Duke of Wicked Intentions by Harriet Caves

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Miranda, are you feeling well? You look a tad flushed.”

Blinking, Miranda turned her gaze to Rowena, who was staring at her with obvious concern.

“Oh? I can assure you, I’m just fine,” she lied. In truth, she felt terrible, but she hadn’t felt like herself the last few weeks. Ever since Benedict had so callously informed her that he was leaving her for America regardless of their night together and the connection she’d thought they’d forged.

Her hurt at his rejection had apparently taken a physical toll on her, and it’d only gotten worse as time had gone on. She now woke up most mornings nauseous, and felt tired throughout the day. It was as though all her strength was being drained from her, no doubt because of the stress she was under.

Rowena, of course, didn’t believe her lackluster assurances. “You’re clearly not,” her friend insisted. “Something has happened. I can see if in your eyes.”

The two sat in the drawing room together, as Miranda didn’t feel up to walking out in the garden, despite the sunshine and cloudless sky. They had been sipping tea…or rather, Rowena had been sipping tea, and Miranda had been trying not to lose the little food she’d eaten that day…but their conversation hadn’t ebbed and flowed with the ease it usually did. Miranda was simply far too distracted by her troubles.

“It’s really nothing,” she replied. “I’m just not feeling well.”

Rowena regarded her carefully, looking her up and down with a critical eye. Miranda wasn’t sure why she didn’t wish to tell her dear friend about Benedict and how he’d hurt her. It wasn’t necessarily that she was embarrassed and didn’t want Rowena to know her shame. Rather, it was more the fact that she didn’t want her friend’s pity, as well meaning as it was likely to be.

Miranda had been foolish to trust Benedict, she knew that now. She wouldn’t make the mistake again, however, and had spent the last few weeks avoiding her husband whenever possible. He hadn’t made it difficult for her, however, as he seemed just as determined to avoid her.

It felt as if they’d gone right back to the way things had been when they’d first gotten married…and Miranda couldn’t stand it.

Perhaps it will be better for him to leave if this is how things will be between us from now on.

“Miranda, if there’s–”

“How goes things with Lord Dunlop?” Miranda suddenly asked to change the subject and hopefully distract Rowena enough that she wouldn’t pry further.

Thankfully, her ploy worked, and Rowena instantly began to blush and appear flustered, even as she fought a small grin that was twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, well…we have stepped out together twice now, though I can’t say we’re officially courting,” she answered with barely suppressed delight. “I’m not certain he wants to settle down at present, though, so that’s something for me to consider carefully.”

“Very practical of you,” Miranda teased. Though she wasn’t exactly certain how she felt about Lord Dunlop, as he was her husband’s closest friend, Miranda couldn’t deny that it warmed her heart to see Rowena so happy. She deserved someone who could see beyond her station and love her for the incredible woman she was. Perhaps Lord Dunlop was just that man, surprising as that would be.

Rowena chuckled. “You know me, My Dear. Always practical. I think I’m a lot less likely to be taken by surprise that way.”

“Indeed,” Miranda nodded, even as her heart fell once more. Had that been her problem all along? She hadn’t been practical enough in how she’d viewed her relationship with Benedict?

No, that wasn’t it. Rather, she had been practical, and then he’d wooed her into ignoring her reason when dealing with him. She’d become just another of the foolish, lovestruck women that seemed to litter the ton.

She blinked at the thought that she was lovestruck. Again, she buried the notion deep into her mind, not wishing to even entertain the possibility that it was true. She couldn’t be that much of a fool.

Miranda tried to focus back in on Rowena as her friend chatted away about Lord Dunlop, but she was starting to feel nauseous again. She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if that would quell the queasiness inside. Rowena’s voice faded away as Miranda’s entire focus turned to keeping herself from becoming sick right then and there.

“Miranda!” Rowena declared, breaking through her concentration. “You’ve gone so pale! Something is most definitely wrong.”

Miranda shook her head, though the motion didn’t help her current state in the least. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, though the weak tone of her voice didn’t help her sound at all convincing. “I think I must have eaten something that was spoiled, that’s all–”

Her stomach suddenly lurched and she staggered to her feet. Rowena jumped up with her, her expression one of alarm. “Miranda? What’s wrong?”

Miranda couldn’t answer. It was already too late to stop what was coming. Desperate, she lunged for a tall vase standing in the corner of the room and threw her head into it before unloading the contents of her stomach.

As she gasped and retched, she felt Rowena’s hand on her back, gently rubbing it in soothing circles. “It’s all right,” Rowena cooed. “Let it all out. You’ll feel better after.”

Miranda retched a few more times before she felt as though she could lift her head back up. She wiped at her mouth, embarrassment coursing through her. “I’m…I’m sorry you had to see that–”

“What in the world have you done?” An angry voice suddenly screeched, startling both women.

Turning, Miranda fought back a groan of exasperation when she spotted the Dowager standing in the doorway, staring at her furiously.

“Your Grace, the Duchess is not feeling well…” Rowena tried to explain, but the Dowager waved her hand to silence her.

“Do you have any idea how valuable that vase is?” the woman practically shrieked. “That was a gift to my grandfather from the royal family. It is priceless, and you’ve just ruined it! Are you out of your mind?”

Miranda was feeling lightheaded and dizzy, and the Dowager’s shouting was giving her a pounding headache. Why wouldn’t the woman just be quiet for one moment so Miranda could get her bearings?

“What’s going on in here? I heard shouting.” Miranda closed her eyes and groaned. She heard Benedict walk into the room, but she was too humiliated to look at him.

“Benedict, your wife is a disgrace!” the Dowager declared.

“What’s wrong? Is Miranda not feeling well?” Benedict asked. At last, she opened her eyes just enough to peek at him. He was standing beside the Dowager, but his expression was one of concern rather than anger.

“She has vomited into the vase!” the Dowager answered him sharply. “She has ruined that piece, and you need to do something about this, Son. I always knew she was unfit to be your wife and Duchess, but this disgusting display has just confirmed that fact–”

“Mother, enough,” Benedict snapped. He moved to stand closer to Miranda and Rowena, placing his cool palm against her cheek. “Your flushed, but not feverish. How long have you felt ill?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, jerking her cheek from his hold. Her vision went momentarily blurry at the sudden movement. She swayed on her feet and felt Rowena grip her arm.

“What are you doing, Benedict?” the Dowager demanded to know. “Why are you not reprimanding your wife for her behavior?”

“Mother, be reasonable. It’s not as if she vomited into the vase on purpose.” Benedict sounded exasperated, but Miranda couldn’t see his expression. In fact, she couldn’t see anything anymore, really. The whole room was going blurry around her, and white spots were bursting in her vision.

She realized she was falling unconscious when she couldn’t tell up from down, and the last thing she heard before blackness consumed her totally was Benedict shouting her name.