It was an indisputable law of nature that when two people who were attracted to one another started drinking, there would at the very least be some kissing.

But, of course, with Benedict being who he was, it only made sense that he was the only man in the universe who was the exception.

'And do you know what those biiitttchheesss in Lon-dumb call me?' His wife asked between large gulps straight from the bottle.

She was a mean drunk, too. The spirits apparently loosened her tongue incredibly, and she had the vocabulary that might make a sailor blush. She thrust the bottle in his general direction, with an expectant look on her face. He really should find the energy to be properly offended at the impropriety but the bourbon was so good. And everything was shining a little. And his wife was so pretty, she was glowing most of all. He would have to remember to be mad about it later. He grabbed the offered bottle and took a swig.

But it certainly explained the first letter she had ever written him, some two weeks after he had returned to London.

'No, what do they call you?' He asked, then added reproachfully. 'London is perfectly wonderful, I assure you.'

'Her Grace....less! Her disgrace. No! Don't you dare laugh.'

'It's a little funny.' He told her honestly, shifting his face so she wouldn't see how hard he was trying to hold back his laughter.

He took a look at his surroundings, a fire blazed in the hearth bathing the small private library in an inviting glow. The shelves were made of dark wood, lined from bottom to top with all sorts of scandalous romance books. There was another shelf for adventure novels and travel diaries, but the romance novels far outweighed the other material. There were the classic titles, of course; Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, and so on. Some titles by the Minerva Press as well, gothic novels so overly dramatic and ridiculous that most people in his circle would not even admit to reading them.

And then there were the more....concerning titles.

The Pirate's Prisoner Princess.

The Sultan's Unwilling Captive.

The Count's Ravishing Problem.

He did not imagine those provided much in the way of mental stimulation. And why the devil were all these women captives in some way or other? Couldn't they simply fall desperately in love with a man who wasn't forced into proximity with them?

He shot a contemplative look at his wife. Then again, maybe these novels had something of it right.

Not that he wanted his wife to fall in love with him. He placed no importance on such a silly notion. It was just that the forced proximity had resulted in a growing affection between them and he was not sorry about it at all.

Was fire always so...warm? And cozy? He extended his feet a little closer to the warmth.

'I don't like you.' She informed him, swiping the bottle from his hands and collapsing into a heap on the floor. 'Can I tell you a secret?'

'Always.'

'This is illegal bourbon,' she said on a dramatic whisper. She grabbed a hold of his hand and tugged him until he too was on the carpet, right next to her. 'It was smuggled. We are committing a crime.'

He frowned at her as she dissolved into a fit of giggles, 'I wouldn't let you get arrested.'

Never mind that smuggling was the actually illegal bit.

'Oh,' she looked at him with wide eyes. 'You are very handsome. Sister Agatha wrote to me yesterday.'

'Did she? Is she well?'

'Yes, as well as she gets these days. She thinks I should seduce you so that we act like a proper married couple as God intended.'

'Seduce me?' He laid his head down. 'Won't take much effort on your part.'

She let out an adorable giggle. 'Stop flirting with me.'

'I am not. What else did sister Agatha say?'

'She thinks that I ought to take my responsibility as a wife seriously.' She lowered her voice conspiratorially. 'She thinks-oh it's so embarrassing to even say- she thinks I ought to keep you too tired to do anything else but be a good husband. And that I should give you sons and daughters to care of. She said any children of mine would absolutely run you ragged.'

'You're welcome to give it a try,' Ben suggested hopefully. 'Five sounds like a good number, what do you say?'

'Oh, my children will be born frowning all thanks to you.' She slurred as she changed her voice into a horrendous approximation of a British accent. 'Thank you for birthing us, we apologize greatly for the inconvenience. Their first words, I'm sure. Ugh, my babies will be English.'

'At least they will be good-looking children? I should hope their accent is better than whatever you tried to do right now.' Ben countered optimistically. 'Rutland has asked me to be godfather to his firstborn, so I am sure that recommends me.'

'Oh, Ben, she doesn't understand.' She sighed wistfully. 'And neither do you.'

'What?'

'I am so terrified that you will break my heart.' She settled her head onto his chest which had begun to beat an erratic rhythm. 'One day you will remember that I am the antithesis of everything you wanted for yourself and then you will leave. And this time I will be lost.'

'I would never do anything to hurt you.' He said fiercely. 'I don't want to leave you ever again.'

'Oh, you wouldn't mean to, but you would anyway.'

His muddled brain could not come up with any logical responses so he could only offer, 'I am a very reliable fellow. I'm quite certain I wouldn't.'

To which she offered no response and he became worried that she had fallen asleep.

'Ben?' She asked after a beat.

'Hmm?'

'Tell me something about yourself. Something no one knows.'

'I think you're very pretty.' He informed her after taking a moment to think.

She made a sound of disapproval. 'I already know that. You are very good at kissing. Can't be that good at kissing if you don't think a girl is pretty.'

'Don't go around kissing people who aren't me.' He frowned at her.

She made a noncommittal sound that did not please him at all.

'Now tell me a real answer,' she urged.

He thought very, very hard because his head and body had begun to feel a little disconnected and the ground felt like it was swaying beneath them.

'I have always wanted a pet.'

'A pet? Like a cat?'

He hummed in confirmation. 'Or a dog, I would have even settled for a rabbit though they are not altogether too interesting. I was never allowed one because the son of a duke had better things to do than to take care of a mutt.'

'Oh, Ben!' His wife suddenly got up and clambered atop him so she was sitting with both legs on either side of his stomach. She hurtled forward and slammed a sloppy kiss somewhere between his nose and mouth, hurting him more than giving him pleasure. 'I will get you the best cat that ever lived!'

He felt himself go hot, his throat thick. No one had ever offered to get him a cat before. No one had ever been so nice to him. She was so wonderful.

'You are the best of wives.' He told her solemnly. 'But I would ask that you stop straddling me, it is giving me ideas.'

'Ideas?'

'The kind Sister Agatha would approve of.'

Instead of getting off of him as his threat had meant to urge her, she merely slumped down so that she was lying on top of him.

'Ben?' Her brow creased with worry.

'Yes, love?'

'I think you've somehow become my best friend. My best friends are my husband and my sister-in-law.' She giggled ferociously. 'How pathetic is that.'

Oh.

'And I think somehow you have become mine. So I hope it's not altogether too pathetic. Dukes and Duchesses simply cannot be pathetic.'

'In that case, all is well.' She paused for a moment then shakily got to her feet. 'I have had the most capital idea!'

She staggered forward to a desk, stumbling and tripping until she found a blank piece of paper and a pen, which she dipped liberally into the inkwell before she put it to paper.

He struggled against the spinning in his head to sit up on his elbows, shooting her a bemused glance. Everything was just slightly wobbly and Benedict could no longer remember what he had been so upset about in order to warrant over imbibing. He never got drunk. Whatever it was must have been really bad.

'What are you doing?'

'We, my dearest, most darling, most handsome husband are making a list.' She chattered excitedly. Ben felt himself go warm at the praise. He was her most darling, most handsome husband. Take that and weep, Sir Whose-it.

'A list?'

In reply she just came back to him on her uneasy feet and plopped down next to him, setting the list on the ground. In capital letters in a clumsy hand read the words: Vera and Ben's List of Fun.

'I don't need to have fun, I am a duke.' He told her seriously. 'I have more important things to do.'

'Hush.' She reprimanded him. 'I am thinking!'

'But-'

'Oh, Ben,' She enveloped him in a hug. 'You're always taking care of everyone. Let me take care of you. Here, with me, you don't have to be the king of anything.'

'Duke,' He amended.

'With me, you can just be Benjamin.'

'Benedict.'

'Yes, that's what I said.' She frowned at him as if he was the one who was making no sense. 'What are all the things Benedict wanted to do that he never could?'

He was silent for a moment, considering. What would he have liked to do if Charlie hadn't been getting them into one scrape or the other?

'I want to build a sandcastle.' The answer came from somewhere so deep inside him that he had not even realized it existed. 'And go to a summer fair.'

'Yes! And cricket? We ought to play cricket with the children.'

'Yes,' Ben nodded enthusiastically. 'I haven't played since Eton.'

'Perfect! I shall ask someone to procure us bats and whatnot.' She beamed at him. 'What else? Oh, I know! Have you ever had a snowball fight?'

'Perhaps once? I am not too sure.'

She nodded gravely. 'Then on the list, it goes.'

'Minerva, it won't snow for months yet.' Ben pointed out, his heart beating a hopeful rhythm. Was she implying she wished to spend time with him in the future?

'You could....You could spend Christmas here.' Her face turned beet red and suddenly all her interest seemed to be focused on the carpet. 'It is only that the children would like to see you. They like you quite a lot. They put on a play every Christmas and they would love for you to see it. In fact, I'll add it to the list. Unless you don't want to come.'

'And what of you?' He insisted as he tugged on one strand of her long hair that had somehow come loose. Had he been sober, he would never have dared to ask such a forthright question. Clearly, drunk Benedict was a great deal bolder than sober Benedict. 'Would you like to see me? Would you miss me?'

She mumbled something unintelligent and he tugged on her hair in insistence.

'Yes, I would miss you, Ben. I would miss you very, very much.'

'Well, that is good, for I would also miss you very, very much. I would love to spend Christmas here.'

She gave him a shy smile that made his heart leap and dance with pleasure then turned her attention back to the list. They sat together for a long while, just chatting and joking, taking alternating sips from the bottle of smuggled bourbon, filling out the list. When the bottle was finished and their list adequately filled, they lay together talking and laughing until both husband and wife, drunk out of their minds, fell fast asleep right there on the carpet of Her Grace's private library.