Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves

Chapter Thirteen

“Are you feeling all right, Miranda? You’re awfully quiet.”

Blinking, Miranda looked up from her teacup, which she had been staring at blankly for some time, and met Rowena’s concerned gaze.

“Oh…I’m sorry,” she quickly said, forcing a small smile. “I didn’t realize I had faded away. I’m quite well, though. I promise.”

Rowena didn’t appear as if she fully believed her.

“Are you sure? It would be understandable if you weren’t. I can’t imagine it’s been easy living here so far.”

That felt like an understatement, but Miranda didn’t want her friend to worry for her. “It’s fine,” she shrugged. “You’ve been here multiple times now. You know I don’t want for anything around here.”

“If we’re speaking of material possessions and creature comforts, then no, you do not want for anything,” Rowena conceded. “But there are more important things in life than such things. I know you feel lonely here, which is why you invite me to visit nearly every day. I know you don’t get along with the Dowager, and I know that the distance between you and the Duke bothers you. You can’t meet my eyes and tell me that you’re happy, Miranda. I know you far better than that.”

Miranda sighed. Rowena didn’t even know the half of it. It was true that the Dowager made no secret of her dislike for Miranda, and that she felt lonely living away from her own family. However, for a short time, she’d thought she’d be able to overcome those miseries by growing closer to Benedict. Since they’re encounter in the study, however…she’d only felt more alone.

At length, she confessed, “Things with the Duke have not…gone according to plan.” She didn’t wish to reveal the details of their intimate moments, but she was in need of advice on how she could possibly move forward in her marriage now.

Rowena frowned. “Oh? I thought you were feeling confident about your progress.”

“I was,” Miranda nodded. “Even though he tried to avoid me, I felt as though we were playing a game more than anything. But…I think I was terribly mistaken.”

“Did something happen?” Rowena asked.

Miranda gazed at her friend, debating in her head whether to confess all or not. Just as she was about to open her mouth to let the words tumble forth, however, they heard voices outside the parlor door. Frowning, Miranda listened more closely, and then stiffened when she recognized her husband’s voice.

The next moment, the Duke and Lord Dunlop appeared in the doorway. Benedict looked surprised when his eyes landed on her. His friend appeared amused. “Oh, good afternoon, Ladies,” Benedict mumbled after an awkward stretch of silence. “I didn’t realize this room was occupied.”

“We were just having tea,” Miranda explained, indicating the tea service between them.

“Won’t you join us?” Rowena suddenly asked, catching Miranda off guard.

She shot her friend a wide-eyed look, then, backed into a corner of propriety, she looked back to the men and stiffly said, “Yes, indeed. You must.”

Benedict appeared hesitant, but Lord Dunlop seemed happy to take them up on their offer. “That sounds lovely, thank you,” he said with a wide grin as he moved to sit on the settee next to Rowena.

That left Benedict with no choice but to join them and sit next to Miranda on her couch. She quickly rang for more teacups to be brought up and once the men had their cups poured, the four sat around in a tense silence.

Miranda sipped her tea, her mind blank for anything to say. This was the first time she’d really seen Benedict since the study. He’d disappeared the previous night, returning very late and then getting up and leaving very early. At least, that’s what she’d been told by Mr. Bevens.

The Dowager had looked terribly smug at dinner when they’d been told Benedict wasn’t home. She’d shrugged and made the cruel comment “He’s likely gone to one of his establishments to play. He does that, after all.”

First their wedding night, then after he’d touched her so intimately. Did he truly have no shame?

“Well, Your Grace, how are you settling into Morgan Manor?” Lord Dunlop suddenly asked, shattering the silence.

It took a moment for Miranda to realize he had been talking to her. “Oh! I beg your pardon, My Lord. I am settling in…well, I suppose. I am becoming more and more familiar with the house and the grounds, and the staff have been very kind and accommodating to me.”

“That is lovely to hear,” Lord Dunlop replied. Then, he glanced toward Rowena next to him. “Miss Ferguson, I don’t know if you remember me, but we were introduced briefly at the wedding–”

Rowena quickly nodded. “Yes, My Lord, I do remember. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise.” He inclined his head toward her with a charming smile that Miranda was sure had set many feminine hearts aflutter throughout the years. Rowena wouldn’t fall for such practiced flattery, however. She was–

Oh, no. It appears I was mistaken. She is blushing like a fool.

Indeed, Rowena appeared rather flustered to have Lord Dunlop’s full attention centered on her. She ducked her head and sipped at her tea, her fingers fidgeting nervously around her cup.

Miranda was so transfixed by her friend’s odd behavior that she momentarily forgot that Benedict was sitting right next to her. He reclaimed her attention, however, when he cleared his throat. She glanced at him cautiously. “Are you well?” he asked, his tone almost devoid of emotion.

She arched a brow at the odd question. “Well enough, I suppose. And you, Your Grace? I understand you were out quite late last night. I hope you’re not too fatigued today.”

He nearly spit out the drink of tea he’d just taken at her cheeky words. She watched him calmly as he struggled to regain his composure and swallow. When he looked at her again, he appeared nervous, which in her mind looked very similar to guilty.

“Yes, well, Dunlop and I went out for a drink together and lost track of time,” he told her, his excuse sounding weak.

She arched a brow. “Oh, is that so? Thank goodness. I’d been worried that you had run into some sort of trouble or nefarious persons.”

Miranda didn’t know why she was provoking him in this manner. She was upset, undoubtedly. Still hurt by his rejection, but such pettiness wasn’t usually in her nature. She couldn’t seem to stop herself, though. A part of her wanted him to feel at least a small part of the hurt and frustration he’d inflicted on her. It wasn’t fair that she should be the only one in misery this time.

Benedict was tense, and it didn’t escape Miranda’s notice that Lord Dunlop and Rowena appeared suddenly very focused on the conversation they were having with each other as they intentionally ignored the awkwardness sizzling between her and the Duke.

Her husband looked at her and narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry to have worried you, Wife. I will try harder in the future to keep you informed of my nocturnal activities.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped before she could stop it. Had he just insinuated what she thought he had? She felt her face flush.

Oh, yes. Report all your affairs to me before you go off to enjoy them.

Shutting her mouth again, Miranda ground her teeth as she fought the anger that was bubbling up within her. “That won’t be necessary, Your Grace,” she replied in a sickly sweet voice. “I trust you to conduct yourself as your station would dictate. You wouldn’t do anything to embarrass this household or me.”

His nostrils flared. Ah, good. It appeared she’d struck a nerve of some kind. “I would never dream to do such a thing,” he shot back. His words were as polite as hers, but his tone was also just as bitter.

Before Miranda could respond, however, Lord Dunlop suddenly clapped his hands together. Jolting, she turned her gaze to him. Lord Dunlop was smiling wide at both of them, but there was tension around his eyes. Rowena was not as successful at hiding how uncomfortable she was. Miranda felt a wave of guilt move through her. She hadn’t thought about how her squabble with Benedict might make their guests feel.

This is not me. This bitter, angry person is not who I really am.

“Perhaps we should go for a stroll in the gardens?” Lord Dunlop declared. “Some fresh air might be just what we all need, yes?”

Miranda cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes, My Lord, I believe that is a very good idea. Fresh air might be just the thing.”

Rowena looked relieved, and Miranda didn’t dare look at Benedict to see what he thought of the idea. He didn’t protest, though, so the four of them all stood and made their way out of the parlor together. Lord Dunlop appeared to know the way and led them all through the Manor and out a back door to the sprawling gardens that Miranda had come to love so much.

He and Rowena strolled ahead while Miranda walked next to Benedict. They didn’t say anything for several long moments and Miranda felt as though the air around them was growing so thick, she was afraid she might choke. “I didn’t mean to cause you offense,” he blurted at length, catching her off guard.

She whipped her gaze to him. “Beg pardon?”

He looked at her with an aggravated expression. “Staying out late. I didn’t mean to cause you offense by it. It’s just what I typically do…I’m used to it.”

It seemed as though he were apologizing, though it was a rather ham-handed effort. Still, it wasn’t at all what she’d have expected from him.

Releasing a sigh, she shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. We agreed to this, after all.”

“Still,” he replied, “I wouldn’t do something to intentionally harm you…or your reputation.”

She nearly laughed out loud at that, though it would not have necessarily been out of humor. Did he even realize the irony of his words? Intentionally or not, he had already hurt both her and her reputation, which was why they found themselves in this unfortunate predicament.

Miranda wasn’t sure if she could forgive him. She certainly couldn’t trust him, but she also didn’t want to live in the same household as enemies of any kind. Begrudgingly, she said, “What you do at night is really no business of mine. We have an arrangement, after all.”

He was silent for several moments before confessing, “I…I wasn’t doing what it is you believe I was doing. Just so you know.”

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Miranda stared at her husband, trying to determine if he was telling her the truth or not. Why would he bother to lie about this, though? He’d told her plainly before their marriage that he would carry on as he had always done, and so she shouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

He must be telling me the truth, then. What would be the point in lying?

A small thrill shot through her that she quickly quelled. Looking away from him, she replied, “Oh, well…that’s that, then.”

“I suppose,” he murmured. After a heartbeat of time, he sighed, “This is quite the mess, isn’t it?”

His candid question surprised her, but she answered, “Indeed, Your Grace. It is.”

They looked at each other once more, neither saying a word. Miranda thought her heart might break, though, at the defeat she saw in his gaze. If she had hoped for any reassurance that somehow they could find an amiable path through their life together, she realized she wasn’t going to get it from Benedict.

Glancing up at the Manor, Miranda was startled to find the Dowager standing in one of the tall windows on the second floor, gazing down at them. Even from a distance, Miranda could tell the woman was smirking, as if she knew the hopelessness that was coursing through Miranda at that very moment and was reveling in it.