Impossible.
He entered the room, eyes quickly scanning the stacks of books. Every shelf was full. Therefore, no dog, no matter how small, could use those as its hiding place.
“You are wasting your time, Mr. Straton,” a familiar voice murmured from a corner.
Of course, he knew who it was before he turned around. Who else would be so bold as to speak to him that way? She sat by the window, with a chessboard on the table in front of her. Her head bowed low as she studied the pieces with a frown. When she looked up at him, her green eyes sparkled.
At first, there was something: an emotion he could not define. Was she almost, well, sad? Then, it seemed as if she had recovered from the initial reaction, and her eyes glinted with mischief.
“You may be right,” he agreed, even as he narrowed his eyes with suspicion. What was she doing in the library with a chessboard? “However, it is your aunt who has somewhat dragged me into a mess that I am not particularly interested in solving.”
“I hope you find Lupita,” she said, looking back at her chess pieces.
Benedict was curious. Did she like chess? He did not want to make assumptions about a woman who had been surprising him at every turn. However, given her complaints about his dreariness and the unladylike ways she liked to spend her time, he could not imagine her as a chess enthusiast.
Then, he heard the creaking of the door. He had become so preoccupied with Anastasia that he forgot about Lupita and even the dowager duchess, who did not enter the room at all.
“What the devil are you doing?” he demanded, seeing the dowager duchess holding a key and closing the library’s door.
“I am only ensuring you find Lupita! She loves the library. You need to look more closely. You can ask Anastasia for help!” the old lady claimed, giving them a guileless smile as she continued to close the door.
It was too late. Benedict’s legs had only taken him a few steps forward.
Frustration seized him. It was not merely annoyance that he felt but a white-hot spike of panic that made his chest burn—missing a task on his list?
Being late? Rage burned through his throat like a prohibited spirit, but this time, leaving the taste of ash.
He hated being helpless. After all, he had spent his entire adult life ridding himself of the feeling.
The lock turned.
He still lunged for the door, as if his body was enough to fight a large wooden door, which was designed with fortification in mind. He rattled the handle, anyway. The door felt solid, crashing against his torso. Perhaps he could try to appeal to the dowager duchess.
“Open this door immediately! I am due for a critical appointment!”
It was not particularly true. However, being able to attend his meeting was relevant to his mental constitution at the moment. If his mind were to be obliterated by Anastasia and her aunt, then the estate would be in ruins.
“Nonsense! I can always send a note to the earl that you have fallen ill. You need a break, dear boy! All you think about is productivity. You two enjoy yourselves. Hope you find Lupita there, but if a footman finds her elsewhere, I will have him report to you!”
What followed was the sound of her fading footsteps. The dowager duchess had meant to lock them in for some twisted reason of her own. There was no doubt about it.
Benedict turned around to see Anastasia calmly assessing him. He breathed heavily, more from boiling anger than exertion. He did not like the fact that his composure was completely shredded. The more he looked at Anastasia, the more she looked back. She was soon shaking with giggles.
“My life was not like this before,” he grunted. He tried to push back memories of chaos, more insidious ones from his past.
Anastasia and the dowager duchess had brought chaos into his life. It was messy, but it did not compare to what his father, mother, and uncle had put him through.
For a moment, he merely stood there. He realized that his fists were shaking, and his thoughts were no longer on Lupita and her owner. They had traced back many other things—the life that he had been trying to erase with his lists.
The words were supposed to recreate his life. They were supposed to make him into a new person, one who was worthy of respect. He thought of these things as his vision blurred, standing before the woman who could not even address him by his proper title.
“You bring chaos every time,” was what he said, even as he knew that chaos had always been within him, threatening to rise once more. “I was about to leave, and now I am locked in the library as if I am being punished. Like a schoolboy!”
“Were you punished like this as a schoolboy?” she asked, grinning at him. She tilted her head to one side as if she were genuinely interested in what his past was like.
But his past was dangerous. Answering her questions about it would turn them into moments he had chosen to forget.
“No… I…”
Suddenly, he was flustered, like a schoolboy. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering being embraced in his mother’s arms one day. He had clung tightly to her because he did not know when the tide would turn. His mother would eventually forget about him for days after coddling him.
“Relax, Mr. Straton. I doubt she would let us starve here. Therefore, the door would not remain closed for long. She would eventually have to open it after she finished whatever mission she had, whether it involved Lupita or not. She may be only trying to change your plans because you are always buttoned up and so determined to work from dawn till dusk.”
“Perhaps you are right about the way I am planning every little detail, Miss Dawson,” he conceded. “However, at this point, all choice in this matter has flown out the window. My life managing a dukedom requires structure more than ever.”
She squinted her eyes at him. He wondered whether he had managed to offend her this time.
“Fear guides your life,” she retorted, even as her tone had become too serious. Her words, on the other hand, struck him like a physical blow. They silenced his carefully constructed pride.
Benedict felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him hollow and cold. He stood there stunned, but managed to open his mouth to ask a question.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
“Sometimes, Mr. Straton, things are out of our control. Today, my aunt locking us in is proof of that. Weather can ruin your crops, no matter how carefully you plan the success of their growth. And for me? You may think me chaotic, but somehow chaos finds me. Do you think I like being forced to stay here? Things are not going my way.”
Benedict felt the words like a slap. Of course, she did not want to be here.
A woman like Anastasia needed freedom. The locked door would also affect her just as much as it did him, because it prevented him from carrying out his plans.
He stood there speechless, watching her play both sides of the chessboard.
“I disagree with you. There are still ways in which we can control our lives. We may not be able to stop all terrible things, but we can limit them through careful planning and living our lives wisely.”
His little speech was delivered with indignation and pride, yet it also made him feel like a hypocrite.
“Play chess with me, Mr. Straton,” she offered, gesturing to the chair opposite hers. “We can’t pass the time merely arguing or fuming. Let’s entertain ourselves.”
An unbidden thought flashed over him. What if they entertained themselves differently?
No.
He was the one who called their passionate encounter a mistake.
“Why would I agree to such a waste of time?” he asked, and yet, he found himself walking toward the chair.
“You know you want to,” she purred, as she set the pieces back to their initial positions.
“All right, then,” he huffed as he sat down in front of her. He had to admit he was curious about what a game with this woman would be like. He knew better than to underestimate her, as he had with fencing.
“You are too stubborn to do nothing. A chess game would be better than wasting your breath on my aunt, who is more likely up to no good and doing something you would more likely forbid. I am certain you are accepting my invitation merely because of the challenge. But I will make it more interesting for you. For every piece lost, we must answer a personal question. The loser of the entire game must follow a command from the winner.”
“Aside from the personal questions?”
“Yes. The winner gets to tell the loser what to do, but he or she must make it clear when claiming the prize.”
Benedict raised an eyebrow as he observed her.
She seemed earnest. There did not seem to be a jest hiding behind those green eyes.
He knew it was a terrible idea, but he could not back down from the challenge.
Perhaps if they played this game, he could finally see her for what she was.
However, he had secrets he would rather keep to the grave.
He had to beat her in this game as well.
“Let’s play,” he accepted, settling down more comfortably, resting his elbows on the table. “But are you certain, Miss Dawson, that fighting against someone with absolute focus is a wise idea? Especially with someone who already knows the depth of your cunning.”
“Do not be too confident, Mr. Straton. I will not let you cheat this time.”