A Marriage Most Inconvenient (Inconvenient Matches Book #1)

Chapter 10: Ben

Minerva.

Min-er-va.

She was aptly named, Benedict decided, as he watched her from across the breakfast table, saying nothing to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them once Graham had left. The Roman goddess of war and strategy. Not a patron of violence, like Ares or Mars, but rather a patron of intelligence and cunning. It was rather unfortunate for him, that his wife had both in spades. There were still glimpses of the romantic he had married, to be sure, but she reserved that for everyone save for him. Thankfully. He wouldn't have been able to stand it if it were otherwise. He well and truly meant that. He really did.

The footman who was mooning after a scullery maid was encouraged to make his feelings known, said scullery maid was given time off so that she could introduce him to her parents. The aging butler, Astley, was given a separate allowance for taking his wife dancing at least once a month. The cook who actually knew how to cook things that were not fish, was allegedly on his honeymoon, the inn fare for which had been a wedding gift from his wife. If what he had heard through the door in his chambers that connected to the shared dressing room was true, she had arranged for one of the boys at her orphanage to begin an apprenticeship just so he could be a capable suitor for the vicar's daughter. How preposterous.

To him though, she was the reincarnation of her namesake, with a will strong enough to shatter steel. She had rather been making his life uncomfortable in the last few days just to vex him, and by God, it was working.

Every night since his arrival, the main course at dinner had been a dish of fish. A new dish, mind you, so that he could not complain that the food had become repetitive. He had taken to eating his fill of the appetizers and desserts and sending his valet to the kitchen for cold sandwiches at night. If his wife noticed that the main course on his plate remained untouched, she made no show of it. Though, he conceded, that was rather the point; to show him that he was utterly irrelevant to her. He wished to God he did not feel a prick of admiration for her sheer ruthlessness, but he couldn't help himself. They should have sent her to Waterloo, she'd have driven the French back in half the time.

His walking stick had a tendency to disappear and then reappear in the oddest of places. Inside his dresser, behind the closet, inside the tub of the bathing room. One time, none of the servants had been around and he'd had to hop to find it! Like a child not even old enough for the school room!

Thrice, the laundress had ruined his shirts. Turning them into a vile grey-blue color that wasn't fit to be seen even by one's servants. He had taken to cycling through the same three shirts so that another wasn't sent to the wash.

He allowed himself one last perusal of her as she stood to leave, offering him the most polite of farewells while managing to make it sound patronizing. At least today she was not wearing the drab gown not fit for even a governess.

Speaking of her state of attire; her dress was an assault on his senses, though he doubted she had intended it as such. It was tailored to perfection, the silk caught the light beautifully, giving the illusion that his wife was absolutely glowing. The cut of her bodice was low, and much to his dismay, it showed off the sheer perfection of her figure. It took all his years of etiquette training to not gape at her chest like a randy youth who had just discovered women. All the women of his acquaintance wore similar gowns in London, but the way his wife filled it out was almost sinful. Despite his preference for well-endowed women, it was the mole on her neck that was making his mouth water with the urge to seal his lips over it and suck. His fingers itched with the unexpected and entirely unwelcome impulse to unpin her hair and see it loose. Clearly, he was so bored that he was going slightly insane.

Her brunette hair was glossy, framing her face so one had no choice but to notice the brilliant sapphire of her eyes. She had done something to her mouth, it was painted a subtle but inviting shade of rose pink that basically begged an onlooker to have a taste. Heat pricked his skin as he tore his gaze from her lips. Her skin was smooth and creamy, her coloring just a little dark from her habit of taking the sun almost every day. All in all, devil take it, she looked stunning. Divine, ethereal, extraordinary, take your pick of adjectives. He didn't entirely understand why that set him on edge, but he chose not to dwell on it.