Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves

Chapter Twenty-One

His heart was pounding painfully in his chest. He felt as though he were having some sort of panic attack, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

Benedict paced the length of his study, his mind in turmoil. He didn’t know what to do. Ever since he and Miranda had made love, he had felt this sense of foreboding. As if something disastrous was going to happen now that they’d crossed that line with each other.

Despite how incredible that night before with Miranda had been, once the afterglow had faded away, some old fears he’d long tried to ignore came roaring to the forefront of his mind. Most of those fears were centered around his father, and the legacy he was afraid he might inherit.

The reality was he was falling in love with Miranda. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it had been sneaking up on him for some time now. One would think that this wouldn’t cause him such anxiety, especially now that they’d put that odd misunderstanding regarding the letter to the side…though not the identity of its author. Benedict was still determined to find out who had written it and driven such a significant wedge between him and Miranda.

However, that wasn’t what his worries were focused on regarding his growing love for his wife. The problem was he knew he didn’t deserve her. In fact, he was certain he would make a terrible husband and only end up hurting her.

After all, that’s exactly what his father had done to his mother. The late Duke had been a mean man. He’d treated his wife poorly, and his son even worse. Benedict had received more than one beating in his life at his father’s hands, and he knew the old man had struck out at the Dowager on more than one occasion as well.

That meanness was in Benedict’s blood, and he was afraid it would somehow surface as the pressures of the Dukedom and his marriage weighed on him. He didn’t think he was strong enough to hold it back, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Miranda in any way.

At that moment, he caught sight of her out one of the study windows, making her way back to the house from the garden. He froze in his pacing and stared at her. She was so beautiful, it stole his breath right from his lungs. How could he resist her?

Impossible. Now that I know what she tastes like…what she feels like…I won’t be able to keep away from her.

His passion for her burned so hot within him, he thought he might burn up with it. When he thought of other men even looking at her, he was overcome with jealousy and possessiveness. The intensity of his feelings wasn’t normal. Wasn’t natural.

Already, he felt as though madness was going to take him over, and if he lost his reason, what would prevent him from slipping right into that meanness that had been so present in his father? Nothing and no one, that’s what.

If he stayed, she would inevitably be hurt. Which meant, he couldn’t stay. He realized in that moment, that he couldn’t change his plans. He still had to leave England. He still had to leave her.

For her own sake.

His heart twisted in his chest at the idea, however. His mind instantly began to whirl to try and figure out another way to protect her without having to be without her. Benedict knew, though, that that wasn’t possible. He simply couldn’t risk treating her the way his father had treated his mother.

Miranda had nearly reached the Manor, and he knew the sooner he informed her of his plans the better. He feared she wouldn’t be happy with him, but in the long run, he hoped she’d come to realize that he was doing this for their own good.

Taking a deep breath, he turned from the window and made his way to the study’s door. He would confront her before he lost his nerves…though he felt he was holding on to them by the tips of his fingers.

* * *

Miranda nibbled her lip as she walked into the Manor, distracted by her thoughts. She wished she hadn’t gone to the ladies’ gathering with her aunt. She’d come away feeling deeply self-conscious about her marriage and Benedict’s fidelity to her.

She wanted to believe that his plans to maintain his debauched lifestyle had changed, but she couldn’t stop worrying after everything those women had said. Worse yet, Aunt Pam’s revelation that the Dowager had had an affair with the late Baron made her wonder if it was perhaps in Benedict’s blood to be promiscuous.

That’s ridiculous. Someone could not inherit such a trait through blood.

Could they? It sounded ridiculous, yet the worry continued to nag her. She stepped into the house and made her way down the hallway, not paying close attention to her surroundings as she continued to mull over her anxieties. She was so lost in thought, in fact, that she didn’t see Benedict approaching her until she had nearly run straight into him.

Startled to realize he was right in front of her, she stumbled back a step. He reached out and grabbed her arm, helping her to steady herself. “Are you all right?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

She blinked, still caught off guard by his appearance. “I…I am. I apologize. I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”

“No need to apologize,” he told her in a gentle tone, smiling softly. She noticed, however, that his smile didn’t seem to really reach his eyes. In fact, his gaze appeared rather worried.

That made her stomach twist. “Are you all right?” she asked nervously. “Something seems to be…on your mind.”

He cleared his throat and briefly looked away from her. “Oh? You think so?”

Miranda nodded. “Yes, I do. What is it? You can tell me. I promise.”

He didn’t speak right away as he seemed to consider his words very carefully. At length, he released a heavy sigh that made his shoulders drop. “Miranda, I’m afraid I must be blunt and get this over with…my plans have not changed. I intend to go to America still.”

Staring at him with her jaw slack, Miranda was certain she had misheard him. “Wh…what?” she murmured. “You still intend to leave? Even…even after–?”

She couldn’t complete her thought. It was far too painful. She waited for him to say something, anything, and she prayed it was a denial. However, Benedict closed his eyes and shook his head, and her heart felt as though it were shattering into thousands of little pieces.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said softly. “You must know that I’m doing this because I believe it’s the best thing for both of us. I…I don’t think we can make each other happy.”

Miranda jerked back, as if he’d struck her. “You can’t be serious.”

Where was this coming from? She’d thought they’d reached a turning point the night before. That they actually had a future together, where they could both be happy and perhaps even…love each other.

She immediately banished the thought, not wanting to entertain that idea at all right after he’d declared he was still going to abandon her.

“I promise, someday you’ll understand why this is the best course,” he insisted. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact–”

“You’re not trying to hurt me?” she snapped, her temper rising up to temporarily push back her hurt and confusion. “How do you expect me to believe that? After last night–” She pressed her lips together to stop herself from saying something that would reveal just how devastated this was making her.

Releasing a breath, she was finally able to continue in a calmer tone. “I thought things had changed between us. I thought we had a new understanding…a new way forward together. But I see now that I was wrong. You are exactly the man I always thought you were. Whether or not you wrote that letter doesn’t matter.”

“Miranda–”

“No. I don’t want to hear any of your excuses. None of them matter anymore anyway.” She turned on her heel and prepared to storm away, but then stopped and glanced back at him over her shoulder. “This marriage will fail, and it will be all your fault. Remember that when you are in America, warming your bed with your mistresses instead of your wife.”

He appeared so stunned, he didn’t say a word, and Miranda didn’t wait for him to gather his wits. Lifting her chin, she marched away from him, slamming her heart shut to him once and for all.