Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves
Chapter Two
“Come along, Benedict, are we going to enjoy our night or not?”
Taking an extra moment to straighten his cravat in the mirror of the drawing room, Benedict, the new Duke of Morgan, faced his friend Mortimer Hanson, Viscount of Dunlap, with a wide grin.
“Patience, my friend,” he chuckled, moving closer to the man to pat his shoulder before continuing on to the liquor service across the room. “The ladies will be able to smell your desperation and will upcharge you without hesitation.”
Mortimer rolled his eyes but joined Benedict as the Duke poured them both a glass of brandy.
“They upcharge me regardless,” Mortimer sighed. Then he grinned. “But it’s always worth it.”
The two men clinked glasses and downed the amber liquid. The liquor burned in Benedict’s chest, energizing him. He and Mortimer started for the drawing room door, eager for their night to get underway at last. He heard her angry footsteps before he saw her, and Benedict groaned out loud just before his mother stormed through the door, blocking their path.
“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” she demanded to know, glaring at them both.
“We were just going out for a bit of fun,” he shrugged, not bothering to explain further, as he didn’t feel it necessary to explain his every move to her.
She pointed a finger at him. “You aren’t going out for just a bit of fun. You’re planning on going to a brothel, aren’t you?”
“Mother, that’s enough,” he snapped, cutting her off. “It’s none of your concern where I spend my evenings.”
“None of my concern?” she exclaimed. “You are the Duke now, Benedict. You can’t be traipsing through brothels every night and ignoring important social functions of the Season. I told you that you needed to attend Lord Henley’s ball tonight. It’s important that the elite of the ton come to know you in your new position.”
Irritation flared within Benedict. “And I told you that I wouldn’t attend such a mundane event. There’s no reason that I should have to change my way of life just because I’ve taken on the title of Duke. Isn’t it enough that I’ve come back to England, leaving the life I’d enjoyed on the Continent?”
“This is your duty,” his mother insisted sharply. “You shirked from your responsibilities long enough. It’s long past time for you to grow up, Son. Your father died disappointed in your lifestyle. The least you could do is maintain the dignity of his former title and not smear it with your filth.”
His mother’s words made his blood boil. It seemed as though they could never get through a conversation without him nearly exploding with anger.
“Father likely died just to escape your icy presence,” Benedict hissed.
His mother’s eyes widened and her mouth tightened into a grim line.
“What did I ever do to be shackled with such an ungrateful child?” the Dowager Duchess spit. “If you won’t do what is right for this title and this position, I’ll do whatever I have to in order to preserve the sanctity of the Dukedom.”
“Your vote of confidence is moving, Mother,” Benedict dryly told her. “Really, it is. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mortimer and I have a night of debauchery to get to.”
His mother appeared shocked at that, which was exceedingly satisfying.
She placed her hands on her hips and snarled, “I forbid you from going out to participate in such disgusting behavior.”
That grated, possibly more than anything else she’d said so far. She had just finished berating him for not taking his role as Duke seriously enough, and now she was trying to give him orders in what was now his home. He was supposed to be the Master of this house, and his mother was supposed to defer to him, not order him about.
“You can’t forbid me from doing anything,” Benedict growled. “This is my house now, Mother. I can do what I want when I want, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
He almost flinched at those last few words. Benedict was afraid he sounded a little too much like a petulant child, and not a man claiming his right to choose the life he wanted to lead.
Turning her gaze away, he heard her mumble, “Even a lesser name like the Earl of Woodfall will be in attendance, but not the Duke of Morgan.”
Benedict tensed when the name Woodfall hit his ears. The Earl of Woodfall…Miranda’s father.
His heart clenched at the thought of the woman who’d once shattered it so thoroughly. If her father was in attendance at Lord Henley’s ball, she would quite likely be as well. Suddenly, the ball didn’t seem like such a mundane event after all.
Benedict hadn’t heard anything from Miranda since her final letter, in which she’d broken things off with him with little explanation as to why. For years, he’d dreamed of what it would be like to confront her and demand the answers he wanted from her. Perhaps he could finally do so if he attended the ball after all.
“You know, now that I am able to consider the matter more carefully, you might have a point, Mother.”
“What’s that now?” Mortimer asked, sounding nervous and suspicious.
The Dowager also looked stunned. “Wait…are you agreeing with me about something?”
Benedict nodded. “I am, in fact. You are right in that I need to take care of my social image. This ball will be a good way to immerse myself once more into polite society. We shall go after all.”
“What?” Mortimer exclaimed in dismay. Benedict shot him a look he hoped would tell him to trust him and not to resist his plan. His friend gave him a sour look, but didn’t say more in that moment. Benedict was certain he’d get an earful from him later, however.
His mother was gazing at him with a furrowed brow. It was obvious she was trying to figure out what angle he was trying to play. Even though she was right to be suspicious, it irritated him that she trusted him so little. It always had, and at times growing up, he’d intentionally broken her trust in order to become what she already thought him to be.
“Why this sudden change in heart?” she asked. “And I would appreciate the truth.”
He shrugged. “I just told you, did I not? I can make my return known and give people the chance to grow used to my presence so that I may become a more active member among the ton.”
His mother still didn’t look as though she believed him, but he hardly cared. In the end, he knew she’d be less concerned about the truth of his motives than she would be determined to get him out in society again.
At length, she shrugged. “Very well. If you’re going to go, though, you should go immediately. You’re already dangerously close to being rudely late rather than fashionably.”
He gritted his teeth and forced a strained smile. “Yes, Mother. Of course.” Turning to his despairing friend, Benedict said, “Come along, Mortimer. You heard Her Grace. We must hurry if we want to remain fashionable.”
Mortimer looked very much liked he wished to relay a few choice words to Benedict, but he held his tongue, likely out of respect for the Dowager Duchess.
His mother looked between them and sternly said, “Do try to act like gentlemen tonight. The ladies at this ball will not the kind to charge you a fee for their company, so treat them accordingly.”
A pity. When one spends time with a lady of the night, it’s so much simpler and straightforward than when one spends time with a lady of the ton.
That included Miranda, but unlike most of the women of their class, she’d never irritated or bored him. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’d always fascinated and entertained him. She’d been smart and interesting, witty and funny. It hadn’t been any great shock when he’d fallen for her…but it had been a shock when she’d ultimately broke his heart.
Benedict steeled himself against the thought, telling himself that it didn’t matter what had happened in the past. What mattered was the present. Benedict lived for the here and now. He took his pleasure when and where he wanted, he kept whatever company he chose, and he didn’t typically worry about what tomorrow would hold for him. At least, he hadn’t. Now that he was the Duke, he supposed that mindset would have to change.
He and Mortimer bid goodbye to his mother and they made their way out of the house to the carriage that was already waiting for them.
“A change of plans, my good man,” Benedict told the driver, and then gave him their new destination. The driver almost looked relieved to no longer be taking his master to a places of ill repute, and Benedict couldn’t help his grin of amusement at the general turn of events.
He and Mortimer climbed into the carriage. His friend held himself in check until the vehicle lurched forward and began to rumble down the graveled drive of the Estate.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mortimer exclaimed at last, causing Benedict to grin in amusement. “What is so funny, Benedict? Tell me why we are suddenly heading to dull Lord Henley’s ball rather than the sweet company of Madame Phillips’ establishment?”
Benedict shrugged. “It’s as I told my mother…I’ve just realized how important it is to build up my image as the new Duke of Morgan.”
Mortimer arched a brow and gave him a look that made it clear he didn’t believe him.
“Do not try to feed me such a line,” the man scoffed. “It didn’t slip my notice how you suddenly became so eager to attend this event when Lady Miranda’s father’s name was mentioned. I don’t suppose that’s a coincidence, hmmm? The fact that she is going to be there?”
Benedict made sure his expression was one of surprise when he replied, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. It didn’t even cross my mind that Lady Miranda would be present tonight.”
Mortimer rolled his eyes. “You can’t fool me, Benedict. You can’t possibly still care for that woman after what she did to you.”
Benedict tensed. His friend’s tone was almost accusatory as he threw those words at him.
“I do not still care for Lady Miranda,” Benedict insisted. “I’m just curious, is all, as to how London society has fared since I’ve been away.”
Mortimer scoffed. “I’m sure it’s carried on just the same without you. Except, you left as the heir of the Duke…you’re coming back holding the title. You’re going to be the prey of every eager mother hoping to land her daughter a rich and powerful husband.”
Benedict rolled his eyes, though he knew his friend was likely right. He didn’t relish the idea of every debutante and her mother circling him like hungry sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, but his need to confront Miranda for what she’d done to him was even stronger than his aversion to being pursued. It would be a small price to pay to learn the full truth at last.
“Well, who knows? Perhaps one of them will actually pique my interest,” he teased, knowing such a response would horrify Mortimer.
As predicted, his friend’s eyes practically bugged in disbelief. Then, they narrowed in irritation.
“You are trying to distract me, but I won’t let you,” he snapped. “This whole evening is about Lady Miranda, and you’ll not convince me otherwise.”
Benedict shrugged. “You are free to think what you like, My Friend. Even if you’re wrong.”
Mortimer leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, practically pouting in his displeasure. Benedict decided to ignore him as they continued down the road toward Lord Henley’s. It didn’t matter if Mortimer was technically right. Benedict would never admit out loud that he was still haunted by thoughts of the woman who so thoroughly shattered his heart.
Tonight, though, he’d finally exorcise her from his life completely. He would get the answers he sought, and then he would forget about her at long last. After tonight, he would never have to think about Lady Miranda Colfield ever again.
