Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves

Chapter Fifteen

When the knock sounded on the study’s door, Benedict didn’t give it any thought when he called out, “Come in.”

He was so focused on the documents spread out before him on his desk that he didn’t even look up right away when the door opened and whoever was seeking his attention walked inside.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” he murmured absently as he read the last line of a report from his country Estate. When he’d finished that at last, he looked up, expecting to find Mr. Bevens, Mortimer, or even his mother standing before him. He was shocked, then, to find his wife gazing at him with a cautious eye.

“Oh…Miranda. Good day,” he awkwardly greeted her. “What…um…can I do for you?”

She looked nervous, and he couldn’t really blame her. Seeing her in this room again only reminded him of their sizzling encounter the last time they’d been in there alone together. His length twitched at the thought and he sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek to keep himself under control.

“I wondered if I could ask you something,” she began at length. She didn’t come closer to him or the desk and continued to hover near the door, as if she feared she’d need a quick escape at any moment.

“Of course,” he told her in a gruff voice. “What…what is it you’d like to ask?”

Seeming to realize how awkwardly far apart they were, Miranda took a hesitant step forward. “I wondered, Your Grace, if I might throw a dinner party?” she asked.

Benedict frowned, somewhat confused by her request. “Um…of course you can. You’re well within your rights to do so.”

She took another small step forward. “That’s something else we should probably discuss.”

“What is?” he asked.

“My role here,” she answered, her tone one of frustration. “What exactly are my duties as Duchess of Morgan? It hasn’t been explained.”

“I thought Mother was to tell you all of that.”

To his astonishment and amusement, she rolled her eyes. Then, catching herself, she glanced away from him, her cheeks flushing. “I apologize,” she said. “That was disrespectful of me.”

“But it’s your honest response.” He was curious what thoughts were behind the eye roll. “I take it my Mother has not made things easy for you?”

She chewed her lip, still not looking at him, and he imagined she was struggling with exactly how honest she should be with him.

With a sigh, she finally said, “I’m afraid not. She doesn’t like me, that much is painfully obvious. She thinks I set out to trap you.” She scoffed at that, glancing his way against at last. “As if I would ever do such a lowly thing.”

Benedict knew enough about her to know that was the truth. Miranda was not the type of woman to trick a man into marrying her. Break a man’s heart who wanted her, certainly, but such greedy deception was not within her character. She was far too direct a person in most cases to lower herself to such techniques. Not that she would need them, anyway. She was beautiful, witty, and refined. In truth, everything any man of the ton could want in a wife.

And for better or for worse, she is mine.

It wasn’t lost on him that any man within the ton would be more than happy to have Miranda as their own, and he was the one who had her, and he was planning on all but running away from her. Fleeing the country entirely. He had thought about Mortimer’s idea extensively, and had decided it was likely his best course of action if he wanted to keep his heart and sanity intact.

“I know you didn’t intend to end up as my wife,” he responded at length. “I know you didn’t set out to trap me. Don’t worry about that at all.”

She glanced down, looking almost bashful as she wrung her hands together. “I wasn’t worried.”

Benedict sat back in his chair and regarded her for several long moments. How could one person be so lovely, engaging, and infuriating all at once?

“You’re right, though,” he finally said, forcing himself to refocus on the matter at hand. “We should discuss your place here. I’m sorry that it hasn’t been made clearer to you.”

Like a wild kitten being slowly tamed, Miranda inched forward until she reached one of the chairs sitting on the other side of his desk. She sat in it, though her posture remained rigid and stiff. “I appreciate your apology,” she said softly.

It seemed as though they’d reached some sort of tentative truce for the moment, and Benedict felt as though a small weight was being lifted from his chest.

“All right, well, for starters, this house is yours to do with as you please,” he informed her, steepling his fingers in front of him. “You may run it how you see fit. If there are staff you wish to dismiss, you may do so at your discretion, and I only ask that I be informed of the change.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You’ll give me that responsibility?”

He nodded. “It’s only right that you’re able to hire and dismiss as you see fit so that you have your most ideal staff to keep the house running efficiently.”

She blinked at him, looking stunned. “I…I see. Well, that’s all good to know. Can I assume I have freedom to plan such events as dinner parties?”

“You can plan an entire ball if you so desire,” he told her with a small grin. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the desk and met her gaze straight on. “Miranda, despite how things are between us, I want you to be…comfortable here. I want this to be your home, and I don’t want you to feel like an outsider looking in. Make this Manor and this life your own, whatever that might look like.”

“Really?” She appeared skeptical, as if she didn’t believe him. “You really want me to do as I please around here?”

He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

He didn’t tell her that it really wouldn’t matter to him how she conducted herself or if she changed the Manor in any significant ways. It wasn’t as if he was going to be around long enough to really form an opinion in the first place.

Benedict knew he would have to inform her of his plans eventually, but he was somewhat nervous to reveal that he intended to leave England and her for the foreseeable future. He imagined she would be relieved by the news, but there was a small part of him that wondered if it would upset her. That’s not at all what he wanted. He didn’t want her to miss him. He didn’t.

“Very well, then,” she said with a nod. “I shall start with the dinner party, and I suppose go from there.”

“That sounds just fine,” he told her. Then, wishing to not have things feel so stiff and formal between them, he asked, “Who all do you plan to invite?”

“I thought about my Aunt Pam,” she answered readily. “Also, Lord Dunlop and Row…Miss Ferguson. Then you and your mother, of course.”

“I feel so honored to be included,” he chuckled.

The corner of her mouth twitched, as though she were fighting a smile. “Yes, well, I suppose it wouldn’t look very good if I didn’t invite my own husband to a dinner being thrown in his home.” She dropped her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “We would hate to get the ton’s tongues wagging, now wouldn’t we?”

He laughed at that, unable to help himself. “Indeed. How would we ever survive being flung into the gossip circles?”

She grinned, almost hesitantly though, as if she wasn’t certain that she should. Silence fell between them, and though it was still awkward, Benedict thought it might be marginally less strained.

“All right then,” she said at length. “I suppose I should leave you to your work.”

Benedict glanced down at his desk, surprised she’d managed to divert his attention so thoroughly. “Oh, yes…I suppose I should get back to it.”

She pushed to her feet with a nod and a tight, polite smile. “I will see you later, I’m sure, Your Grace,” she said.

“Indeed,” he replied, standing as well when he was able to remember his manners. “Have a delightful rest of your day.”

There was a moment where they just stared at each other, as if neither of them knew what they should do next. At length, Miranda gave him another jerky nod before turning and walking briskly to the door. He didn’t sit back down until the door shut behind her, and when he did, he released a heavy breath.

What was he going to do? How was he going to tell her about his plans? He felt oddly guilty, even though he was convinced that this was the best course of action for both of them.

She will understand. She will see why this is the best path for both of us. No good can come from us being together.

Still, he felt as though he needed a reminder of why that was exactly. Leaning back in his chair, he reached for the handle of the thin drawer just beneath his desk’s top. Pulling it open, he retrieved a folded piece of paper that was wrinkled and stained from age and countless read-throughs. Gingerly, he opened the folded paper and gazed down at the neat black letters written inside.

Benedict,

I will not draw this out longer than is necessary, as I want to mitigate as much pain for you as I can. I am sorry to say, though, that things between us cannot continue. The truth of the matter is that I do not love you and I do not want to be with you. Whatever promises we made to each other were those of childish fantasies, and it is time that we both grow up.

I hope that you can move on from this, but it is likely best that we do not see each other again, at least for the foreseeable future. Please, do not try to contact me or attempt to change my mind. I am quite set in this decision, and nothing you say or do will persuade me otherwise.

Sincerely,

Miranda

He gazed down at her letter from all those years ago. He’d read it so many times, he practically had it memorized. The pain her callous words caused him was not as severe as when he’d first received the letter, but a distinct ache remained that dogged him without mercy.

This was just what he needed to strengthen his resolve. No matter what she may try to make him believe, he had the proof of her true feelings there in his hand. There was no future for them, and so to even entertain the notion that there was made him the fool once more. He would not allow that. Miranda had made a fool of him once, but he refused to allow her to do it again.

Folding the letter back up, he placed it back in its drawer and carefully shut it. Resting his elbows on his desk, he folded his hands and pressed them against his chin as he considered how to tell his reluctant wife that Morgan Manor would be all but hers once he left her.