Chapter Fourteen
She had really been hoping for a kiss. Sort of.
The fact that he wasn’t entirely the arrogant, standoffish prick that she thought he was had been wreaking havoc on her emotions.
And then after they had shared that laugh together, well, he was almost human.
A human that had her lips and fingertips in turmoil.
But the race was the safer course of action. Even if he ultimately won and she ended up tangled around in her chemise.
The blow to her pride at losing a trivial race was significantly easier to bear than another blow to her ego.
She didn’t need yet another man not noticing her. Not desiring her.
It was much better for everyone around her that they maintain their slightly vexed state around each other.
And it was that attitude she carried as she sat across from him in the drawing room planning the potential upcoming wedding.
“Do you prefer roses or tulips?” she asked him.
“Whatever you prefer. Roses I’m assuming?”
Irrational as it was, it irritated her that his assumptions were correct.
“It’s not for me, it’s for Arabella.”
“Ah yes. Where is she anyway?”
Amelia pulled half of her bottom lip into a small bite and then swallowed the small lump in her throat, about the size of a small piece of wedding cake. She knew exactly where Amelia was and more importantly why she was there.
“She had a megrim.” Taking a quick pause, she took that moment to scribble something on her papers. “But she reassured me that we should go ahead and make plans without her.”
His lips pressed into a fine line, which only made that imaginary blob of cake working down her esophagus into her stomach very unsettled.
Amelia waved off the unspoken query. The one she envisioned him asking. It was his nature to be confrontational with her, so even though she didn’t actually hear him say, We’re planning her wedding and she’s not here? That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? She predicted his skepticism in the matter.
So even when she dismissed it with, “It happens all the time with society mamas,” and he said nothing, in his eyebrows, she could read the retort, You’re not her mother.
So it didn’t quite make sense when she mumbled in reply, “May as well be.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh nothing. So, we’re going with roses.”
“Roses sound nice.”
“Chocolate or vanilla cake?”
“Which do you prefer? Vanilla?”
Again, he was correct. She ground her teeth together. As much as she wanted to prove him wrong, she was more than a little preferential in her favor of vanilla over chocolate.
“That will do.”
“And what will you wear?”
“Whatever you prefer for the occasion—”
“Alright, Benedict. What’s going on?”
He leaned back and propped his feet over his knee. “What do you mean, Amelia?”
“I mean, you’re agreeing with everything I’m saying and you haven’t once argued with me.”
“Oh.”
“See? Even that right there. You should have said that you don’t argue with me.”
His hands slid slowly down his thighs.
“Do I normally argue with you?”
“Stop it.”
“What?” his lips curled up in a half smile.
“You are not this agreeable.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Benedict,” she practically growled. “This is one day. A very special event. And despite the circumstances, I want to make it a lovely event.”
“For who?”
“For my sister.” But even as she said it, she realized that her sister had not been on her mind for the last few minutes.
Being so befuddled by Benedict, she had completely neglected to consider her sister’s preferences, which, in hindsight would actually be the opposite of hers.
She made a note to herself to later reselect everything with only her sister in mind.
She shifted back in her seat and crossed her feet at the ankles.
“This is all besides the point,” she mumbled in a feeble attempt to regain some control. “You’re supposed to argue with me. That’s how this works.”
“Hmm…” It was a low murmur. A murmur so low that it slipped under the hem of her dress and pranced its way up her calves.
Fiddling with her teacup, she avoided his eyes.
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
Her eyes flew to his. “What—”
And with perfectly terrible timing, Arabella flounced into the room. Not the type of flounce one would execute after just getting over a megrim. More the type of flounce one would make when one was meddling. “Oh, there you two are. My megrim has cleared. Where are we in the planning?”
“Almost done,” Amelia said, shuffling her papers and rising to her feet.
“Splendid. Shall we go for a walk?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Amelia said at the same time as Benedict.
There. That was more like it. The world didn’t quite make sense if Benedict was on her side.
“Splendid.” With a clap of her hands, Arabella led them out of the room.
Once the air hit her face, Amelia accepted that this was probably a good idea. Fresh air was always a good way to clear her head and reset her thoughts. Almost as good as swimming. Which…well, that hadn’t worked. So surely walking would.
Surely.