Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves

Chapter Eleven

She was tormenting him. She had to be doing so on purpose. Did she enjoy seeing him so miserable?

Why else would my wife tease me as she does?

Benedict sat in his study, pretending he wasn’t hiding from Miranda. He stared at the glass of brandy he’d poured himself but had yet to touch. He’d realized he’d been drinking more than usual, which was saying something. It wasn’t a mystery why he sought the oblivion of the bottom of a bottle, though. His wife was driving him insane.

Only, it wasn’t the type of insanity that he might have expected. She didn’t annoy him or anger him. She didn’t nag him until his ears bled. In truth, Miranda wasn’t acting at all like he’d expected her to once they’d settled in as husband and wife. In truth, though, he might have preferred she act in a way that repulsed him. Instead…she’d been tempting him as he’d never been tempted before.

It must be because I’ve gone so long without a woman. That’s the only explanation for why I’m feeling this way.

Yet, even that excuse didn’t feel quite right. The issue wasn’t just that Benedict had maintained a reluctant abstinence since his wedding to show Miranda respect, but it was the fact that she was just so…appealing. And whether accidental or on purpose, she’d begun flaunting that appeal around him.

Her obvious attempts to get him alone and talk to him had seemingly shifted to focus on a much more intimate goal. The woman had begun flirting with him. She was somewhat clumsy in her attempts, but he had to admit, her skills were improving with each day that passed. Coy looks at him from under long eyelashes. Secretive and suggestive grins…did she even know what she was suggesting with those looks?

The day before, he’d been walking in the garden, trying to find some peace among the chaos that his life had become. He’d thought Miranda inside the Manor, having tea with her friend, Miss Ferguson, but he’d quickly realized that was not the case when the light sound of her laugh had punctuated the air.

Benedict had frozen in his tracks, his whole body tensing. When her laugh had sounded again, he hadn’t been able to resist following it. He’d found her with her friend, Miss Ferguson, who appeared to be quickly becoming a fixture in his home, sitting beneath a tree that had become a frequent spot for them. They had been talking and carrying on, giggling like young girls sharing secrets.

He’d been struck by how effortlessly beautiful she was. Her blonde hair shone like gold in those rays of sun that managed to break through the leaves weighing the tree’s branches above her. Her bright-green eyes had been crinkled at the sides as she’d smiled and laughed, and the way she’d been reclined upon the grass, with her legs half-tucked under her, showed off the curve of her torso and hip as she’d leaned to the side.

She’d looked carefree, soft, and delectable. Heat had pooled in Benedict’s belly and his length had started to harden and descend within his trousers as he’d watched her. His body’s immediate reaction had startled and irritated him. He didn’t like that he continued to desire her, despite knowing how treacherous she could be. That pink-lipped smile hid the truth of her nature, and the damage she was able to inflict without much effort.

As he’d stood there, stewing in his growing frustration, she’d glanced up and he’d jolted in surprise before jerking back to hide behind a row of shrubbery. He hadn’t been sure she’d seen him, but he hadn’t wanted to risk finding out by looking back out at her. Taking deep breaths to bring his arousal under control, he’d hurried back to the Manor, trying to convince himself he wasn’t a coward, he was just keeping things uncomplicated between them. It was for their own good. He was sure of it.

Yet, as he sat at his desk, staring at his untouched brandy, he recognized that thought for what it really was: a lie. Keeping his distance from her had nothing to do with his or her good, and he knew it. It was to try and maintain his own heart and sanity. If he gave into her again and allowed himself to fall under her spell, he was sure he’d only end up heartbroken once more.

But I cannot live like this. I will go mad if I have to continue to live this way, hiding in my own home from my own wife.

He had to talk with her. As much as he dreaded facing her and possibly embarrassing himself by revealing his desire for her, he knew she would only continue to torment him if he didn’t put a stop to it. He needed to confront her and tell her straight out that her efforts to seduce him, whatever her reasons for them, would all be in vain. The sooner she stopped her pursuit of him, the sooner they could settle into the marriage they had both agreed to.

Deciding, he grabbed the glass of brandy and drank it down in a few quick gulps, savoring the burn of the liquor as it slid down his throat and settled into his belly. Taking a deep breath, he pushed to his feet and marched toward the door, determined to confront her right then and there before he lost his nerve.

Making his way through the Manor, his mind was racing, trying to come up with the words he would use when he was face-to-face with her. He would be firm, but clear. He would reaffirm what he’d told her before their marriage that they would not be a true husband and wife. He wouldn’t touch her. There would not be such intimacy between them. They had agreed upon an arrangement and he would insist that they hold it up between them.

By the time he reached the door to her room, he was feeling rather confident in himself, certain he would be able to make his feelings on the matter clear and that he wouldn’t fall for her scheming, no matter how hard she tried to bring his guard down. When he came to a stop, he readied to raise his hand and knock when he realized that her door was cracked open. He frowned, thinking that somewhat odd. Perhaps she wasn’t inside, though he knew she usually spent this time of morning within her private space.

He suddenly heard voices from within the room and realized with a start that Miranda was indeed inside, but she apparently wasn’t alone. He guessed a maid must be with her. Had the servant not secured the door by accident?

Curious, Benedict looked to his left and to his right to make sure that no one was around to catch him, and then he leaned closer to the thin opening of the door and peered inside the room. His heart stuttered, and then he could’ve sworn for a moment it stopped completely. Miranda was standing in the middle of her room, in front of a tall mirror, gazing at her reflection…dressed only in her underthings.

His breath left his body in a rush. He realized he’d caught her as she was dressing for the day.

Look away. Look away, look away, look away.

Despite his mind’s insistence, however, his body simply wouldn’t budge. He gawked at her as she inspected her figure with an assessing gaze, twisting this way and that, allowing him to see her at different angles in her thin shift and tight corset. Sweat broke out along his brow and his member immediately began to stiffen. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, even though he knew he shouldn’t be looking at her in such a state.

She’s your wife. You should be able to see her in this state and more.

The lascivious thought caught him off guard and his gave his head a sharp shake. Where had that come from? He wasn’t supposed to be having such thoughts about her. He shouldn’t be standing there, gazing at her in that moment. He shouldn’t want her. He shouldn’t want her at all.

Suddenly, a maid stepped into his line of sight holding a gown that Miranda turned to look at before offering an approving nod. When her gaze returned to the mirror, it suddenly seemed as though she was looking at him. Jerking away from the door, he gulped, then took several more steps backward until his back hit the wall behind him.

What was he doing? Had he lost all hold of his senses? He shouldn’t be watching his wife like this. Lusting after her in secret like some lecherous cur. He was supposed to be setting her straight and bringing an end to her teasing, not losing his reason to his own lusts.

Letting his head fall back against the wall, he released a heavy sigh. Seeing as his erection had not abated a single bit, he knew he couldn’t confront her in that moment after all. Perhaps that was for the best, though. He realized that facing her in her room might not be the wisest of choices, and he should instead have the needed conversation with her in a place that he was more comfortable with.

Pushing away from the wall, he gazed at her door for a long moment, the image of her standing in front of her mirror, her body nearly on display for him, burned into his mind. Turning, he hurried back down the hall, once more fleeing the appeal of his wife that threatened his sanity.

* * *

Once more, Benedict found himself in his study, another glass of brandy in hand as he waited for Miranda. Deciding it was better if she came to him so he wasn’t caught off guard again, Benedict had sent for his wife to come meet him there. It was only a few hours after his first failed attempt to talk with her, and he was strangely more nervous in that moment than he had been when he’d first decided to confront her. Was it because he’d had more time to think about and worry over the possible outcome of their conversation? Or was it the fact that he still couldn’t get the image of her in her underthings out of his head?

Pacing back and forth across the room, Benedict sipped at his drink his nerves fraying with every moment that passed. When the knock on his door finally came, he came to a stop and glanced toward it.

He swallowed the rest of his brandy before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opened and Miranda walked in. She appeared hesitant at first, but when her gaze landed on him, she straightened her shoulders and smiled brightly. “Good day, Your Grace,” she said, lowering into a curtsy. “You sent for me?”

“Yes,” Benedict replied in a firm voice, moving to his desk to set his now empty glass on its surface. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Miranda furrowed her brow and tilted her head, her expression turning concerned.

“Oh? What is it?”

It took Benedict a moment to gather the courage he needed to say what he needed to say. “Miranda, I believe that we need to reaffirm the arrangement we agreed upon before we married,” he told her, deciding it was best just to cut to the chase and get on with this awkward business.

Her brows rose up to her hairline, her surprise clear. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Grace. Reaffirm our arrangement?”

He nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes, I believe there has been some…confusion, since the wedding.”

She looked increasingly confused. “Confusion?”

He waved a hand at her. “Yes, confusion as to our…er…standing regarding intimacy.”

It took a moment, but then her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Oh, I see,” she said, her cheeks heating in an instant. “What, um, do you mean, if I may ask?”

He couldn’t tell if she was trying to play ignorant, or if she truly didn’t know what it was he was talking about. For a moment, he had the gut-wrenching thought that perhaps he had misunderstood their situation entirely. What if he’d been reading too much into those smiles and long looks from her? Her suggestive gazes and attempts to get him alone? What if he was about to humiliate himself completely?

Hesitantly, he answered, “Well, forgive me for my boldness, but it does seem as though you’ve been…desiring something from me.”

“Desiring something?” To his surprise, the corners of her mouth twitched, as though she were fighting not to smile. “And what exactly might I be desiring, Your Grace?”

He blinked at her, taken aback by the flirtatious note in her voice. “I would not wish to offend you by speaking so bluntly on the matter,” he said in a gruff tone.

“Is that so?” she murmured, casting her eyes downward before looking back up at him through her lashes. “Then I’m afraid I don’t know what it is you’re talking about, Your Grace. I would need examples of the behavior that has caused you such apparent distress.”

He stared at her, shocked. She was teasing him now. It stunned him how naturally such coquettish behavior came to her. He would never have guessed the skinny little girl he’d known once would grow to be such a temptress. Benedict gnashed his teeth as his body began to respond to her.

Am I a young school lad, unable to control his budding urges? Get a grip, man!

Curling his hands into fists at his sides, he dug his fingernails into the skin of his palms to try and bring himself back under control before his arousal became obvious. He didn’t think he could handle that humiliation.

“You are playing games with me, Miranda,” he told her through gritted teeth. “I don’t know to what end, but I must implore you to stop this. Whatever you hope might come of your teasing simply won’t happen.”

At that, Miranda furrowed her brow. Placing her hands on her hips, she suddenly looked cross.

“Do you wish to know what ends I am hoping to achieve?” she snapped. “I am hoping that this marriage won’t be such a torment to be a part of. That we’ll actually be able to have some sort of relationship where we can speak at least two friendly words to each other without it seeming as though we are lying to each other.”

“Is that what you want?” he replied sharply, strangely irritated by her words. “You want us to be friendly with each other? Do you actually think that’s possible?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I am willing to forgive and move on from the past. Why can’t you?”

Forgive and move on? What does she have to forgive? Does she truly think I can dismiss what happened so easily?

It angered him that she seemed not to understand just how deeply she’d hurt him when she’d ended their previous relationship. Did she truly not realize why he didn’t want to put his heart on the line with her? Why he didn’t want to risk getting close to her again?

Pointing a finger at her, he spat, “The past might mean little to nothing to you, but I’m not so able to forget it all so easily. It makes it somewhat difficult for me to trust you.”

She jerked her head back as if she’d been struck. Then, her eyes flashed with fury and she took a step toward him, startling him. She turned her glare up to him.

“You have difficulty trusting me?” She let out a bark of humorless laughter. “That’s rich, coming from you.” She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then closed it again and squeezed her eyes shut. She took several deep breaths before she opened her eyes again and softly said, “I think you’re right. This isn’t a good idea. I just thought…never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll leave you alone.”

Turning, she began moving toward the door and Benedict felt a strong sense of sudden panic. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her. The feel of her skin beneath his hand sent what felt like lightning shooting up his arm, stealing his breath.

Whatever that sensation had been, he thought that she might have experienced it too. Her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped as she gazed up at him in clear shock. For a moment, he couldn’t remember why he’d grabbed her. Why he’d decided he didn’t want her to go. So, they stared at each other in a long, loaded silence before Benedict did something that later, he wouldn’t be able to truly explain, even to himself.

Without a word, he yanked her closer and cupped the side of her face with his free hand. Before she could protest, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to her, swallowing her shocked cry as he began to ravish her mouth in a desperate, hungry kiss.