Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

" A re you going to drink that or just stare at it?"

Benedict glanced up from his glass, realizing that his mind had been miles away. He found Samuel regarding him with a look that perfectly mingled amusement and worry.

Chuckling, Benedict brought the glass to his lips and downed the entire drink in one go.

Samuel sighed. "That was not exactly what I meant."

Benedict reached out to refill his now empty glass. Then he sighed as he settled back into his chair, sipping absently at his refreshed drink. When he glanced back at Samuel, his friend's concern seemed to be growing. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

"I was hoping you would tell me," Samuel replied.

"I beg your pardon?"

"How long have we been friends?"

Benedict scoffed. "I would rather not say. It would only make me feel old."

"Exactly." Samuel took a sip of his drink, still eyeing Benedict warily. "I have known you for too many years to sit and drink with you like this and not know that you had something on your mind."

"Am I that predictable?"

"When you sit there moping and saying nothing, you are," Samuel retorted. He sighed and set down his glass. "But if I am being honest, Benedict, this is the first time I have seen you so unsettled. At this point, anyone could see that something was amiss. What has happened?"

Benedict closed his eyes against the question. But as soon as he did, a dozen images swam before him in the dark, bringing up unsavory emotions as they did.

"Has something happened with Lady Selina?" Samuel guessed.

"No. I have not seen her since the house party," he replied, pressing a hand to his head.

"So, something happened with her while she was here?"

Benedict wished that Samuel would let the matter drop. Irritation welled within him at the mention of the youngest Fletcher daughter. "Nothing happened. Or, rather, all is well," he grumbled.

When he finally opened his eyes again, Samuel's disbelief was obvious. "Something with your mother then?" he guessed.

"No. She is still the same, uncaring nag as she has always been."

"Then what?"

"Nothing!" Benedict's protest was far louder than it should have been. He was overcompensating. "Everything is fine, I assure you. I am just a little tired, that is all."

Samuel stood. "I came here to see my friend and to enquire after him. I did not come here to be lied to. If you insist on keeping up the charade that all is well, then I will leave you to stew in your own fabrications."

Benedict groaned, waving the man back down to his seat. "Oh sit down, for heaven's sake. There is no need to be dramatic."

But Samuel remained standing. "Is there not? I can see that something is troubling you, Benedict. Greatly. And if you cannot speak to me about it, then perhaps you and I are not as close of friends as I had once assumed."

Seeing that his friend was truly bothered by Benedict's silence, the duke was forced to reexamine his approach to their meeting. He had hoped to simply drink away his troubles with his friend. But this was clearly not something Samuel was willing to do.

Benedict sighed. "You were always woefully stubborn," he murmured.

Sensing victory, Samuel sank back into his seat. "My wife would agree with you, I imagine."

His wife. Marriage . Love . The things that had been plaguing Benedict over the last several days were suddenly at the tip of his tongue, ready to finally expose him once and for all, if he let them.

"Something did happen during the house party," Benedict finally admitted. "But it was not with Lady Selina."

Samuel frowned. Given their previous conversations, Benedict could guess that his friend's mind had already gone to another lady – one whom they had already discussed. One whom Benedict had already admitted intrigued him greatly. But Samuel remained silent, waiting for Benedict to continue.

"Lady Selina and I… we spent some time together."

Samuel groaned. "Benedict, tell me you did not! I warned you that if you wished to pursue her sister –"

"I continue to court her," Benedict assured him.

"But you still pay your attention to her sister!"

"Lady Selina is a perfect choice for duchess, I will concede that as much as anyone. But she is not…she and her sister are entirely different people." Benedict struggled to put it into words. He knew his behavior was wrong. But how could he act otherwise? How could he let go of Thalia?

"Exactly," Samuel replied, his tone hard. "They are different people. And as far as I know, the law in this country is that a man is still only allowed to take one wife."

"But you know as well as I that few husbands are entirely faithful to their wives," Benedict pressed. Then, with a grunt, he gestured to his friend. "Present company excluded."

"I had always planned to entertain other women after my wedding," he continued.

"But it is one thing to visit a woman of the night. It is an entirely different matter to carry on with your wife's sister. " Samuel shook his head in astonishment. "I expected better of you, Benedict. I did not think that even you would sink to –"

"I love her!" The words were thundering out of him before Benedict knew what was happening. Then, a moment later, the room was entirely silent.

Samuel stared back at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. "Lady Selina?" he asked softly after a moment.

Benedict hung his head. How long had he been warring with these feelings? This, here and now, was the first time he had allowed himself to admit such a thing, even to himself. "I love her," he repeated. "I love her, and I cannot have her."

For that, Samuel needed no explanation. They both knew the reality of her situation. She was a spinster, older and far less dignified than a duchess should be. Not as beautiful as her sister and already disdained by much of their society, Thalia could never be his wife. It would be better for Benedict to remain a bachelor than to marry a woman like her.

But it was more than that, too. Benedict would be willing to marry her if he did not know the true reality of marriage. "I cannot subject her to what my parents experienced," he confessed, voicing yet another long-suffering belief that he had never before shared. Benedict hung his head. "Marriage ruins good people. If they marry for love, it can destroy them. They are giving their spouse permission and access to cut them down to the core."

He shuddered at a thought. "My father loved my mother, but he hurt her deeply. And I am nothing if not my father's son. Thalia does not deserve a husband like me, even if I were free to marry her."

The room was heavy with the weight of Benedict's words. Samuel stayed quiet, processing all that Benedict had confessed.

"Things are far worse than I had imagined." Samuel's words broke through the silence. His voice was low, but the fear in his tone was unmistakable.

"I know, I –"

"No, Benedict, I am not sure you do. I am not sure you see the gravity of this situation. If you are in love with Lady Selina, then you cannot court her sister. A dalliance with Lady Thalia might be one thing, but to love her, to prefer her above your own wife…the scandal alone –"

"But I cannot be separated from her!" Benedict's fist slammed into the arm of his chair. Something icy coursed through his veins at the thought of being forced away from Thalia. "I would rather spend a lifetime fighting my desire to be with her, forcing myself to keep her at a distance, than to have her out of my life entirely."

"Are you strong enough to do that, Benedict?" Samuel leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "You may think you are now, but a year from now, when you have not been able to touch her, when your love for her grows and there is no outlet for it, will you still be able to keep her from your bed? If she too desires you, will you be able to hold back?"

Benedict clenched his fist, his palm tingling with an instant desire to touch Thalia once more. His mind followed Samuel's prompting, easily envisioning some not-so-distant future evening where the household was asleep, and Benedict might creep into Thalia's rooms. She would be waiting for him. Perhaps she would have already undressed in expectation, her lithe, naked body shimmering in the moonlight that would stream through her windows.

His desire for her would grow at the mere sight of her. His head would swim, his blood racing downward to that which might help him show her just how much he needed her. How much he loved her.

She would cry out beneath him as she had that night in the gardens. She would clasp him to her, begging him, desiring him to go deeper. He would feel her around him, tight and warm and welcoming.

Benedict groaned, putting his head in his hands as he fought off the desire that a mere fantasy had stirred up within him. Everything in him wanted her. Needed her.

"I have to be," he murmured after a moment. "I have to be strong enough not to touch her. The alternative is far more painful."

When he finally risked a glance at his friend, he could see that Samuel was far from convinced. "Would she really allow that to happen?"

Benedict frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I, I do not know Lady Thalia as well as my wife, but from what I do know, she does not seem like the sort of woman to stick around and wait for a man she cannot have. Nor would she risk the temptation to betray her sister with you."

With a jolt, Benedict remembered Thalia's words to him that final night in the gardens. She told him she was leaving. But it couldn't be true. Now, just as he had then, he dismissed the thought. Thalia loved her sister too much to leave her, particularly when her marriage had not yet been confirmed.

Thalia might be convinced now that she would go, but when it came time to leave, she would not be able to. Just as he could not give her up. They would be trapped together in a hell of their own making. And he would be grateful for it. He would live in torture beside her than live without her.

When Benedict did not reply, Samuel sighed and leaned back in his chair. They were both silent for a long moment. Benedict downed the rest of his drink. A part of him wanted to retreat into blissful, drunken oblivion today. He did not want to think about the future. Nor did he want to be reminded of how much he was already missing Thalia and was tempted, even now, to concoct an excuse to go and see her.

As Benedict stared into the bottom of his empty glass, Samuel finally spoke. "I want to see you happy, my friend. I, I can only offer you what limited council I can. Whether you take it or not, I will continue to stand by your side. But I urge you, Benedict, to think this through. I do not wish to see any of you get hurt."

Benedict nodded. "Thank you, Samuel."

Though it looked as though Samuel wanted to press him more on the subject, the other duke held his tongue. Benedict forced a smile onto his face. "Well, now, why must this be so melancholy? We speak of marriage. The happiest of endeavors. Your wife will no doubt be happy to help Lady Selina plan her wedding."

Samuel nodded hesitantly. "She will indeed. My wife has always been a romantic at heart."

"She is not the only one," Benedict teased, moving to refill his glass once more and then toasting his friend. "Though you admit it far less readily."

Samuel returned the gesture. "Who knew that Benedict Pratt, Duke of Ravenwood, was the biggest romantic of us all?" he mused, his demeanor still wary.

Though Benedict chuckled, he fought the urge to down his drink in one go. Who would have known indeed?

"Well, that should be the last of it." Thalia brushed her hands together, gazing down at the small pile of bags on the ground before her.

"Shall I take everything in?" asked Phillip, glancing back at the carriage where Eliza and Thomas now stood. Thomas was making a show of helping Eliza with her bag, but Thalia knew that they were eking out the remaining time they had left together.

Thalia frowned, heart aching. "Yes please. Thank you, Phillip."

"Thomas, come and help me," Phillip called, taking hold of one of the larger trunks.

Thalia glanced away, unable to look at the pain on her maid's face as Thomas left Eliza's side.

Instead, Thalia turned to face the manor before her. She had only been here a few times, mostly as a young girl. But it remained much as she remembered it. Indeed, it was as nice a place as any might have asked for. Peaceful and quiet. Solitary.

Taking a deep breath, Thalia reminded herself that this was what she wanted. Or, rather, this was what she needed.

Perhaps there would come a time when she could visit her family. But Thalia would not have the strength to do that for some time. No, she needed to ride out her sorrow here before she returned to anything from her old life.

This, here, was her new path. And there was no going back.

Taking up one of her bags, Thalia followed the men into the house.

She took in the dusty banisters and floors with grim resolution. Perhaps it was for the best. If she was busy cleaning and getting the place in order, then she would have less time to think about the life and the people she had left behind. More staff would join them in time but, for the moment, she and Eliza could make a start on getting the place into shape.

As she briefly wondered if Selina would visit soon, and where Thalia would host her, tears filled her eyes. Selina had promised to give Thalia some space at first, to allow her to settle into the new surroundings. Thalia would miss her sister terribly, but it was for the best.

No one knew that Thalia was here, apart from Jerome and Selina. That, too, was for the best.

No one could stop Thalia from following her new path. Not that anyone would want to. If a spinster like her disappeared from society, the ton would hardly even notice. They would be on to bigger and better things. As a certain duke would be soon. Whom would he court once Selina rejected him? Every young woman in the ton would be happy to make him her husband. And he, she had no doubt, would have no trouble making them happy.

Fighting back a fresh wave of tears, Thalia gritted her teeth and pressed forward into the manor. I chose this. I want this. Now it is time that I finally began to live for myself. It will simply take some getting used to.

Thalia briefly wondered how long a broken heart would take to mend. She would find out with time, she supposed. Time was the one thing she now had plenty of.

Thalia was in his room. She stood at the foot of his bed as Benedict raised himself up to sitting, blinking away the dregs of sleep.

Silently watching him, Benedict could not see her face. Moonlight crept into the room through the gap in the curtains behind her, cutting out her silhouette from the rest of the darkened room.

"Thalia -?"

The woman held up a hand, drawing a single finger to her lips. Benedict swallowed as he obeyed, closing his mouth and keeping silent.

He could not understand what she was doing here, but he did not want to think too deeply about it. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, something told him that this was too good to be true.

Thalia drew closer and Benedict realized that she was wearing that same nightgown from before. The one he had cast about her feet on the ground of the garden maze, stripping her bare before him.

This time, however, it seemed that Thalia was to take the lead.

The woman turned and moved to stand beside the bed now. Still shadowed, Benedict could only catch glimpses of her face and dark hair as she moved to catch the moonlight.

Reaching out, Thalia put a hand on his bare chest. With a start, Benedict realized that he was nude, the lower half of his body covered only by the thin sheets of his bed.

Thalia traced his chest with warm, delicate fingers. Teasingly, she moved lower, stroking the skin of his stomach just above the line of the blankets.

When she pulled back, Benedict reached out to catch her, but Thalia danced out of his reach. Then, withdrawing back to the foot of the bed, she caught his eye. Licking the corner of her lip, Thalia held his gaze as she lifted the blankets. With one smooth motion, she climbed up and under the covers.

Grinning, Benedict watched as her slim figure made her way under the blankets toward him.

When he felt her hot breath on him, Benedict groaned. His head fell back onto the pillow, his body instinctually shifting to offer Thalia better access to his desire.

She had not touched him there yet, but Benedict felt himself grow in anticipation. A hot, almost painful need throbbed within him as he felt Thalia's breath on him again, even closer to the craving between his legs.

A hand roamed up and down his thigh. She was teasing him. Benedict resisted the urge to throw the blankets off and pull her to him. He wanted her beneath him, now.

But he stayed where he was, allowing Thalia the opportunity to please him as he had taught her. Still, Thalia teased him, keeping their intimacy at bay.

Just as Benedict's yearning was becoming untamable, Thalia pulled the blankets off of her.

When she straightened up, Benedict realized that there were tears in her eyes. He sat up, reaching out for her, but Thalia shook her head. Her wide eyes roamed his face as if committing it to memory. "Goodbye," she whispered.

Gasping, Benedict shot up in bed. The room was so dark that it took him several moments for his eyes to adjust. But when they did, he saw no sign of Thalia. Nor did he expect to. The dream had felt very real but, somehow, even in the midst of it, Benedict had known that it was too good to be true.

Realizing that the fake Thalia had left him with a very real need, Benedict groaned, sinking back against the pillows as his desire made itself known. Even in his sleep, Thalia had managed to arouse him to an almost perilous state.

He slipped a hand beneath the covers and began to stroke himself, remembering the heat of dream Thalia's touch. He groaned, the sound mingled with pleasure and angst.

His need for her had never been stronger. He had told himself that once he'd had her, Benedict would be able to get her off of his mind. He would be able to move on to other pleasures and conquests. But it was as if she had infected him. She had given him a taste of her, and it had only left him wanting more. Wanting so much more.

Benedict continued to encourage his desire, remembering, as he did, the feeling of Thalia. The soft, tenderness of her skin, her legs, her stomach, her breasts. He conjured up the memory of her fearful but determined gaze as she asked him to show her how to please him.

He moaned, his own actions nowhere near the pleasure he wanted now, the pleasure he wanted from her. But he could not have her. Not anymore. This was as close as he would ever get to being with her again.

Then, as his craving grew to a head, release just on the brink, Benedict thought of Thalia on the last day of the house party. He heard her voice in his head. "I love you," she had said. "I love you."

Benedict cried out as the memory pushed him into ecstasy. His body spasmed, muscles clenching and unclenching.

I love her . That was all Benedict could think of as his body slowly regained its usual composure. I love her. I need to be near her, I don't care about the risk.

The risk. His conversation with Samuel once more filled his mind. He would blame Samuel for having planted such images of Thalia in his mind. It had been he who had challenged Benedict's resolve and questioned how long Benedict would be able to keep his hands off of his future sister-in-law. It was he who had provided food for thought for Benedict's mind to go running away with.

But Benedict was determined. He would marry Selina and keep Thalia nearby. He would not touch her, however much he wanted to.

And yet, even as he thought it, Benedict knew he was convincing no one. Not even himself.