Page 45 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

Another knock at the door, joined this time by the voice of Miss Barrow. “Your Grace, I’m sorry to disturb you, but it is urgent.”

Henry grinned to himself, finding the timing rather serendipitous.

It was just as he felt Charlotte begin to climax, a few seconds away at most, that he pulled his head back suddenly. “Coming!” he shouted back to the door.

Charlotte’s entire body lurched forward. “W-what?” Her face was flushed red, dripping in sweat, and her body literally shook as if she was freezing cold. “What are you?—”

“Duty calls,” Henry said innocently, pushing himself to his feet, not even bothering to hide the smug, satisfied smile upon seeing his wife so flustered. “You heard Miss Barrow. It’s urgent.”

Charlotte’s lip curled with anger. “You can’t stop!”

Henry continued to smirk as he strolled toward the door, feeling the heat from her glare burning holes in the back of his head. “What did I tell you earlier about telling me what to do?”

“Do I look as if I care?” she said with exasperation.

“Do I?”

Her face turned stony. “If you walk out that door, you will regret it, Henry.”

“Is that right?” He chuckled.

“Do not think that I am joking—return to me.” She fell back on her hands, legs still spread. “Now.” It wasn’t a request but a demand.

“I will remind you, wife, who you are speaking with. Who is in charge here.”

She widened her eyes at him, her anger peaking, the threat evident in her glare. But he matched it with his own hard stare, a resilience that told her he wasn’t about to be told what to do. For a moment, the two simply stared at one another, a battle of who wanted it more…

“I’m sorry!” she begged suddenly, shuffling forward on her knees and pouting. “I did not mean it. Please come back!”

Henry grabbed the door handle and looked back at her. “Maybe next time you will think before pushing me.” And then, before she could get another word in, he pulled the door open and stepped outside.

That was the other side of the coin. Henry had to be careful not to let Charlotte get her way every time that she pushed him. If she did, then she would have complete control over him, and he couldn’t allow that. What was more, despite some of the truly degrading things he had done with his wife this past week, it was but a fraction of what he would like to do to her. There was another side to Henry, a darker, more dominant side that even he feared exploring, for he knew that if he did, there would be no going back.

Best instead to play around the edges, to let Charlotte think that she understood him fully. They were having fun. They were in a good place. And while sometimes Charlotte might go a little too far, he had ways of keeping her in line.

“Your Grace!” Miss Barrow squawked as soon as Henry stepped through the door and closed it behind him. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I did not want to, but?—”

“It’s fine, Miss Barrow.” He waved her off. “You must have had a good reason.”

“I did, Your Grace. I mean, I do.” She stopped short, waiting for him to ask the obvious question, but he just looked at her. “Yes, right. It’s Mr. Oliver, Your Grace. He’s downstairs, and he insists on seeing you.”

“Oliver…” Henry frowned. “Here? This early?”

“He says that he has some important news.”

Henry’s first thought was that it must be related to his estates in the North. For some reason, his tenants had become convinced that he was in debt so great that soon, he’d be forced to sell his land and kick them out of their homes. Even his marriage, which was supposed to be an assurance of his position to them, wasn’t enough to change their minds. In fact, many of them thought the marriage to be a farce, and he’d even heard rumors that he was already looking for a way out.

Thus, hearing that Oliver had come to see him so early in the morning, Henry was certain that things had gone from bad to worse.

He found Oliver downstairs, waiting for him in his drawing room. Making himself right at home, Oliver had a glass of brandy in one hand and was just starting to get a little too comfortable on Henry’s favorite couch—legs up on the armrest, boots kicked off—when Henry stormed into the room.

“There he is,” Oliver cheered at the sight of Henry, completely unconcerned at being caught the way he was.

Henry stopped short. “Enjoying yourself?”

Oliver took a sip of his brandy and stretched out his legs. “Oh, lose the attitude, will you? If you had any idea what I’ve been through this last week…” He shook his head to himself and had another sip.

“Why not drink straight from the bottle?”

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