“And you’re the fuck up,” I say, smiling as sweet as can be. Anyone watching will think we’re having a friendly chat.
Franz blinks.
That’s right, I’m not impressed by you.
“Very nice,” he drawls. “Does Benny know you’re this feisty? I don’t take him as the type to let his woman talk to him like that.”
“He lets me do what I want. And don't call him that. His name is Benedict.”
Franz cocks his head at me. “You call him Benedict? He lets you?”
“Like I said, he doesn’t let me do anything. I’m my own person.”
“Pretty sure of yourself. I guess you think you can get away with anything, now that you’ve hooked a duke.” And, for the first time, he lets his true coldness show. His sneer looks familiar. I’ve seen it on Benedict before.
Maybe these royal types do learn it at school.
“Who says I hooked him?” I act breezy, keeping my steps light and in time with the beat. “Maybe he hooked me.”
Franz leads me in a complicated set of turns. To his credit, he dances like he was born to waltz. “My brother’s never lifted a finger unless it gets him closer to the crown. And now he’s engaged? To a commoner? I don’t believe it.”
“Believe this,” I flip him the bird, making sure to include my ring finger sporting the giant sparkling rock along with the middle one. “And now I’m done dancing with you.” I shrug him off and stroll away, heading straight for the huge doors leading outside. I need fresh air.
Benedict appears on the balcony a few seconds later. “Frankie? Is everything all right?”
Suddenly the prospect of going back into the crowded ballroom is too much to bear. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“Let’s take a walk.” He offers his arm, frowning.
We stroll down the wide steps to the garden. Ahead, the moonlight glimmers on the path and the dark expanse of the water.
I sense the tautness in Benedict’s body, but I appreciate him waiting until I’ve had a chance to drink in the moonlight.
He leads me into the shadows by the boathouse. A few men are working inside, setting something up. Benedict finds a dark corner and faces me, taking my hands. “What did Franz say to you?”
I pause before answering. I’m not entirely sure how to sum up the conversation. “He insinuated that I was a gold-digger. Out for your money. Or title. Or whatever.”
“He dares…” Benedict swivels, transforming into a tuxedo-wearing warrior, ready to rampage.
I pull him back. “No, please. It’s not worth it. Benedict.” I touch his cheek and he turns his attention fully to me. “Let’s just avoid him in the future.”
“We’ll be seeing our fair share of him. I’ll make it clear he’s to treat you with respect.”
“No, it’s okay. I think he didn’t know what to make of me.” I tuck a fallen strand of hair behind my ear. “He said I’m not your type.”
“Hmm,” Benedict grumbles.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” I realize I’m twisting the ring on my finger, and force my hands down. “I’m not your type.”
Benedict looks out at the water for a long while. “I would have thought that before I met you.”
“You can tell me the truth—”
“I would have been wrong.” He draws me closer, his hand pressing my lower back until he’s holding me like we’re about to dance. I lean into him, letting his body surround me. Strong shoulders, solid chest, gentle hands. A girl could find a worse source of comfort.
I slide my arms around his waist and let my head droop until my face rubs the silk of his lapels. In the quiet, the only sound is the water lapping at the dock.
“Frankie.” His chest swells under my cheek.
I tip my head back to take him in. “Benedict.”
He brushes my hair back with a reverent hand. His thumb strokes my forehead, smoothes over my left eyebrow. “No matter how long you take to get ready, you always have this unruly eyebrow. This one refuses to conform.” His thumb moves back and forth, teasing the line of my brow. “Do you know what that means?”
I lift my other eyebrow. “You have an eyebrow fetish?
He doesn’t seem to hear me. “I want to kiss it all the damn time. Possibly bite it.” His hand drops to my lips and his thumb repeats the movement, rubbing over my lower lip. Back and forth, back and forth. “I want to make it behave. Make you behave.”
“And how will you do that, Your Grace?” I try for snarky and confident, but his hard body presses against mine, awakening it, and my voice escapes in a breathy rush.
Benedict bends his face close to mine.
Then a creak on the dock makes him snap towards an intruder.
A man in livery bows. “Sir, excuse us. We’re about to start the fireworks.” He motions to the men working in the boathouse.
With a nod, Benedict draws me away, towards the water. We walk slowly to the end of the dock. Faint strains from the orchestra follow us, but the rest of the world seems distant. There’s nothing but me in my big ball gown, him in his tux, and a thousand stars sparkling like diamonds in the night.
Out on the water, the breeze is cooler. I shiver, rubbing my gloved arms. Benedict jerks off his tux jacket and tucks me into it. The sleeves droop past my hands, just as they did the last time I wore his jacket. I push them back, chuckling.
“Does something amuse you?”
“The day we met. You were so angry with me.”
“I had no idea what was happening.”
“I came in like a wrecking ball.” I wrap my arms around myself and because I’m wearing Benedict’s jacket, surrounded by his scent, it feels like he’s hugging me.
“And my life was never the same.”
Movement on the gravel path beyond the boathouse catches my eye. A young man in military dress is striding towards the water. Franz.
I beam up at Benedict and angle myself so Benedict’s back is to his brother. I can only hope Franz didn’t come down here to yell at us.
Fortunately, Benedict is distracted. By me. He brings my hand to his lips. He doesn’t kiss it, just rubs them back and forth against my skin. “You’re not a wrecking ball. You’re a blast of fresh air in a stuffy room.”
I snort and arch a brow.
“All right,” he amends. “More like a hurricane, ripping me from my foundations.”
“Lovely. Fantastic compliment, comparing me to a storm. Full scale destruction, that’s me.”
“And yet…” His deep voice is soft, wondering. “And yet I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The wind picks up, blowing my hair across my face. And Benedict is there, cupping my cheeks with his elegant hands, smoothing my wild tresses. When the wind dies, he doesn’t remove his hands.
“Frankie.” He dips his head and claims my mouth.
The kiss detonates.
I barely hear the explosion in the sky. Fireworks burst above us, popping to life and dying in a blaze of colored sparks. We kiss again and I cling to him, my hands sliding up the muscled plane of his back and grabbing handfuls of his fancy shirt. I want to climb him, and he seems game.