Page 16 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

His friend’s brows almost disappeared into his hairline. “As in the Dowager Countess, Lady Romwich?”

Malcolm stilled. “You know her?”

“I know of her,” Benedict corrected. “She has been the poor brunt of the ton’s gossip for a while.”

Malcolm wanted to ask why she was gossiped about, but he had been the center of that sort of judgement before. Her story was her own, and it was not for anyone else to tell him.

“I see,” was all he finally said, sighing. “Well, she is clearly happy in the countryside… whenever her son does not run off and cause her clear distress and irk me. I do not like people on my estate even invited, let alone trespassing in the shadows at night.”

“Then perhaps you should make her an invited guest into your estate.” Benedict’s grin widened devilishly. “Perhaps just her? You, Lady Romwich, some candles to light up that damned gloomy place.”

His brow lifted up and down suggestively, and Malcolm scowled.

“It is not like that,” he said firmly, though his words felt hollow even to him. “I did not wish for her company the night we met, or the other time, let alone willingly being in it when I can live peacefully.”

Yet… the thought of Lady Romwich sat at his dining table, her gown appropriate for dinner, her features aglow in the candlelight.

Who was she when she was not fretting over her son or bickering with him about the whole situation?

Malcolm swallowed, trying to put such things from his mind. It would do him no good, and he did not need more complications in his life, let alone getting involved with a woman who had a runaway son.

Benedict chuckled. “Oh, come now. Is it not even worth considering? You don’t get to have that kind of chemistry with a woman and then pretend it is nothing.”

Malcolm’s temper flared, and he shot Benedict a sharp look. “It is nothing,” he growled. “Do not push me, Benedict.”

Benedict held up his hands in mock surrender, though the grin never left his face.

“All right, all right. No need to bite my head off. But I am telling you, you are not fooling me. I can see how your mind is spinning with thoughts of her. I truly have never seen you so distracted.”

Malcolm ignored him, turning his attention back to his drink, though his mind was still locked on Lady Romwich. And that, in itself, was terrifying.

Benedict leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with a casual air that Malcolm found frustratingly unbothered.

The man seemed to have no sense of the heavy silence Malcolm had been carrying since their conversation began. Benedict was too damn perceptive for his own good, and Malcolm knew he could feel the tension, knew he could sense that something had shifted in his friend since their last conversation.

Then, with a grin that Malcolm knew all too well, Benedict dropped the bomb.

“You know, I have it on good confirmation that Lord Hillsborough is hosting a pheasant hunt soon,” he began, eyes twinkling as if he had been waiting for this moment all night. “It is always an affair to remember. The men get to hunt; the ladies get to play cards and Pall Mall. It is a highlight of the Season, and plenty of people find matches in such a way.” Malcolm braced himself. “Perhaps your Lady Romwich will be there.”

Benedict grinned as he added, “and perhaps she will have a friend whom I can charm while you speak with your lady.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he allowed the silence to stretch out between them, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond Benedict as his mind worked furiously.

Lady Romwich.

The name sparked an uncomfortable warmth deep in his belly. He had seen her only a few days ago, her defiance as sharp as ever, her beauty as undeniable as it was maddening.

Benedict’s voice broke through again, far too casually for Malcolm’s liking.

“You could use some company. Heavens, we both could. And you clearly want to see her again.”

Malcolm shot him a glare. The thought of Lady Romwich’s face, her sharp eyes watching him, full of suspicion and that barely contained tension. He could feel it all over again like it had been just moments ago. She was a puzzle he wanted to solve, and it frustrated him.

“I said I don’t need your suggestions, Benedict,” Malcolm bit out, his voice low and controlled, though the pulse of his thoughts betrayed him.

He did want to see her again. He couldn’t deny that. The idea of being in her presence, feeling that magnetism between them again, had an edge of something dangerous, and it made his blood quicken.

God, what is wrong with me?