Page 10 of Married to a Wicked Duke
And it would also stop her from fixating on that cursed kiss.
Because as much as she tried to make it otherwise, her thoughts kept returning to the moment the Duke’s lips had found her own. Returning to the way her body had come alive at the feel of him. Returning to the nameless, and slightly frightening, sensations his fleeting touch had awoken in her body.
“I would like to dedicate this competition to my dear late husband,” the Dowager Duchess said with a warm smile. She held up a pair of tiny emerald earrings she had clasped in her hand. “The winner of the competition, as adjudged by me, will receive these divine earrings.”
A murmured rippled through the guests, still seated around the breakfast tables. “Goodness,” Veronica whispered to her grandmother. “They must be worth a fortune. They must be very important to her family.”
The Dowager Marchioness nodded. “And with your talent, you have a good chance of winning them, my dear.”
Veronica shook her head dismissively. “You know I have little interest in such things, Grandmother. I just paint for the joy of it.”
Strictly, that was not quite true. There was far more Veronica wished to do with art than merely paint for pleasure. Thanks to her father’s drinking and gambling, the family had never had much money, and Veronica had never had the good fortune of a painting tutor. Everything she knew, she had taught herself. She longed to impart her knowledge to others, particularly young ladies who were so often stifled by societal expectations. But she was yet to be taken seriously. Not only was she a young woman of barely twenty, she was also the daughter of the drunken Earl of Volk. Sponsors were more than a little difficult to come by.
“My butler, Hargraves, is now coming around with a note for each of you,” the Dowager Duchess continued. “The message will tell you where to go to meet your partner.”
Partner?Veronica looked quizzically at her grandmother. She had never painted in a partnership before. She was not even sure how such a thing would work. Her grandmother gestured to her to keep listening.
“In the location you are sent to, you will find a puzzle you must solve. Completing it will be the first step in the competition.”
Veronica nodded her thanks as the butler handed her a note with her name written on the outside. She unfolded it carefully.
Library, was all it said. She stood up and smiled at her grandmother. “Well,” she said, “wish me luck.”
And there was that strange look of knowing in the Dowager Marchioness’s eyes again. A look that suggested Veronica would need all the luck she could get.
* * *
Frederick paced back and forth across the library. He had had quite enough of this damn party. He had no idea how he had even managed to get wrangled into this cursed painting contest. He had been in the hallway making a reluctant apology to his grandmother for missing dinner—and breakfast—and before he knew it, she was shunting him off to the library.
A painting competition. How ridiculous.Art was not something that ought to be turned into a competition. Especially for the purpose of finding him a wife—because underneath all this fanfare and frippery, he knew that was exactly what his grandmother was playing at. No doubt she assumed he would see the winning artwork and just magically fall in love with whichever dazzling debutante had painted it.
It was a heavy handed ploy on his grandmother’s behalf, that was for sure. She knew, of course, how much Frederick loved painting. Knew he had been honing his craft his entire life; first under the guidance of his mother, then with a string of gifted tutors. Indeed, since his mother’s death six years ago, painting was the only thing that had managed to bring him a scrap of joy.
But not under these ridiculous circumstances.
The door creaked open. “Just put that ridiculous note on the table, Hargraves,” said Frederick, continuing to stare out the window. “And give my grandmother a message of my own, would you? Tell her that everyone here is an uncultured bore, and if anyone produces a painting worthy of anything other than being used as a doormat, it will be an utter miracle.”
He heard a delicate cough and whirled around. Came face to face with Lady Veronica Caster, of all people. The look on her face suggested she was wildly disappointed at having stepped into the library and found him waiting for her.
“You.” She spat the word out as though it were poison.
He smiled wryly. “I am afraid so.”
Lady Veronica sighed. “And here I was looking forward to a relaxing morning of painting.”
Frederick chuckled darkly. “I am terribly sorry to disappoint you. But you may get your wish after all,” he said. “I am about to go back to my room. I have no intention of involving myself in such mindless frippery.”
“You think art is mindless frippery?” Veronica sounded suddenly fiery, catching him by surprise.
“Only when it is turned into a petty competition for the sake of finding me a wife.”
A tiny smile appeared in the corner of her lips. “Well. In that case, Your Grace, I have to say I agree. Wholeheartedly, in fact.”
For a moment, he held her gaze. Frederick had to admit, there had been a tiny part of him that had been disappointed to wake this morning and find her gone. A tiny part of him was pleased to see her again. He suddenly remembered himself and strode towards the door. “I shall leave your to your artwork,” he said. He pulled on the door. And found it locked. He whirled around to face Veronica. “What is this?”
“Don’t ask me,” she said defensively. “I stepped through those doors just minutes ago, and they were unlocked then. Someone must have locked us in.”
Frederick sighed heavily.Can this morning get any more frustrating?
