To Win his Wayward Wife AZ w cover

by Rose Gordon

  Lizzie caught sight of him after he’d walked in and directed him to help his wife with whatever group she joined. That was an instruction he didn’t need to hear twice. He hung to the side of the room by where the children were and watched for Madison. He assumed she’d join the children’s group. She seemed the sort that would want several children clutching her skirts and calling her Mama. He smiled; she’d make a great mother.

  Madison came to his side. “Come on, we’ll go to the back corner.”

  Benjamin frowned. The back corner? That was where all the forty-something aged people were. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Because they need to learn penmanship.”

  “And you’re going to teach them?”

  “No. We are,” she said, pulling on his sleeve.

  He tried not to groan. He’d never liked practicing his letters as a child and now to volunteer to sit with a group while they did such a tedious task felt like pure torture. Why did people at that age need to learn to write anyway? They’d already survived forty years without the skill, why start now?

  “Because people who are illiterate often get taken advantage of,” Madison explained, startling him. She laughed. “You must not have realized you were mumbling under your breath.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “What do you mean they get taken advantage of?” He ran a duchy and he was quite certain many of his tenants couldn’t read or write, but they’d never complained about being taken advantage of. They’d complained about a great many other things, but never that.

  “Think about it, if you cannot read or write and you get a bill from the local smithy, how in the world are you supposed to know if he’s ripping you off?”

  That brought him up short. He had no idea how someone would know if they were being openly robbed. “You make a good point,” he conceded.

  “Thank you.” She took a seat at the table full of adults. “Good morning,” she said to the group who had missed work or abandoned their household duties in order to come to the meeting. “I’m Mrs. Grimes’ sister, Madison and this is my husband—”

  “Benjamin,” he cut in. Not that he’d care if society found out he, a duke, volunteered to help a group of people born on the wrong side of the blanket, but if she was going to be informal, so was he.

  “Right,” she continued. “Well, we’re going to work on letters today. I’ve brought a stack of…”

  Benjamin leaned back in his chair and watched her as she explained what she’d brought for them to use to write their letters. She got up and walked around to look over each of their shoulders as they practiced. Only once did she require his help and that was to ask him to sharpen a quill. She worked so well with them helping them hold their quill better so their letters would come out more smoothly and teaching them tricks to remember the difference between a “b” being a line with a belly and a “d” being a line with a derriere. She was amazing.

  Six years ago during one of their brief conversations, she’d told him she volunteered at an orphanage to help teach children to read and write. He’d had a hard time picturing it then. She’d been so young, it was difficult envisioning her demanding the attention and controlling the lesson. But now, seeing her actually do it, he was in awe. All the people at the table watched her as if they were just as fascinated by her as he was.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked, gaining her feet.

  Benjamin nodded. “You’re quite good with them.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a pink blush.

  He helped Madison put away a few stray books and papers before heading out to the carriage. “Are you hungry?” he asked, leaning back against the squabs in the seat across from her. He would have rather sat next to her, but she’d arranged her skirt in a way there was no room to sit next to her without sitting on it.

  “Famished,” she said with a smile. “The people I’ve been staying with, well, don’t tell them I said this, but they’ve been starving me.” Her eyes were positively sparkling with laughter

  He chuckled. “I won’t tell them that if you don’t tell them I think their overall hospitality is lacking where I’m concerned.”

  “Hmm. That seems odd. I’d think they’d welcome you with open arms. Perhaps you should write a letter to the master of the house complaining of poor treatment,” she mused, her traitorous lips twitching.

  “I doubt it would do much good,” he responded casually. “However, I’ve a few coins to my name and I know an excellent place to eat in Bath. Would you care to go or shall I return you to Rockhurst to feast on gruel?”

  She bit her lip and rolled her eyes up to look study the top of his carriage. “Gruel does sound delightful, I must admit. However, the company would positively ruin it for me. So, I think I shall endure your company alone and suffer a far less tasty meal.”

  “Very well,” he said with a grin. He liked playing these games with her. It made him feel like they finally had something that was just between them. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Please do,” she said, leaning her whole body forward, bringing her face scant inches from his.

  He leaned forward, too. Closing the space to two inches between them, and in a stage whisper said, “I love waffles and hot chocolate.”

  Her eyes grew wide and she looked like she was trying not to laugh. “You do?” she whispered in feigned surprise. “Though I’m rather surprised to hear you love something in general, I’m more surprised that it’s waffles.”

  “And hot chocolate,” he added.

  “Yes, well, even I love that,” she whispered dismissively. “I drink it all the time for breakfast.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said dryly. “You seem to eat and have vanished by the time I reach breakfast room at the late hour of seven.”

  She shook her head. “No. I usually eat and vanish around eight. But the difference is I eat from a tray in my room.”

  That was rather odd, he thought. But then again, eating every meal with one’s sister and husband had to get old. “Perhaps tomorrow you can join me for breakfast.”

  “Perhaps I will,” she said thoughtfully. “Will you be requesting waffles for this grand meal on the morrow?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I doubt Cook would care about my wishes. However, I know a great place here in Bath to get waffles.”

  “What?” she questioned with excitement in her voice. “You want to travel forty minutes to Bath tomorrow morning in order to eat waffles?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head again. “I’ll eat coddled eggs or porridge or whatever Cook prepares for us for breakfast tomorrow. I want to eat the waffles now.”

  “Now?” she asked dubiously. “But it’s lunchtime.”

  “Who cares?” he said with a shrug. “There’s no law saying, ‘Thou shalt not eat waffles once the clock strikes noon’.”

  She giggled and shook her head. “Only you would think of such a thing. I honestly doubt there are any laws regarding waffles.”

  Benjamin leaned even closer to her, their faces barely an inch apart now. “You do, do you? And what would you do if I told you there was?”

  “You mean besides laugh at the absurdity?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Would you give me a kiss if such a law existed?”

  She licked her lips. “I suppose,” she said quietly.

  “As it happens, such a law does, or should I say did, exist,” Benjamin said with an easy smile. “During the medieval times in France, waffle vendors would actually wait outside churches on religious holidays and such to sell their waffles. As you can imagine, competition among the venders was fierce since little money was to be had among the lowest class at the time. With all the vendors out there competing with each other and trying to grab the attention of potential customers, chaos broke out. Vendors were fighting with each other about stealing customers or having a better location to the point it became a rather large problem and King Charles IX had to create a law dictating just how far apart waffle vendors w
ere to be spaced.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Madison said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Benjamin shrugged. “I know. Now, about that kiss.”

  She leaned forward to press her lips to his cheek and he pulled back to avoid it. “No,” he said, putting a finger on her puckered lips. “I want a real kiss and I want it when I choose.”

  She looked at him curiously. “I wasn’t aware that that wasn’t a real kiss. I always assumed a kiss was a matter of puckering one’s lips, pressing them against something—preferably a body—and exerting pressure.”

  “You’re correct,” he allowed. “But I want a kiss on the lips this time.”

  She blinked, then said, “As long as you keep your lips shut during the kiss, I shall kiss you on the mouth at the time of your choosing.”

  “Of course,” he said, trying not to laugh. “It usually works best that way anyway.”

  She cocked her head a little and gave him an expressionless stare. “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant, Madison,” he said softly. He had no desire to hear her recount the gruesome details of the sloppy kisses she’d shared with Robbie. He’d happily kiss her with a closed mouth for now and gracefully introduce her to the deeper, more passionate kisses later.

  “Since you told me your secret, do I owe you one of mine?” she asked after a minute.

  “Of course,” he said even though he’d have never asked her to share one in return.

  “Mine is more of a confession really,” she said shyly.

  His eyes went wide and he gave her the ducal stare he’d perfected that usually made people turn to icicles. “Do tell,” he drawled, trying not to crack a smile.

  “I’ve only had waffles once, maybe twice.”

  “Pity,” he said, dropping his head and shaking it in mock sadness. Or was that real sadness? He didn’t know. He did know, however, it was quite a shame to live on this earth nearly twenty three years and only have eaten waffles once, maybe twice. “We shall have to double that amount today.”

  “You do know I was jesting when I said I was being starved, right?” she said with a wobbly smile.

  “Yes. Believe it or not I do know a jest when I hear one.”

  “All right,” she said uneasily. “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

  “I know.”

  She looked flustered. “I cannot possibly eat two waffles for lunch,” she burst out.

  He stared at her and tried to keep his lips from twitching. “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “No. But you said, we were going to double the amount of waffles I’ve eaten,” she pointed out. “That would mean if I’ve eaten one previously, I’d have to eat two today.”

  “And you will.”

  “But I cannot possibly eat two at one meal,” she explained, exacerbated.

  “And you won’t.”

  “You mean—”

  “I mean,” he broke in. “We’ll eat one now and we’ll eat one again after our other activity.”

  “And what is our other activity?”

  Grinning, he said, “I’m taking you to a bathhouse.”

  Chapter 12

  A meal never seemed so daunting. And that included the ones she’d pretended to eat on her wedding day.

  Benjamin was pleasant company during the meal, if not a bit unnerving. For some reason she couldn’t understand he had the host set their two plates right next to each other, rather than across the table. Fortunately they were seated in a private room and didn’t have to endure the curious stares of the other patrons while they ate.

  Many times before Madison had witnessed—and tried to play oblivious to—the actions between couples when they sat so close. She’d caught sight of intentional hand brushing, or shifting in chairs to be closer, or once when she’d dropped her napkin on the floor, and bent to pick it up, she’d seen a man’s boot on the floor with no foot in it. A quick glance to the right informed her where his foot had gone: under the lady’s skirt to caress her ankle with his toes.

  She’d personally played the female role in this dinner dance, but only a few times, and always with the ungraceful Robbie. Actually, that wasn’t entirely fair. Robbie had been graceful, just not with her. She’d caught glimpses of him touching and caressing other women with much more skill and charm than he presented with her. When she’d confront him about it, he’d laugh and say she was jealous but had nothing to worry about since he was courting her, not them. Having spent so much time in the presence of gentlemen who only cared to compliment her beauty or some other superficial trait, she’d accept Robbie’s words and forget the incident.

  It wasn’t that Robbie had told her he thought she was ugly but had a winning personality. No, it was that he’d never been one to talk incessantly about her looks, or her in general if she were being honest. That’s what kept her attracted to him. At first, it was like Brooke claimed; she had a tendency to act as a lifeline to those in need of saving. Robbie had definitely been in need of saving and with his handsome looks and his easy charm, a girlhood crush developed. The crush changed into something else after she’d tried to catch the notice of another, only to have the other man dismiss her with nasty remarks and unflattering ideas. Not that she’d heard him say these things herself, mind you. Not even the worst sort of man would speak that way in front of a female, even one he thought was a tart. No, she’d only heard a sugarcoated version, but that was enough to know she’d be best not to stray from Robbie.

  And so she didn’t, even if he did. She’d often catch him entertaining other girls or hear stories about his exploits. It hurt, but he’d always soothe her with sweet words and remind her he was courting her and they’d marry one day. What a joke, she thought. He’d only said that to keep her on a string. And like the puppet she’d been, she’d stayed firmly attached. Too afraid to trust another. Too afraid to trust herself with another. She’d thought she’d seen a real shimmer of something good in the man who Robbie claimed was a womanizer. She had no idea a wolf was hiding under that sheep’s fur. The fear of finding another man who would view her as the equivalent of a challenging courtesan kept her safely with Robbie. At least he was toying with those girls and not her, she’d tell herself as she wept into her pillow at night. He promised her he’d marry her, not them. He was just having his bachelor fun and would settle down with her when he finished.

  Mama, for her sweet southern charm learned straight from growing up in South Carolina, had been rather blunt on the subject when she’d spoken to Madison about Robbie. She’d tried to discourage the match in many ways over the five years, but the only argument that seemed to hold water was her belief he’d be unfaithful to her after they married. Naïve girl she’d been, she’d never considered the possibility before Mama mentioned it. A few days later she’d casually mentioned it to Robbie and he assured her that even though most men had affairs, he would not.

  Now, sitting next to Benjamin, eating his favorite meal in the world: waffles and hot chocolate, she couldn’t help wonder how long it would be before he sought the company of another. Or if he’d already done so. She believed him when he said he hadn’t on their wedding night. But that was several days ago. There were many servants at Rockhurst, perhaps he’d been with a maid. She frowned. For some reason the thought of him sharing another woman’s bed hurt more than the confirmation that Robbie actually had. She shouldn’t let it, she told herself. She’d expected him to before they married and she’d practically given him her permission in the carriage on the way to Rockhurst.

  She put her fork down. There was no way she was going to be able to eat now.

  “You’re not worried about our bath, are you?” Benjamin asked, genuine concern stamped on his hard features.

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve been before. I’m looking forward to going.”

  “Excellent,” he said with a secret grin. “Eat up.”

  “I’m quite full,” she said, pushing her plate away.

  He frowned down at her
plate. “You’ve taken three bites.”

  “Yes, three very filling bites,” she said with a weak smile.

  He put his fork down and looked at her curiously. “Is something not to your liking?”

  “No,” she said hastily. “I’m just not as hungry as I thought.”

  “Would you care to tell me what you’ve been thinking about?” he asked, picking his fork back up.

  She shook her head. “No.” There was no use in denying she’d been thinking about something.

  “All right,” he said quietly before picking up his cup of chocolate and taking a gulp.

  She glanced at the space between them. With how close they were he could easily have “accidentally” brushed against her at least a dozen times already. Why hadn’t he? More importantly, why did she feel disappointed he hadn’t? He’d better not have lost interest in her already, she thought somewhat bitterly. If he was just another man that only saw her pretty face and dreamt only of lifting her skirts and nothing more, she was going to be mad. And, quite frankly, she didn’t know who she’d be madder at: him for thinking of her that way, or herself for once again being attracted to the scoundrel. There was no denying it, she was definitely attracted to him. And that wasn’t necessarily a welcomed discovery, either.

  “Ready?” he asked, standing from the table.

  She nodded. “As ready as I can be.”

  “Good. We’ll walk to the bathhouse, it’s just down the street,” he said, offering her his arm.

  She took his arm and together they walked down to one of the most upscale bathhouses in Bath. The common room that was used as a waiting area had plain white walls and grey slate flooring. Madison found a seat in a plush red velvet chair and waited while Benjamin walked up to the lady behind the counter to make their arrangements. She’d been to a bathhouse only once before and enjoyed the experience greatly. The warm water and heated rooms created a relaxing atmosphere that she was certain she’d need.

  She needed to relax and sort out her feelings for Benjamin. It would be best for her to keep him at arm’s length where neither would get hurt. Not that she thought he’d be too badly hurt in all this, but she knew she’d been hurt before and knew it was possible again.