she could trust. Why had she doubted him?
A hand with a handkerchief came between her wet face and his chest.
She took it and wiped her eyes, but the tears just came faster.
“Benna, darling—why are you crying? Please tell me what I’ve done to upset you.”
A sob tore out of her at his anguished, loving tone.
She clutched him even harder, squeezing him to her so tightly that her fingers burned. “I’m so sorry.” The words were choked and muffled.
“Sorry for what?”
“That I doubted you. I love you so much, Jago. I’ve loved you almost from the first moment I saw you.”
And then Benna proceeded to soak the lapel of his new coat.
Five minutes later …
Jago was beginning to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. She had certainly earned a rest after that bout of weeping. He felt more than a little wrung out, himself.
“Sweetheart?”
She shifted beside him. “Hmm?”
“I don’t want to rush you, but we’ve only got a few hours before this horrid ball. I would gladly stay home, but you know how my nieces—”
“No, no—” Although it sounded more like, dough, dough.
She sat up and Jago reluctantly removed his arm from around her shoulders.
“Won’t you look at me, Benna?’
“I look awful when I cry.”
Jago put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face toward him.
“Oh don’t,” she begged.
He smiled. “Well, your nose is a bit red, but you look lovely to me.”
She groaned but didn’t try to turn away.
“You can stay home tonight,” he told her, releasing her chin, even though he didn’t want to stop touching her. Ever.
“No, I’ll go,” she insisted.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because you needn’t.”
“I want to go.” She smiled shyly. “I have a wonderful costume.”
Swine that he was, he didn’t argue; he wanted her there with him. So, instead of insisting, he nodded. “Now that that’s settled, will you please tell me what is going on?”
A guarded look crept into her beautiful eyes.
He cupped her cheek, caressing her with his thumb. “Whatever it is, you should know I’ll stand by you, Benna.”
She gave a slight nod and swallowed. “My name is Benedicta Elizabeth Norah Winslow de Montfort. I’m—I’m the tenth Duchess of Wake.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Corwall
1817
Present Day
The laugh slipped out before Jago could catch it.
But Benna didn’t laugh with him.
Jago stared. And stared some more.
But still she didn’t break into a smile or tell him she was joking.
Instead, she fixed him with a coolly level gaze.
“My God,” he breathed, shaking his head. “You’re telling the truth.”
She nodded.
“But—” Jago had no idea where to go from there.
“There is a great deal I have to tell you. Perhaps we should wait until—”
“No waiting.” Jago shook his head. Emphatically. “We can make time for this right now. I don’t care if we miss the entire blasted ball. I need to know what this means.”
“Perhaps the truncated version?” she said, echoing his words from earlier.
“That’ll do for now.”
She took a deep breath, and the words began to tumble out, “My brother died in a hunting accident and I—thanks to my family’s royal patent—acceded to the title. Because I was underage, my cousin was my guardian. I have good reason to believe that he—the Earl of Norland—killed my brother.”
“Good God,” he breathed. Jago had heard that name—and recently. Before he could recall where, she went on.
“I know he planned to force me to marry him and then have me locked up—and likely kill me at some point—because I overheard him say so. I’ve since learned that he has a woman he claims to be me locked up in a sanitorium. I honestly don’t know what his plan is.”
“So you … ran away?”
She nodded.
Jago made a noise of strangled fury. “There is nobody who could help you?” he demanded.
She shook her head.
“Good God, Benna. You’ve been forced to live like this for how long?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
“What is it, darling?”
“You—you believe me?”
It was his turn to gawk. “Of course I believe you. Why in the world would you lie about something like that?”
She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut.
Oh Lord, he’d made her cry again.
“Please, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—”
She shook her head almost violently before looking at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I just never thought anyone would believe me.” Her voice was gruff and froggy, as if she were choking back sobs.
“I’m not anyone, Benna. I love you. Even if I didn’t love you, you impress me as a woman who is unlikely to run about telling bizarre tales. A person would need a very