He did not know how long he remained silent for before she spoke again. “Perhaps it’s best if I don’t ask but I need to know. What do you feel?”
Benedict stared at her regrettably. Gone was the energy in her voice, and now in its place was fear. Her voice shook terribly. He had done this to her.
I love you. Your heart is safe with me.
Benedict wished he could utter those words and alleviate her fears and they could go on to live a happily ever after. He could see it in her eyes as she stood there shrouded in fear that it was all she needed to hear to throw herself into his arms and regain her happiness before he made the mistake of kissing her but he could not give her that.
When Juliet betrayed him, Benedict was extremely hurt because she knew how little he trusted people and yet, she so easily tossed his trust aside like it did not matter to her how he felt.
Benedict had been hurt by her actions, not because he loved her, as he’d never been able to manage that even when she claimed to be in love with him, but because she was his childhood friend and they’d known each other all their lives. He should not have been so easily replaceable, and yet he was.
With Augusta, it was different. He loved her with a fierceness that shocked him as he had never thought he would be able to get over the betrayal and open his heart to another woman.
Although he knew she was a better woman than Juliet could ever hope to be, Benedict didn’t want to take the risk. Giving her his heart and facing betrayal from her would not just break him but it would kill him. That was how much power she held over him.
So, as much as he wished he could comfort her and promise her everlasting love, it was out of the question, a thought that pained him much more than he cared to admit.
If only I had met you before I was ruined, I would have been the husband you wish me to be.
Augusta’s face and the last shred of hope she had crumpled, and pain shot through Benedict like he’d received a gunshot to the heart.
“You don’t love me,” she said quietly. “You never did. All of this was just a bet to you like it was always supposed to be.’
“Augusta,” he reached for her but she stopped him with a raise of her hand.
“Lady Augusta,” she said sharply. “Please.”
“Was there any part of the time we spent together that was real to you?” she asked him, her words catching in her throat.
All of it.
Pain like a thousand pin pricks all at once, hit his face. She gasped, shaking away the pain in her hand from where she slapped him.
“You are no more than a rake, taking liberties where you do not wish to stay. How could you kiss me when you had no intention of marrying me? How could make me hope that there could be more to this what I signed up for and then dash my hopes so easily? How are you any different from the woman who you claim to dislike for her betrayal?”
She screamed her words at him, her face contorting into rage with every word that came out of her mouth.
Her words hurt him because he was nothing like the man she conceived him to be now but he knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind, except tell her what she wanted to hear.
She was hurting more than he could ever hurt. He knew why he was doing this but she didn’t know it.
“I never want to see you again,” she said in a tone that signaled finality. “You are much worse than my father ever was. At least with him, my mother knew exactly where she stood.”
With parting words that hurt more than anything else she’d said to him, she turned on her feet, leaving the garden and him with his thoughts.
Benedict longed to run after her. There was nothing he wanted more than to take her into his arms and declare his love for her and tell her that he was sorry for hurting her and would never do something like that ever again.
His feet had a mind of their own, turning in the direction she went and going after her but he planted his feet to the ground, choosing to where he was. The best thing he could do was to let her go.
He could only hope that in time, she would forget all about him and fall in love once again. This time, with a man who would do anything to be with her and would never cause her to doubt his love for her.
The thought of her in the arms of another hurt him more than he cared to admit but he had brought it upon himself and he would live with it.
He waited until he was certain that she would have left the party or at least gone far enough that he did not have to run into her and remind her of her pain. His misery was his only company in the garden and he accepted it. He deserved it for what he had done.
Benedict exhaled as he finally made to leave the garden when the sound of leaves rustling caused him to pause. He turned in the direction of the rustling, walking closer.
“Is anyone there?” he asked. He sighed, feeling foolish when he heard nothing other than the sound of his own breathing.
