Page 19 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Henry muttered.

“A little too much.” His best friend beamed. “Much too much.”

Oliver Mowbray was perhaps the only person in all of England who would dare speak to Henry that way. The only person who would do so, knowing that at most, he might receive a slap on the back of the head and have some choice words thrown in his direction. Even calling Henry by his first and last name, rather than his title, spoke to their friendship and how close the two men were.

It was this closeness that had convinced Henry to drop his guard and confess the reason he’d appeared at the tavern tonight of all places when he’d told Oliver already that he wouldn’t be stopping by for a few weeks at least. It was this closeness that had Henry opening up in a way he never usually would because he’d always been closed off, emotionally speaking, preferring a strong chin and a stern scowl to confessing how he truly felt.

But he was in a mood tonight—such that when he found Oliver in his usual place, he ordered them a round of drinks, pulled him into a corner booth, and then spent a solid thirty minutes complaining about all things Charlotte, marriage, and the myth of wedded bliss.

And his friend’s reaction to these complaints? Laughter. Mockery. And plenty of jokes at Henry’s expense.

“But seriously.” Oliver waved Henry down. “Enough jokes. Let’s get serious here.” He put his mug of ale down and looked at him with a sense of compassion as if he truly worried for his best friend. “Do you need a shoulder to cry on? Because it’s right here if you need it.”

Henry glared daggers at the man. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

“That you were my friend? That you might show me some sense of compassion?”

“Compassion?” Oliver’s chubby face scrunched into a ball, and he pursed his thick lips as if he meant to kiss Henry. “Woe is you, Henry. You find yourself married to a strong-willed, intelligent, rather beautiful creature, might I say, who doesn’t take any of your nonsense, and you expect me to feel sorry for you? I’m afraid you came to the wrong place if that’s what you think.”

“You think she’s beautiful?”

“Do you not?”

Truthfully? It was hard to argue otherwise. From the moment that Henry had first met her—at least when she was dressed as a woman—it was impossible to see her as anything else. He admired her curves most—those hips, her breasts, which were as large as they were round as they were pert. And while she was tall, Henry wasn’t exactly small, and he liked a woman who could wrap herself around him like a vine might a tree.

Yes, on the surface, his attraction to her was unquestionable, but that hardly seemed to matter.

“She’s cantankerous,” Henry grumbled and took another swig of his ale.

“And you’re not?”

“She’s stubborn.”

“Are we talking about you or her?”

“All I wanted,” Henry growled, “was a wife who would behave herself. Who would let me live my darn life the way I want without feeling the need to… to…” He fumbled for the right word. “… to impose herself on me, as if…” He clicked his tongue when he realized what he was saying.

“As if you were man and wife?” Oliver offered with a huge grin.

Henry’s glare was cold. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” An assured nod and Oliver put an arm around his friend. “But I’m afraid that there isn’t much you can do. You wanted to get married?—”

“I didn’t.”

“And now that you are,” he continued as if Henry hadn’t spoken, “you’re reaping what was sown. You’re not the first to regret such an action, and from what I’ve been led to believe, you won’t be the last.”

“Spoken like a man who has no desire to be wed,” Henry muttered bitterly.

“One of us has to keep the local female population at bay. And now that you’re off the market, that task falls on my shoulders.” Oliver’s beady eyes flashed with glee. “I will take this charge upon myself, for you, Henry. You have my word.”

“How very gracious of you,” Henry mumbled into his ale.

Oliver didn’t know what he was talking about. He spoke as if this was something that Henry wished for. As if he had wanted it! When the truth couldn’t have been further from that.

“Perhaps this marriage thing isn’t for you,” Oliver said simply. “In hindsight, I know it isn’t.”

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