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However, once she made it inside her room, closed the door, sat down, and felt her body temperature return to normal, she began to consider the other side of the coin. That kiss still lingered. Memories of how her body had felt under his touch haunted her. And while she truly wanted what the Duke had suggested, she also knew that it was not the boon that she pretended it was.

Two months with the Duke. Two months of pretending that she hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. Two months of pretending their kiss never happened, of thinking about everything but his hands on her, of convincing herself that she did not want him.

It would be easier said than done.

Chapter Eight

Selina walked into the dining room the following morning to find that Benedict was not there. Not only was she unsurprised by his absence, but she was glad for it!

Good. If I have my way, I might never lay eyes on him again!

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Mr. Harris greeted her as she walked through the door and made for the table. “I hope you are feeling well rested.”

“Harris.” She smiled as she sat down at the head of the table—not her place, but she took pleasure in wondering what Benedict would do if he were to arrive and see her sitting there. “I slept wonderfully. Perhaps the best sleep I’ve had yet.”

The butler eyed her with worry, swallowing his nerves as he glanced at the door, as if expecting Benedict to come through. Little did he realize that her husband was a coward and would not dare join her this morning.

“That is good to hear,” he said evenly.

“The bed is soft, warm, and cozy,” she continued. “And what is more, private. Is there a better feeling than sleeping with one’s arms and legs stretched out without having to be concerned about another sleeping beside you? I highly doubt there is.”

“That is…” Mr. Harris frowned. “I am happy that the bed is to your liking.”

“More than to my liking,” she affirmed pleasantly. “It is exactly what I wished for when I arrived. Please, if you see His Grace, make sure to thank him for me, won’t you?”

“It shall be done…” He swallowed awkwardly. “Will you be waiting for His Grace? Or shall I?—”

“I believe I shall be breakfasting alone,” Selina spoke quickly. “Please, tell the kitchen staff I am ready when they are.”

She smiled at him, feigning a state of mind that transcended happiness.

“It will be done.” He gave a short bow and then hurried to the kitchens.

Only when she was alone did Selina allow her true feelings to come out. Her body sagged in her chair. Her face dropped. And was she not worried that Mr. Harris might return at any moment, she would have laid her head on the table and closed her eyes because despite what she had just told him, she was perhaps the most tired that she had ever been in her young life.

Selina did not sleep a wink last night. What started with her pacing the room—because she had never been so angry in her life—soon gave way to tossing and turning brought about by a mix of confusion and unfulfillment.

That kiss… the passion… the explosion that it had caused between them. Like lightning striking a tree and setting it aflame, it was unlike anything she had ever felt before. So darn indescribable that she had been willing to ignore that voice in the back of her head that warned her from pursuing such a thing because she knew that once she did, there would be no going back.

It seemed that Benedict was not of the same mind. And if he was, he possessed greater self-control than she did.

“Your Grace,” Mr. Harris called as he strode back into the room.

She sat up quickly and smiled. “Harris, is breakfast almost ready?”

“Another moment, I am sorry to say,” he apologized with a deep bow.

“No matter,” she assured him. “I have nothing but time.”

“Speaking of, Your Grace, might I ask how you wish to spend the day? It has not escaped my notice that you have been cooped up indoors these past couple of days, and I would be remiss if I did not suggest a few activities to occupy your time.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

“And His Grace?” Mr. Harris pressed. “Shall I enquire if he wishes to partake? No doubt he yearns to show you himself, for this is his home and he knows it better than?—”

“No, no,” she cut him off. “I am sure that he isbusy…” She let that final word drip like poison from her tongue. “It shall be a solo venture today, I am afraid.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “For which I could not be happier.”

Putting aside the kiss—no easy thing to do—Benedict had made it all too clear how he felt about their marriage. He did not want it. In fact, he had given their marriage an ultimatum, an end date, a two-month expiry after which they would be married in name only.