Page 27 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

They rode in silence, which, in Charlotte’s opinion, was worse than being yelled at. She wanted Henry to yell at her. She yearned for him to shout. At least that would have told her how he was feeling. Heck, it might have instilled a sense of bravery in her, enough that she would have rebuked him and explained what she was doing and why.

Instead of that, it was a heavy, morose silence, one that weighed on her with each clopping of her horse’s hooves.

Henry rode ahead of her. Not once looking back to check that she was following. Giving no indication that he cared if she was. She stared at the back of his head, begging him to turn around and acknowledge her. But he stared purposefully ahead, as if he knew what his silence was doing.

That he was furious with her, she had no doubt. When he had realized who she was and what she was doing, the rage in his glare was like a dagger to her stomach. Were it not for the presence of his friend, she wondered if he would have controlled his temper the way he did.

“Ahoy, there,” his friend had called—Oliver was his name. “Lovely day we’re having.” He had waved in a friendly manner, seemingly unaware of who she was. That was until he caught Henry glaring at her, which prompted him to ask, “What’s going on?”

“Don’t you recognize her?” Henry had growled, not for a moment taking his eyes off Charlotte, who had shrunk back in her saddle, as if to disappear.

“Her? What are you…” Oliver trailed off as the realization sank in.

“My wife,” Henry said coldly.

Charlotte couldn’t remember much after that. Bracing herself to be chastised, as she ought to have been, she vaguely remembered Henry sending Oliver on his way. Oliver, unable to stop himself from grinning, bowed his head to her as he trotted off, laughing to himself and saying something under his breath that had Henry steaming. From there, Henry motioned for her to follow him, which she did do, expecting him to say more.

The silence lasted until they reached the estate. When Henry reached the stables, he dismounted his horse and led it inside. Again, he didn’t look at Charlotte or so much as acknowledge her. He purposefully focused on his horse, disappearing inside and leaving her behind.

With little real choice, Charlotte dismounted from her horse, took the reins, and gingerly led it inside the stables, bracing herself for what she hoped to be her husband’s wrath. A strange desire, but how she craved it.

The stable was dimly lit. The only source of light shone through the one window and the cracks in the wooden walls—so dim that she could barely see her husband in the back corner as he tended his horse. There was no stableboy, which reminded Charlotte of something else this home needed… not that this mattered right now! She stood by the door, watching Henry—his movements were stiff and aggressive—too frightened to walk inside…

“I thought we were past this,” Henry growled, his voice carrying through the stable like thunder.

“W-what?” she stammered.

He finished with his horse, turned to face her, and she gasped when she saw the demented look of fury on his face. “I thought we were past this,” he barked.

“Past what?” she asked stupidly.

“Don’t play the fool with me.” He stormed toward her, and the stables seemed to shake. “You were following me! When you asked what I was doing today, you didn’t care for my answer! You had to see for yourself!”

She reared back, shocked by the accusation. “Is that what… I wasn’t following you.”

“Don’t lie to me!” He came within ten feet of her and forced himself to stop. “What was the one rule I asked of you? One thing!” He held up a finger.

She bowed her head. “That I do not ask you about your business.”

“Then why?! Why did you insist on… Why do you always—do you enjoy testing me?” he demanded. “Is that what this is? You take some pleasure in seeing how far you can push me?”

“What? No!” Her eyes shot open, and she shook her head. “That’s not—I wasn’t—This had nothing to do with?—”

“After last night,” he continued, cutting her off like a bull trampling grass, “I had hoped…” He sucked through his teeth. “I thought that things might be different. I had assumed we had come to a…” He grimaced. “An understanding.”

“Me too!”

“Then why!” he growled and bore down on her like a mountain over a village. “Why did you follow me? And why…” He looked her over and shook his head. “Men’s clothes, Charlotte? Did you think to fool me? Do you really think so little of me?”

“That’s not it at all!” she cried, letting go of her horse’s reins and taking a step closer to him. She reached out, only to think better of it. “I wasn’t following you. I wasn’t!”

“What, then?!” he demanded, barking at her like a savage dog.

He was just as angry as she had imagined, seemingly letting his rage build on the journey home. And now that they were alone, he was letting it fly like a kite in a thunderstorm.

It was a strange relief to know that his anger was misdirected. It didn’t make it any easier to bear, but it gave Charlotte the confidence not to cower the way she might have and beg for forgiveness. It gave her the confidence to remember that at the end of the day, they were married, she was in this now for life, and he could shout and scream all he wanted but she wasn’t going anywhere. And besides… as strange as it was to think, she kind of liked it.

She remembered that kiss last night and how it had come about. And most importantly, how she wanted more.

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