She trained a cold glare on him, momentarily giving Benedict pause. "Is that it then? You will never marry, even if it's my dying wish? And you plan to enjoy the short years you have left living a life that even the devil himself wouldn't approve?"
Truly, it wasn't as bad as all that. She was given to exaggeration. If he was that bad, well, he wouldn't be accepted into Society.
And he was accepted everywhere.
He lifted his eyebrows silently prompting her to continue speaking. When she didn't, he said, "Well, as you can see, I am firm in my belief that I will not change. Good day." He made a move to leave.
She coughed and held up her hand.
Patience was not one of Benedict's virtues, nor was being used by any sort of woman, especially one who still held a grudge the size of London. Devil take it, a blasted dog at Almacks? To see him married before she died? Clearly his aunt was mad. Perhaps they had room in Bedlam for one more…
"I truly am dying." Agatha held a trembling hand to her face and winced.
"Ah yes, forgive me for forgetting that minor detail." He took a seat opposite her and waited.
"Hmmph." Agatha crossed her arms and coughed again. "I need to see you settled down before I die, Benedict. My acceptance into heaven depends on it."
That, he believed.
"And what will you give me in return for my obedience? After all, who knows what kind of notion you're bound to get, considering you've been cooped up in your bed all day with a head cold What's to say you won't demand I suddenly begin sprouting children all over the place? Or take up dog breeding? Or, heaven forbid, offer a smile?"
Aunt Agatha had the good sense to blush before answering. "Believe me, Benedict, finding a bride may prove more difficult than you realize. The idea that you think this to be easy is quite laughable, if I do say so myself." Cough.
Laughable? Truly? Biting back a curse, he turned around and ran his fingers through his hair. Mad, his aunt was truly mad. Either that or she had a death wish. How was it that his aunt had the nerve to insult him when the rest of the ton was so deathly afraid of him and his reputation that he was rumored to be the spawn of Satan himself?
Not that it kept any sort of married female away from him. Laughable? His aunt didn't know what she was talking about. Perhaps she was truly dying, for the day a woman had the audacity to say no to the Devil Duke would also be the day he would promptly eat his shirt and buy a lap dog.
"And I've already done all the work for you, my boy!"
Why was he not surprised? She probably had a special license underneath that dratted chair she was sitting in, as well.
"And who is to be the victim, Aunt?"
Did her eyes just twinkle? Impossible! The woman was seldom amused. "Lady Katherine Bourne. I do believe you are acquainted, though I also have another female in mind, considering Lady Katherine is a little high in the instep for you, my boy, but not so much for another young fellow I know."
If he'd had a drink in his hand this would have been the opportune moment for him to throw back the remaining contents or slam it against the floor. As it was, he was having a devil of a time keeping himself from cursing in the presence of his aunt, even though one could hardly call her a lady with the way she threw around French expletives.
"You truly mean for me to align myself with that, that…" Obviously his mind was having trouble conjuring up an adequate word to describe the girl in question. So much, in fact, that he could only concentrate on the simple idea that his aunt wanted him in the same room as the chit.
"She's lovely," his aunt pointed out. "And need I remind you that she's a Kerrington? Why, every young man within the city wants to be with the Kerrington family. They are, after all, closely related to the regent himself, and I'm not one to brag—"
Benedict stopped listening when the word lovely was mentioned. It seemed this would be the opportune time to remind his aunt of her need for an heir, or at least nieces and nephews to dote on. It certainly would not take place with the Bourne chit!
"Absolutely not," he interrupted, or at least he hoped he was. Nothing made him happier than interrupting his aunt when she spoke.
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."
Typical, the word no wasn't in her vocabulary.
"I mean," Benedict sent up a silent prayer for strength, "That I wouldn't marry the chit if you offered me all the money in the world!"
"She's beautiful!"
"She's as clumsy as she is mad!" Benedict roared.
His aunt squinted and tossed her head from right to left, most likely trying to give him the impression she didn't agree, though it seemed that she was closer to having an apoplectic fit than arguing.
"I disagree." She lifted her chin in the air and sniffed. "You have no proof she did those dreadful things. After all, it has been three years since you've seen her! She's a girl of three and twenty now! Nearly on the shelf."
"I wonder why," he muttered under his breath.
"Oh posh, how much harm could she have done?"
"Harm?" Benedict repeated. "Harm?"
"You said that."
"Harm," he said again, mainly to provoke his aunt. At her scowl, he continued, "She nearly killed me—"