Page 23 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Veronica swallowed heavily, her heart knocking hard against her ribs. “I fell,” she said again, short of anything else to say. Her cheeks were burning with shame.
“Well, Your Grace,” said the Dowager Marchioness, “now you have debased my granddaughter in such a way, I assume you will be marrying her?”
Veronica’s stomach dived. “No, Grandmother,” she said desperately, “there’s no need for that. Really. Nothing happened. What you saw was—”
“Quiet, Veronica.”
She fell to silence, her eyes on her feet and her heart thumping hard. She could not bring herself to look at the Duke.
Surely he will put this right. He will explain everything. Explain that we were…What? She had fallen, yes, but she knew that was no excuse for the compromising position their grandmothers had found them in. A compromising position she had been more than willing to entertain…
“Well, Your Grace?” the Dowager Marchioness pushed. “I am waiting for an answer. Are you going be a decent man and preserve my granddaughter’s honor by becoming her husband?”
Veronica dared a tiny glance at him. He was standing a safe few feet away from her now, his hands folded tightly behind his back. His jaw was clenched and she could see the faint tremor there. He closed his eyes for a moment. But he said, “Yes, My Lady. Of course.”
“No,” Veronica gushed. “No. Please, Grandmother, this is all just a misunderstanding.” She could feel tears welling up behind her eyes. Could feel a sense of dread pressing down upon her.
I cannot marry the Duke. The only thing I have ever wanted is a husband who will love me for who I am…
And in spite of theircompromising situation, she knew the Duke of Brownwood was not that man. He was cold and self-centered, and far too rigid to ever love anyone.
“Please, Grandmother,” she begged, her voice low, “you and Her Grace are the only ones who saw this happen. No one else needs to know.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Grandmother, you know our family will not survive another scandal.” Her voice wavered. “We will be—”
“Calm yourself, My Lady,” the Dowager Duchess spoke up. “There will be no scandal.”
Veronica frowned. “What do you mean?”
The Dowager Duchess looked between Veronica and her grandson, a look of faint satisfaction on her face. “We shall announce your betrothal to the gathering this evening. His Grace will tell everyone that the fireworks were a surprise for you, to mark your engagement.” She looked pointedly at the Duke. “He will tell everyone how much he is looking forward to becoming your husband.” She smiled slyly. “Is that not right, my dear?”
The Duke swallowed visibly. “As you wish, Grandmother.” His eyes were down, deliberate in not looking Veronica’s way.
The Dowager Marchioness caught her friend’s eye and smiled. “Very good,” she said. “Then let us go back to the marquee and tell everyone the happy news.”
* * *
Frederick felt as though he were trapped in a dream he could not wake from.
No, not just a dream—a nightmare.
He had never wanted a wife, and now here he was being forced to the altar because of one foolish mistake.
He had to admit, it had not felt like a mistake at the time. Nor had he been able to stop himself from doing what he had. At the feel of Lady Veronica’s body so close to his, he had felt himself drawn to her almost magnetically. The need to touch her again had been almost overwhelming.
But none of that meant he wished to make her his wife!
With a wife in tow, he would never again have the kind of solitude he relished. Or rather, needed. Sharing Brownwood Manor with his grandmother was trying enough; he could barely fathom the thought of trying to dodge yet another woman in his life asking after him, trying to coax him from his rooms, doing her best to fix him.
Even if that woman was Veronica Caster.
Frederick realized he and Veronica had not spoken a single word to each other since they had been so briskly wrangled into this betrothal. He glanced at her as her grandmother marched them up the garden towards the marquee like prisoners on their way to the scaffold. As for his own grandmother, she was herding all her guests back into the tent with a slightly deranged enthusiasm.
Frederick took a step towards Veronica. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Veronica did not speak at once, did not even look at him. “I’m sorry too,” she said finally. “It was as much my fault as yours.” She wiped hurriedly at her tears.
Something tugged at Frederick’s chest. He could not bear the thought of causing her pain. Though he supposed it was already far too late for that. “For what it is worth,” he said carefully, “you shall want for nothing as my wife. I will see to it that you are well taken care of.”
At his stiff and formal words, Veronica looked up and gave him a ghost of a smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. I know you would do no different.” She blinked away a fresh rush of tears. “This just was not the way I wished to find myself a husband. This was not the kind of marriage I had hoped for.”
