He was going to be ill.

That, or he was going to kill someone.

When I was ten years old, he sold my virginity like one would a prostitute to a man that he was in debt to.

If he were able, he would drag Minerva's father from the grave only to have the satisfaction of killing him. He was afraid to speak because the only thing in his mouth were the vilest curses imaginable, afraid to move because his hands itched to grab hold of whatever was nearest and fling it into the wall. 

Christ, he needed a round in the ring with Graham. 

He was afraid to ask what happened next, nor could he remember for the life of him whether or not his wife had been an innocent on their wedding night. Nausea churned in his gut even as rage made his body tremble. If she had known that form of violence, if she had lost her innocence in such a manner, he was not sure he would remain sane. He fought against the urge to hold her tighter, as if he could protect her by being close.

For the first time in his life, Benedict damned the thought of Charlie to hell because she was his wife. His to honor, his to protect, his to comfort, and by God, he would.

'My mother was a seamstress, my father a blacksmith. He got injured when I was six years old and could no longer work. It turned him into a bitter, angry man. He would drink and gamble away whatever money my mother made in an effort to get rich. Or perhaps to spite her because she had become the breadwinner. I think he used to hurt her, but she never imagined he would lay a hand on me. That is why she left to find work in Boston once it became clear that whatever she was earning wasn't going to be enough. So I was left to bear the brunt of his anger. The smallest thing would send him flying off the handle; if I laughed too loud, if I didn't fetch him his flask fast enough. One time he slapped me because I was being too quiet. The stench of gin almost always guaranteed that a beating would follow.' She leaned into his chest, seeking strength he himself did not have. Her tears soaked his shirt and he wanted to howl like a wounded animal at the thought of his wife as an innocent girl, betrayed by the man who ought to have been her champion.

Gin had been Charlie's drink of choice. It was cheap and easy to his hands on after Benedict had purged Chatwick Hall of all sorts of spirits save the wine that was served to guests when they visited. What must she have gone through during the courtship? Had Charlie tried to kiss her with a mouth that tasted of the drink?

Dear God, he was definitely going to be ill.

He was a coward, a weakling, for he did not think he could stomach the rest of her tale, whereas she had lived it. His brave goddess, his lovely, beautiful, joyful wife. How had she found the strength to be so happy when he was still shackled to his past?

'I soon realized that there was no pleasing him, so I used to stay out of sight as much as possible. The church in our town also took in orphans, it was not even a five-minute walk from my home. The nun in charge of the orphans took me in when she saw that I played with the children instead of going home. I was allowed to have lessons with the other children, eat with them because my father often forgot to feed me. Her name was Sister Agatha, and she saved my life. The day that man came to claim his debt, she noticed that I was late for my lesson. Though she rarely ever left the church, she sought me out b-because she was worried. Though I had never told her of my father, she had seen my bruises often enough. When she came to the house, she f-found m-me-' She began to tremble, he ran his useless hands over her back in a pitiful bid to comfort. How desperately he wished he was anyone else, someone who knew what to do in a situation like this, somehow who knew how to deal with the anguish of knowing his wife had been hurt.

'You don't have to continue if it is too much, love.' He pressed her closer, rested his chin atop her head, and gently began to rock. She took several shuddering breaths and he held her even tighter, his brave, wonderful wife. He steeled himself for the rest of the tale, knowing that she needed to speak it out loud just as he had needed to speak of the night Charlie had died even as he dreaded hearing the rest.

'She found me, bent over the dining table, because I had tried to fight and bite the man when he was trying to take me to the bedroom.'

Of course, she would have. She was a warrior through and through. Pride swelled in his chest.

'He w-was trying to tear my dress open. She yelled loud enough to get the attention of the neighbors and charged at the man with a fireplace poker. I passed out for the rest of it, but apparently, the neighbors had come with pistols and in the chaos, my father got shot in the chest. The villagers took the man, and I don't know what happened to him. My mother took me to Boston the next night. But we were a tight-knit community, so I don't imagine it was anything pleasant. I don't even remember most of it, but the smell of gin, the feel of him groping me, it is as vivid as the day it happened.'

He hoped that bastard had been given a slow, torturous, painful death.

'Christ, Minerva.' He groaned, his heart aching for her. 'I am in awe of your strength. And I am going to make this Sister Agatha a very rich woman. She still lives, correct?'

Her clear blue eyes snapped up to his, still a little shiny from the tears she has shed. 'You're not horrified? I come from an even lower background than you could ever have imagi- uhmph!'

He stopped her nonsense by covering her mouth with his own. Never in his life had he given a gentler, tenderer kiss. Softly, so very softly, he coaxed her lips to move against his and she relaxed into him with a contented sigh. That subtle acquiescence maddened him with the wanting it triggered. Though his every instinct told him to kiss her hard and deep, to bite and suckle and lick and make his possession known, he kept his kiss chaste and tender. Hoping she knew that he would always protect her, that she ought not to be afraid of anything ever again. That he would never let anyone touch a hair on her perfect head. He pulled back and took a look at her, this lady who had entirely upended his world.

Christ, he had married the most beautiful woman in all of England. And America. Likely the world. Her dazed eyes and swollen lips were going to drive him to insanity. He felt himself harden, the fall of his trousers becoming far too tight. Jesus in heaven, it was just a kiss! And a very chaste one at that! If there was ever an inappropriate time to sport an erection, it would be this one.

'You have nothing to be ashamed of.' He told her somberly.

'I am not ashamed. I thought you might be.' She challenged him boldly. Had she been any demure English miss, she never would have dared to be so direct. He liked her all the more for it.

He wanted to deny it. Wanted to say that it didn't matter. Shame coursed through him, potent and damning. Being the daughter of a gambling drunkard was exactly the type of thing he would have disdained her for if he hadn't known her as he did now.

Christ, he was a right bastard.

'Three weeks ago, maybe it would have.' He admitted. 'But no longer. There is no one in this world that I respect more than I respect you, wife. I am proud to call myself your husband.'

'Oh, heavens!' She now leveled the full force of her genuine smile onto him. Had there ever been a smile more dazzling than hers? He was doubtful. Even the puffiness of her eyes did nothing to dim it. 'I dare say, Your Grace, we're getting along rather splendidly today!'

'How about we make it more than just today?' He released her from his embrace to bring her hand to his lips. Later, he would worry about the sense of rightness and possession he felt when his lips came in contact with her skin.

'What do you mean?' She sucked in a quick breath, equally as affected by him as he was by her.

'I am proposing a truce.' He smiled at her, and what the hell was wrong with him that he could not help but pull her back into his arms? Mild panic bleated in his head at how right she felt there. 'When we married, you wished to know if we would ever be friends. If you shall have me, in spite of my behavior, I would very much like to be yours. I am not capable of being that kind of man you dreamed of, I cannot offer you the love you've wanted. But this much I can offer you.'

She stared at him for a heartbeat, and in the silence, he was genuinely afraid that she would reject him. And it would be her right to do so.

'I am proper and stiff and by your definition, a cynic.' Though he preferred realistic, he hardly thought it would endear him to her. 'I am sober and occasionally difficult. But, I am loyal. And I protect those I consider mine. There will never be a moment when you need something of me that is within my power, which I will not grant you. I hold honor and duty in the highest regard, I rarely ever lie. I am dependable. All good qualities in a friend.'

Her eyes grew wide as saucers, her expression unreadable. Finally, comprehension dawned in her eyes. And a grimace graced her beautiful, exquisite face.

Dear Lord, she was going to tell him to go to hell.

'Well, now you've gone and done it!' She snapped at him suddenly. 'You've made me like you, you fiend!'

'I know exactly how you feel, I've already liked you for ages!' He snapped right back, though he was grinning like a fool because he realized exactly how true his words were. What was this immense relief? It was more potent that any drug.

He liked his wife, wasn't that a turn-up for the books?

'I should very much like to be your friend, but I have a stipulation.' She bit her lip as if considering her words and damn if that didn't do strange things to him.

'A stipulation?' He asked a little raggedly.

Look away from her mouth, you fool!

But, that mouth feels so damn right under mine. And tastes of heaven.

'There is to be no more kissing.'

You could have tossed a bucket of ice-cold water onto Benedict and it would have achieved the same result.

'The devil did you say?! Why ever not?! It is the single most enjoyable thing in all of bloody Cornwall!' He demanded. 'We are so good together, Minerva. And I know you can feel it too, it was evident in the way you kissed me back.'

And here he had already begun to wonder what it would take to coax her into his bed.

'That is exactly why we must stop it!' She insisted. Which didn't make a damned bit of sense to him. Why the deuce would they stop if it felt so damned good? 'I have no interest in being your plaything Benedict! If you keep kissing me, it will confuse my feelings.'

Ah, that he understood well enough. He was feeling damned confused himself.

'Surely, two adults can kiss without feelings getting involved?'

He wanted to do far more than some damn kissing!

'I am entirely sure they can! In fact, I am capable of it! I may be a romantic but I am not a fool.' He huffed at him with such righteous indignation that he wanted to haul her back into his arms and kiss her senseless. But who the devil had she been kissing before him?! 

Oh yes, he had told her that he did not care whether she choose to seek her pleasure with another, it was the way of Polite Society. And he didn't care, of course. Not one whit. In fact, if she wanted to take a lover right now, he would help her find one! Enthusiastically! He would ride into town waving a banner announcing it!

'I know myself and I know it would be dangerous for me to forget the fact that after your stay here is at an end, we shall go our separate ways. I refuse to fall in love with a man that will not love me in return. It would serve to hurt me, complicate things between us, give rise to expectations. We could be really good friends, Ben, but I dare not strive for anything more.' She continued, unaware of his complete and utter conviction that he did not mind that she was willing to kiss other people. The audacity of her!

'Well, I certainly do not want you to fall in love with me! I do not wish to be responsible for such a foolhardy emotion!' He said, a touch too defensively and as if to remind them both. 'My life is in London. Your life is here.'

'Precisely!' She nodded enthusiastically, though he wasn't even sure what their conversation was about anymore. 'So we are agreed?'

'We are agreed.' He murmured dispassionately. Though he was rather miffed about this no-kissing business, his desire to not hurt her eclipsed his desire to bend her over this very writing table and make her come so hard she would forget she ever wanted anyone other than him. 

Not that he took an issue with her taking lovers, he had given her leave to do so, of course. She was more than welcome to! It was as ordinary in Polite Society as...as crumpets!

Never mind that he had dismissed his mistress. That decision certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he'd had the living daylights kissed out of him by his wife. He'd been planning on it for a while, it was just that he had found the time to do it now.

'We're going to get on like a house on fire, I am sure of it!' She informed him, looking delighted with herself. He could not resist the answering smile that was tugging at his mouth. This is what she did to him; made him smile and laugh. Tease and banter. Christ, he was only six-and-twenty, and he usually felt twice his age. Maybe, for a time he could borrow her youth. Remember what it felt like before his very being had been weighed by life.

'You know, I have just thought of something rather devious!' She cried all of a sudden. And if she didn't want herself thoroughly pleasured by his hands and mouth, she had better wipe that mischievous grin off of her face! It aroused him to no end.

'What?' His question sounded strained even to his ears.

'It will absolutely drive your mother up the wall to see the two of us get along!' She giggled and he let out a sharp bark of laughter at the thought of that miserable old biddy and what her reaction would be to see Benedict do nothing to curb his wife's outrageous lack of fine society polish. The freedom with which the two of them blasphemed would certainly send her into a fit.

'Speaking of my mother, I have some good news.'

'She has decided she hates me too much to suffer my company and will leave us alone?' Minerva's eyelashes fluttered in mockery of an innocent question.

'No.' He sent her a half-reproachful, half-amused look. 'But we will have backup. Needham and Ophelia will be arriving tonight, I just received word.'

'Oh, that is wonderful! I haven't seen Ophelia in ages! I must go and make preparations immediately.' A contemplative pause. 'Would you like to meet for dinner?'

'Dinner sounds wonderful.' 

She walked away with evident excitement in her gait, but not before pausing at the door to give him a soft look.

'Ben?'

'Hmmm?'

'Thank you. For listening. I have never spoken of it before.' She said, her eyes dropping to the floor in a show of rare shyness. 

'No, love. Thank you, for your trust. And for listening.' He replied gruffly, his face heating. He really was a mess at displays of emotion, but he knew she understood. It was another one of those 'Married Things', he was sure. 

A/N: Everyone say hi to Benedict William 'I am down bad for my wife' Montgomery. 

The journey from 'horrid, selfish, American wretch' to 'His brave goddess, his lovely, beautiful, joyful wife' has been incredibly fun.

The shift in his perspective over the chapters has been so much fun to write.

See you guys next week, thank you for the support and love!