Page 9 of The Spare

I refuse to dignify that with a reply.

‘A lot of women would love to marry me’—he pauses for effect, one eyebrow cocked—‘especially since you’re looking at the new heir to the Dukedom of Oxford.’

I can’t stop my mouth from dropping open. It would have been the obvious conclusion to draw, Xavier having told me his father disinherited him. But there was always the chance that their absolute twat of a cousin, Eddie, would get the title instead.

Benedict as the future Duke of Oxford.

Now that is something I could never, ever have imagined.

‘Now she’s interested,’ he teases gently. ‘I’m suddenly looking a lot more attractive, aren’t I? What do you say, Slinks? We both know it was never Xav you wanted. It was the title. Well, now you get the title and me. I told you. Genius.’

A bolt of realisation courses through me, as sour as a shot of vinegar. ‘So that’s why you want to marry me. Your dad won’t name you as heir unless you go ahead with the alliance.’

He sighs and clambers to his feet. ‘Jesus, I’m getting stiff. Clearly this is going to take a while. Come on. Up.’

Reluctantly, I get to my feet. Before I understand what’s happening, Benedict has flopped down in my armchair and pulled me down on top of him, positioning me so that one arm is around my back and my legs are draped across his—very hard—thighs.

This is not good. This is not good at all.

He sighs contentedly. ‘That’s better, wifey. We should start getting more comfortable with each other, shouldn’t we?’

‘I’m not your wife. And answer the question.’

A cackle. ‘God, she’s tough. Okay, so you’re partially correct. Pa would like to see this marriage happen—ideally before he dies. But I don’t think it’s a hundred percent necessary. He detests Eddie as much as the rest of us, and he can’t forgive Xav for shirking his duty like that. That’s the real betrayal: the about-face. If push came to shove, I think he’d let me assume the mantle even as a single man. I haven’t let him down, you see.

‘But. I still think this marriage is what both our families need. Also, I have a code of honour. I can’t see my brother unhappy, but I also can’t let my family shaft yours, and you in particular. It’s not cool. I don’t even care about the title. I only want it so I can make sure Xav and Ivy are looked after. I fully intend to make him do most of the duke stuff—I wouldn’t have a fucking clue. But this—you and me? I honestly think we can make it work.’

He seems sincere. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me this entire time. He covers my thighs with one big hand—diamond ring wedged one knuckle deep on his pinkie for now—and gives them a stroke, and I don’t hate it. The truth is, I’ve fantasised about being in Ben’s lap for a very long time, but I have never once fantasised about this happening. This I could not have conjured up in my wildest dreams.

As I gaze down at the hottest, most lethal guy I’ve ever known, I know this to be true: nothing could be lonelier than marriage to Benedict. He fucks everything that moves; everyone knows this. The trail of devastated, post-orgasmic corpses he leaves in his wake is epic. And, while being one of them must be bad enough—having known the ultimate intimacy with him and then being cast aside—it would be a million times worse if that took place in your marital bed. If he hounded you, and won you over, and took you, and then grew bored. Distant. In need of newer, shinier, less needy toys.

That would be a loneliness I’d never survive.

Xavier has always been my only insulation against Benedict. My engagement was the only thing that afforded me any kind of intimacy with him while protecting me from his lethal sexuality. I could lean into it, have some fun, allow him to flirt with me and sweep me off for raunchy dances at various parties, safe in the knowledge that I was untouchable.

Now Xavier is gone, and my engagement is dust, and I am very much touchable, and that scares the living daylights out of me.

‘The optics would still look dreadful,’ I say, engaging my backbone and making my voice as steely as possible. I’m also trying to avoid sinking into him too much, because this position is compromising in the extreme. ‘The papers would tear me apart.’ Remember that, Selena. Think about the humiliation. A proposal from Benedict won’t save you from that.

‘That,’ he says with a smile so beautiful it’s blinding up close, ‘is where my genius becomes a thing of such brilliance that you will be speechless.’

I can’t help but shake my head in amusement, even if I suspect he’s full of hot air. Even Benedict can’t get us out of this one. ‘Go on, then.’

‘Bear with me, okay?’ he says, a phrase that never bodes well. ‘So, this is what I propose. I issue a press release, and it tells everyone that I’m insanely, out-of-my-mind in love with you.’ I gasp, but he goes on. ‘Have been my entire life. And I’ve watched in abject misery’—he sniffs dramatically—‘as your wedding date draws closer, and closer, and closer.’ He does an ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ crawl with his fingers up my thigh as he says it.

‘I’ve been pining,’ he continues. He’s really getting into character. ‘My apparent womanising has really been a coping mechanism, a way to convince myself I could live without you. But I couldn’t. And so, on one of the darkest nights of the year, when I’d just endured the unendurable—Christmas Day with you and your betrothed, a vision of unspeakable misery—I made my desperate plea. I threw myself at Xav’s feet, and I begged him to walk away: from you and from the title. Because I knew I wouldn’t be enough for you on my own. I knew I had to offer you the birthright we’d promised you and your family so many moons ago. So he did.’ He shrugs. ‘And here we are.’

My jaw is pretty much on the floor now. ‘You have got to be kidding me. You want to spin that farcical yarn for the press.’

‘Well, not all of it. Never complain, never explain, remember? But that was the context I came up with. All they need to know is that Xav and I fought over you. I came out on top, et voilà. And you, my dear, will be Helen of fucking Troy. The face that launched a thousand ships.’ He glances down at his lap. ‘Or one very impressive trouser submarine, in any case.’

‘Oh my dear God.’ I’m trying very hard to keep a level head here, but it’s pretty bloody hard with Ben alluding to his dick while I’m sitting practically on top of it and also, much as it kills me to admit it, solving the optics-related part of this conundrum.

‘Tell me it’s brilliant,’ he says.

I huff out a put-upon sigh. ‘It has a certain flavour of evil genius, yes.’ In truth, it’s not half bad. I need to wrap my head around it, but it’s definitely a reframe of the current narrative on an epic level. ‘What about Xavier?’ I ask. ‘If the media gets wind of him and Ivy, the jig is up.’

‘It’s a non-event, really,’ he says with his trademark insouciance. I swear, everything is a game to this guy. ‘I’d keep him away from the wedding, tell him and Ivy to stay under the radar for a bit. By the time they start quietly dating in public, you and he are old news. No one will care, because the shock value of the wedding going ahead with a different groom is far, far higher than anyone Xav may step out with after the fact.’