Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves

Chapter Twelve

Miranda didn’t know what to do at first. Benedict had completely shocked her with his kiss, and she was frozen, unsure how to respond. Should she respond? Likely not. She should likely push him away. Shouldn’t she?

But he’s my husband. Doesn’t that make this all right?

She was so confused. They had been arguing with each other just seconds before, but now, he was touching her as no man had before. His hands slid down to her waist and pulled her flush against his body. The feel of his muscled form pressed to hers caused the strangest sensation to blossom within her. Heat bloomed in her belly and began to spread throughout her, reaching the tips of her fingers and toes, making her body soft and pliable.

After several moments, she found her resistance melting away and her mind began to focus solely on Benedict and his kiss. Whatever doubts she had or reasons for why this might not be a good idea were pushed from her mind. Slowly, she raised her arms and wrapped them around his neck. That seemed to give him encouragement, and his grip on her tightened. His tongue ran across the seam of her lips and she parted them with a gasp, allowing him to sweep into her mouth.

He growled and his hands landed on her hips. Benedict lifted her off her feet and moved her to his large desk, perching her on the edge. Some instinct within her had her parting her legs so he could stand between them. His hands slid up her torso to her breasts, cupping them and causing her back to arch.

At her moan, she felt him grin against her lips. “I see you’re rather sensitive, Wife,” he said in a rough voice. “I wonder what other noises I can get you to make if I touch other parts of you.”

Miranda wasn’t sure what that meant, but it became shockingly clear when he dropped one hand and began pulling up her skirts. Her breathing grew heavy, and when Benedict’s fingers brushed the inside of her thigh, she released a little whimper.

“Has any man touched you here, Miranda?” he asked her softly, but firmly.

She managed to shake her head, though she couldn’t seem to find words to respond. He smiled. “That’s good. I want to be the first to enjoy you in all ways.”

His words were nearly as shocking and stimulating as his touch. She could hardly believe the things he was saying to her. They were so scandalous and uncouth. It was nothing that she would have ever expected someone to say to a lady, and yet she found she wasn’t offended. As a matter of fact, she was titillated.

The same moment his lips touched her throat, one of his fingers touched that secret place between her legs. What seemed like a bolt of lightning shot through her, making her cry out, startled. Benedict chuckled and kissed down to her collarbone, and then across her décolletage.

When he lifted his head, he said, “You are so soft, My Dear. So hot and inviting.”

She could hardly comprehend what he was saying. Her mind was a fog of lust and she couldn’t think straight. What he was doing to her…how he was touching her…it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Her fingers found his hair and tangled in the strands. His lips found hers again and swallowed her cries when he sank one finger inside her.

“Oh…oh…my…ah!” she moaned. The sound was muffled by Benedict’s kiss, which was likely a good thing, as someone passing by the study door very easily could have heard her.

He began pumping his finger in and out of her. She had to bite her lip, breaking their kiss, to keep from crying out too loudly. Benedict began kissing along her jawline until he reached her ear.

“I want to hear you call out my name in ecstasy,” he snarled in a low voice. “Someday, you won’t be able to hold back your sounds of pleasure, and you won’t need to. Today, though, I’ll let you try and hold back…if you can.”

At that moment, his thumb brushed a spot at the top of her sex that made her jerk as an explosion of sensation poured through her.

“What…what–?” She wasn’t sure what she was trying to ask. What had he just touched? She was almost afraid for him to touch her there again, but at the same time, she wanted to know what would happen if he did.

As if he could read her mind, Benedict stroked that spot again. And again. And again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held onto him as her body went wild. She writhed on the desk as Benedict continued to stroke and play with her. Miranda felt as though her body was no longer her own, and she was at the mercy of her husband and his oh-so-skilled fingers.

The sensations coursing through her were so powerful, they scared her a bit. She felt as though she were going to shatter from the inside out if he didn’t stop. At the same time, though, she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to know what lay on the other side of this mountain he was driving her up. Closer and closer to the peak she flew. A tight ball began to form in her belly, winding itself tighter and tighter until she was certain it would burst within her.

“Benedict!” His name was a keening cry on her lips, but it was the only word she could form as she went crashing over the peak and into an overwhelming abyss of mind-numbing bliss.

He pressed his lips to hers in another savage kiss as he drew her sweet torment out of her with his persistent fingers. At last, Miranda couldn’t take it anymore and pushed at his hand as she pulled her mouth from his.

“Too…too much,” she whimpered.

Finally, he relented and slowly pulled his fingers from between her legs. Breaths heavy, Miranda realized she had one arm looped around Benedict’s neck, and that was without a doubt the only reason she was slumped back on his desk in a boneless heap.

“That…that was–” In truth, she didn’t have words. She pressed her face against his chest, clinging to him like he was an anchor, keeping her from floating away into the air.

As awareness of her surroundings slowly returned, she felt something hard and insistent pressing against her thigh. Glancing down, she gasped to find his pelvis against her, and there was a very distinctive bulge that made her heart race and her cheeks burn.

That…that is his…oh, my.

Miranda could not claim to be all that knowledgeable about the intimacies between men and women, but she knew at least that when a man’s member was…stiff, as Benedict’s was, it was because they were aroused and in need of care. He had just given her the most incredible bodily experience she had ever had, and she thought it was only right that she reciprocate in kind.

That is my duty as a wife, after all.

Yet, she found she did not view it as a chore, but felt oddly eager to pleasure him as he had her. She wondered what expressions he would make, or what noises would slip past his lips as he became lost to the sensations she evoked in him?

Her breath left her in a rush as she reached down and brushed her fingers over his trouser-clad member. To her surprise, however, he jerked away from her with a grunt. Frowning in confusion, Miranda turned her gaze up to him. His expression was pained, and he didn’t meet her gaze.

“Benedict? What’s wrong–?”

He shook his head sharply and cleared his throat. His whole body was tense and Miranda got a very bad feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. Why was he acting this way? Suddenly so cold and visibly pulling away from her?

“I…I’m sorry,” he murmured, still refusing to meet her eye. “Please, excuse me.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped as he turned and briskly walked to the door. She was so stunned by his apparent rejection, that she couldn’t form words to stop him until it was too late. The door opened and shut firmly behind him, and Miranda was left with her skirts still around her knees, perched on the edge of his desk. For long moments, she just sat there, completely at a loss of what to do.

At length, however, she realized the compromising position she was in and scrambled to straighten her dress and push herself off the desk. Taking a moment to gather her wits as best she could, she moved to the door and looked up and down the hallway to make sure no one was there. It was completely empty. Even Benedict was nowhere to be found.

Miranda pushed down the hurt that threatened to bubble up and overwhelm her. She wouldn’t allow herself to lose her senses in that moment. Not when she was out where anyone could come across her. Holding her head high, she made her way to her room at an even pace that didn’t give away her distress.

Once she reached the safety and solitude of her room, however, she shut the door behind her and stumbled toward her bed, collapsing onto it with a gasp. Humiliation burned through her, as did anger. She clasped onto that anger, letting it burn through her so that she didn’t give into her hurt.

Benedict was the scoundrel that she’d always thought him to be. She’d been a fool to think they could be more than what they’d been for years now…bitter acquaintances, better off not interacting with each other whenever possible.

Her husband wanted a marriage in show only. At long last, Miranda thought she was more than willing to give him just that.

* * *

What in Heaven’s name is the matter with me? I’m no better than a bloody animal.

Benedict leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and dug his fingers into his hair. He paid little attention to the commotion around him, which was rather unusual for him truth be told. Whenever he paid a visit to one of his chosen brothels, the lovely women working the establishment were always more than enough of a distraction for him. That night, however, even the loveliest of Madame Cynthia’s girls couldn’t drive thoughts of his wife from his mind.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” a sultry voice asked him close to his ear. “You do not look as though you’re enjoying yourself this evening.”

Benedict raised his head and turned his gaze to the beautiful woman with long dark hair leaning over him. Her shoulders were bare as she wore little more than a corset and a skirt with a long slit up her thigh. Her full, round breasts were pushed up in apparent invitation, but to Benedict’s shock, the sight of her didn’t stir him nearly as strongly as it once would have.

“I’m all right, Clara,” he told her with a forced smile. “Just…preoccupied, that’s all.”

She tilted her head and studied him carefully. “I heard Lord Dunlap mention that you were recently wed. Is that what has you so distracted?”

He nearly chuckled. Leave it to a woman of her profession to pinpoint exactly what was eating at him. He shouldn’t have been surprised, though. A woman such as her needed to be constantly vigilant and aware of gossip. Sometimes, information could be nearly as lucrative as their bodies.

Still, he didn’t really feel like discussing his new bride that evening. He was trying to put her from his thoughts, damn it all!

“It’s really nothing,” he insisted. “I am indeed married, but she understands that I cannot be confined to a single woman. I just have business matters stealing my focus. That is all.”

Clara didn’t appear convinced as she continued to study him carefully. At length, she gave him a seductive smile and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Well, why don’t you come with me, Your Grace, and I’ll help take your mind off things?”

Any other day, he wouldn’t have hesitated to accept her offer. In fact, Clara was one of his favorite girls to pass a few hours with. However, for a reason he couldn’t fathom, he simply wasn’t interested that evening.

Patting her hand, he released a heavy sigh and said, “I’m sorry, lovely Clara, but I don’t believe I’m in the mood.”

She didn’t appear upset, nodding in understanding as she replied, “There’s only one reason a man turns down a woman like me…and it’s because of the woman he has at home.”

With that, she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and turned to find another patron for the evening. Benedict watched her go, a bit stunned. He didn’t want her to be right, but it was a little difficult to deny her words when he couldn’t get Miranda out of his mind. He kept replaying their encounter in the study over and over again. She’d been so hot beneath his hand. So soft and giving. Her expression as she’d found her release had been possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Then, when she’d appeared so eager to attend to his needs–

He shuddered as lust coursed through him. Thank goodness he’d come to his senses in time. He’d been moments away from taking her fully right then and there. That would’ve been a mistake, he was certain. He feared that if he made her his, he would go tumbling back in love with her…which he knew would only lead to heartbreak again.

As he sat there stewing, Mortimer approached him with a concerned look on his face. “Clara just told me you turned her down,” his friend said, sounding baffled. “Are you not feeling well?”

Benedict released a frustrated breath. “I’m feeling just fine. Really. Is it so difficult to believe a man is simply not in the mood?”

“When that man is you, yes,” Mortimer replied, dropping down in the cushioned armchair next to Benedict’s. “This wouldn’t by chance have to do with your new bride, would it? Not feeling guilty, are you?”

Benedict’s teeth clenched as irritation shot through him. “That’s none of your concern.”

Mortimer raised his brows in mild surprise. “I knew marrying her was a bad idea. No matter how hard you try, you always lose yourself to that woman.”

“I haven’t lost myself,” Benedict insisted. “Things are just…more complicated than I’d anticipated.”

His friend regarded him for several long moments before asking, “Have you been intimate with her?”

“What?” Benedict’s heart began to race and he shook his head, instantly defensive. “Of course not! I told you we had an arrangement–”

Mortimer’s eyes widened in shock. “You have been intimate with her! Benedict, what are you thinking? You may as well rip out your heart and serve it to her on a silver platter.”

“Would you be quiet,” Benedict hissed. “Very well, we have been intimate, but I assure you the Duchess remains…flowered.”

Mortimer snorted. “You sound like a prissy old maid when you talk like that.”

“Well, I find it in rather poor taste to talk about my wife in vulgar terms,” Benedict snapped.

To his consternation, however, Mortimer burst out into full-blown laughter. Benedict glared at his friend the whole while, waiting for his mirth to run its course. It took an aggravating amount of time.

At last, Mortimer’s laughter died down to a breathless chuckle as he wiped a tear from his eye. “Apologies,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t laugh at your expense, but it does seem rather ironic that you of all people would adhere to such decorum for that woman’s sake.”

Benedict found he didn’t like Mortimer referring to Miranda as that woman, but he knew he’d just be laughed at more if he dared to say anything about it. Folding his arms, he sat back in his chair, not caring all that much if it appeared as though he were sulking.

Mortimer leaned back in his chair as well. “All right, I can see you are quite troubled by all this. So, what do you intend to do?”

Benedict wasn’t sure what he could do. It was proving impossible for him to resist Miranda, but while part of him was tempted just to give in and enjoy her for as long as he could, his more rational side was still loudly protesting such a thing. When he felt a headache begin to throb behind his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back.

“I’ve no idea,” he answered in response to Mortimer’s question. “I’m not sure what I should do to avoid her, apart from escaping this cursed island entirely.”

“Well…why don’t you do just that, then?”

“Do what?” Benedict frowned.

Mortimer shrugged. “Leave England. You’ve done your duty. You’ve married the girl, and you’ve done all you need to assure the Estate continues to run well. What point is there in you staying?”

Benedict considered his friend’s words very carefully. It was an intriguing idea, and certainly would take care of the problem that was his inability to resist Miranda. Still, such a decision could not be made lightly.

“I will consider that idea,” he said at length. “It might just be the perfect solution.”

Mortimer nodded, looking pleased with himself. “How lucky are you to have such a brilliant and understanding friend?”

Benedict snorted. How lucky indeed.