Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves
Chapter Eighteen
The night was going well. Very well indeed. Benedict was pleased, for Miranda’s sake. He knew she’d been quite anxious about this dinner going smoothly, and so far, it seemed as though all her worries were for naught.
Even his mother was being courteous and friendly, something he would have considered quite out of character for her. Whatever the reason was for her attempt at a pleasant demeanor, he wasn’t about to question it and quite possibly ruin it.
Benedict sat back and watched the lively conversation that was sweeping the dining table. Mortimer and Miss Ferguson were quite clearly enraptured with each other, and Miranda’s aunt was regaling them all with stories of the Duchess as a little girl. Most of them, Benedict already knew.
He turned his gaze to his wife and for a moment, allowed himself to simply admire her. She was genuinely smiling and laughing for the first time since she’d arrived at Morgan, and it made his heart ache in his chest to see her in such high spirits. Once, he would have done anything to ensure that smile always remained in place.
It was a rather strange thing, wanting her as he did even though he knew having her would likely destroy him in some way. There were some moments, like this one, where he wondered if a few moments basking in her smile might be worth the heartbreak that was sure to follow.
“Oh, that would be so much fun. We should all go together!” Benedict blinked, caught off guard by Miss Ferguson’s sudden declaration. He’d been so caught up in observing Miranda that he’d lost all track of the actual conversation they’d all been having.
“Where should we all go together?” he asked, even though he knew it would make him look foolish to ask what was no doubt an obvious question if he’d been paying attention.
Sure enough, Mortimer cast him a confused, but amused look. “Bath, My Good Man. We were talking about the healing effects that can be found in the hot baths there. Your lovely wife suggested a trip, and we thought we all might go.”
He did enjoy Bath, and it had been quite some time since he’d been up there. “Has a date been discussed for this trip?”
“We thought a month from now would give us plenty of time to make ready so we could be away for a week or so,” Miranda answered him in a jovial tone. “We want to be able to luxuriate as much as we can.”
Benedict felt as though a stone had settled in his gut. A month from then, he’d planned on being away from England. His face must have belied his concern, because Miranda gazed at him with a small frown. “Is everything all right, Your Grace? Does that not give you enough time to be ready to go away?”
“That…that is not it,” he stammered, his mind racing to come up with something to say that might allow him more time to make his plans known. He looked up and met Miranda’s gaze, however, and something in him wanted her to know.
He didn’t want to lie to her, and she appeared in such good spirits that maybe she wouldn’t react too badly to his plans. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously said, “Unfortunately, I will not be able to join you in Bath a month from now.”
All the women, his mother included, gazed at him with various degrees of curiosity and worry in their expressions. Mortimer didn’t look surprised, but he didn’t look as though he wanted to be there in that moment, for he certainly knew what Benedict was about to do.
“Why won’t you be able to join us?” Miranda asked.
“Well, you see…” Benedict searched for the right words to explain, “I have decided to take a trip and leave England for a time.”
The silence that fell around the table was cloying. Benedict immediately regretted letting the news slip with such an audience, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it at that moment. It was out in the open, swirling among them all like toxic fog along the Thames.
“You’re leaving?” his mother asked, sounding stunned. “Whatever for?”
To flee the temptation that is my wife.
He, of course, didn’t say that out loud though, and so answered, “You know me. It’s hard to stay in one place for very long.”
“Where do you plan on going?” His wife’s voice was soft, and he might have thought she sounded sad. He knew better, though. She was likely just overwhelmed with relief.
“The Colonies,” he announced.
“The Colonies!” his mother gasped.
He stole a glance to Miranda to see her reaction, and she looked positively stunned. “How long?” she murmured.
“What?” he replied, though he knew exactly what it was she was asking.
“How long do you intend to be away?” she said in a much firmer voice.
He hesitated a long moment, no longer so sure that she would feel relieved by his absence. Slowly, he finally answered, “I do not have a return date in mind at this time.”
Whatever he might have expected her reaction to be, it was not the full-on fury that he was met with. “What?” she exclaimed. “You don’t know when you will be back?”
He sat and stared at her for a long moment, shocked. At length, he managed to gather his wits enough to say, “Well, no…much like when I went to Europe, I don’t know that I’ll have any true intention of coming back.”
He might have expected some sort of reaction from his mother at that news, but she didn’t appear all that concerned about him. She was watching with near glee as Miranda shoved to her feet, nearly upending dishes in front of her.
“You intend to do this to me again?” she snapped. “Humiliate and abandon me so that I become the laughingstock of all of England? The poor wife whose husband left her in all but name?”
“Poor wife? Poor wife!” He felt his own temper begin to flare. “That’s rich coming from the likes of you.”
Her jaw dropped. “What in the world is that supposed to mean?”
“You know very well what it means,” he shot back. He was aware that he and Miranda were make a spectacle of themselves, shouting at each other in front of their stunned guests, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to stop. It was as if all the tension, resentment, and trapped passion that had been boiling up within him since they’d been reunited was at last exploding out into the open.
She spread her arms and shook her head. “I’ve no idea what you’re saying. You are making very little sense, though I suppose that’s fitting, as you have very little sense in that head of yours to begin with.”
He gritted his teeth, fury making his blood pump below his skin. He pointed at her. “You have no right to speak to me in such a manner and criticize me for leaving. This is all your fault to begin with.”
“My fault?” she shrieked. “How in the world is it my fault that you have decided to run off like a coward?”
“If you hadn’t written me that awful letter when we were younger, I wouldn’t be seeking to put an ocean between us so that I don’t fall for your trickery and wickedness.”
Her brows shot up to her hairline as her jaw dropped. She appeared to be torn between utter confusion and rage as she struggled to come up with words to say in response to him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she hissed at last. “What letter?”
He rolled his eyes. This he didn’t need in the least. Pushing back his chair, he turned to march for the door. If she was going to lie to his face, then he was done with this ridiculous conversation. Benedict heard her footsteps behind him before she reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving the dining room.
“No, stop right there,” she demanded. “You will tell me what all this nonsense you’re spouting means. I never wrote you a letter.”
He rounded on her and was momentarily taken aback when he realized just how close to him she was. Quickly gathering his wits again, he hissed, “Why do you insist on denying it? Are you trying to save face? Because I assure you, you’re only making yourself look like a fool.”
Yet, as he gazed down at her, her confusion appeared genuine. She squeezed his arm as she took a deep breath, visibly working on calming her nerves and softening her speech.
“Benedict, I am being entirely honest with you right now,” she said in a much more even voice. “I don’t know what letter you’re talking about.”
She couldn’t have forgotten. That would be more ridiculous than her simply lying about not knowing of its existence. Yet, as he stared down at her, he felt the strangest twinge of doubt within him.
No, no! You can’t give into the flimsy hope that this was all a mistake. She wrote that letter, and knew exactly what she was doing when she did.
“My goodness, is this any way for a Duchess to behave?” his mother suddenly declared, reminding him once more that they weren’t alone and looking thoroughly appalled at the scene before her. “She is without even the most basic of manners.”
As frustrated and angry with Miranda as he was, he didn’t like his mother’s disparaging remarks to her. In fact, he didn’t like that they had an audience at all. Shaking his arm from Miranda’s grasp, he wrapped his fingers around her elbow and turned to lead her to the door.
“Where are you going, Benedict?” his mother called after them.
He didn’t bother to glance over his shoulder as he harshly replied, “My wife and I clearly have some private matters to discuss. I’m sorry, but you all will have to excuse us for the evening.”
“Benedict, where are you taking me?” his incensed Duchess demanded to know. He didn’t answer her, instead tugging her along with him as he exited the dining room, and her party, without a backward glance.
