Page 59 of The Duke and the Wrong Bride

Henry felt his blood begin to boil. He knew that look as well as any she had in her arsenal, and there was no misreading its intent. She wanted him to take her. Right here. Right now. Alone in his study, bent over the desk, reminding her who was in charge, and that she better not forget it.

And he very nearly did, too. The Lord knew he could use the distraction! But as he made to push the papers before him onto the floor, he hesitated as guilt began to batter away at his arousal. He wanted to sleep with Charlotte. He craved it! Sadly, most frustratingly, right now he simply did not have the time.

“Your mother can stay as long as she needs,” he forced himself to say, noting the look of shock on his wife’s face. Shock and disappointment. “But I will ask that she keeps her voice down. Your father also.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“Of course.” He smiled at her, attempting to defuse the spark she had set. “Your sisters and brothers also, of course, are welcome to stay. They’re family, Charlotte. And how would it look if I kicked them out?”

She clearly had no idea how to react. “I… I’ll let them know.” Slowly, she pushed her chair back and rose. A slight hesitation, as if hoping he would suddenly change his mind.

But Henry stayed strong, forcing himself to concentrate back on the papers spread across his desk. “And as to your friend Miss Jennings and her garden party, I would love to attend.”

“I’ll let her know,” Charlotte responded, sounding the opposite of pleased by the notion. It was another chance for them to argue, another dousing of the fire by Henry. “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” He kept his eyes glued to the desk, refusing to look at Charlotte as she slowly edged toward the door. Not too quickly, slow enough that he might change his mind.

When she reached the door, she paused a final time. He could feel her eyes on him, hating how distraught she appeared. The rejection was not one she was used to, and he had no doubt she was reckoning with its meaning. At least trying to, anyhow.

Sadly, there was nothing Henry could do. Work was what he was forced to concentrate on, promising himself that he would take care of Charlotte later, certain that this little moment of uncertainty would be perfect for their next argument. And as he was forced to listen to Lord and Lady Ramsbury continue their fighting downstairs, Henry couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, wondering if maybe they needed to take a page out of his and Charlotte’s book on how to maintain a happy marriage.

As things currently stood, at least in his opinion, the two were as happy as they had ever been. And surely, that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

ChapterNineteen

It was strange that just one week ago, Charlotte would have given anything to have been attending a garden party with her husband on her arm, there to show the world that they were married, perfectly happy, and vying for the envy of the ton in ways that she previously would have thought unimaginable.

So eager was she for such an event that she’d been the one to suggest they attend in the first place, even if she could tell that at the time, Henry wasn’t as eager as she was. But her persistence on the matter had made him agree, even reminding her yesterday of the event because, for reasons she could only guess, he’d come around to her way of thinking.

And now that she was here? Standing in the back of the garden, acting invisible as the other guests mingled about, laughing and chatting and enjoying a day of sunshine and companionship, she wished she was anywhere else. A feeling made worse when she spotted none other than their host, Agnes, approaching her with a look so smug that it made her stomach churn.

“I’m afraid I must apologize,” Agnes began as she swept toward her.

“Oh?” Charlotte responded, only paying Agnes a fragment of her attention. The rest of it was saved for what was happening across the garden.

To the average eye, it might have gone unnoticed. It was likely in Charlotte’s head, she knew, and she needn’t pay it any mind. Yet, still, she couldn’t help but look…

“What I was saying about your sister,” Agnes continued, her smile widening, blissfully unaware of the little attention she was being afforded. “It seems that I was wrong.”

That had Charlotte starting as she tore her attention away from what she had been focused on, turning now to look properly at Agnes. “You were?”

“Why, yes of course, silly.” Agnes playfully slapped Charlotte’s arm. “All those dreadful rumors that I heard—which I had nothing to do with, by the way. But rumors they were, spreading like wildfire. I knew they had to be exaggerated.”

“I told you so,” Charlotte said, sensing a trap, yet unable to avoid walking into it. “Beatrice has simply been sick these last few weeks, but as you can see…” She gestured around the garden, toward her sister. “She is very much here.”

“And I’m glad for it,” Agnes said rightly. “Honestly, the things people were saying. I don’t know where they got the nerve.”

“It was lucky you were there to dissuade them,” Charlotte responded, doing well to keep the cynicism from her voice, as she was certain Agnes had more than played her part in spreading those rumors.

“Indeed, I did.” Agnes stepped up beside Charlotte, standing so that the two were forced to watch Beatrice, who stood across the garden. “And to think, people had assumed she’d run away, or worse. And why? To avoid having to marry His Grace. Laughable.”

“Indeed.”

“From what I can see…” She paused, just long enough that the two were able to take a moment to continue watching Beatrice. “Your sister and His Grace are getting along rather well. So well, in fact, that I can’t imagine she would have done anything of the like. I mean, look at them. You must be thrilled that your husband and sister are getting on well?”

Now, Charlotte realized the trap that Agnes had been laying. Although it wasn’t so much a trap as it was an obvious observation, one that her “friend” was taking a little too much pleasure in pointing out.

The two of them were standing by the entrance to Agnes’s garden, separated from the scores of guests who wandered to and fro as they chattered merrily among one another. Everyone seemed to have a wonderful time, for the sun was out, the drinks and snacks were flowing, and the atmosphere was resplendent. But beyond those guests, at the other end of the garden, sequestered away as if on purpose, were Henry and Beatrice.

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