Page 35 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Veronica walked slowly back and forth across the room, examining the paintings. After some time, she had narrowed her selection down to her four favorites. “What do you think?” she asked.
The Duke nodded slowly. “I trust your judgment. I shall write to these artists tonight. Let them know we wish to commission new pieces for the grand opening.”
“We?” Veronica repeated, suddenly shy again. “You will tell them I am involved?”
“Of course.” He sounded surprised at the question.
Veronica smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace. That means a lot.” She held his gaze for a brief second—the moment interrupted when her stomach grumbled loudly. Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Pardon me. Perhaps missing lunch was not the best idea.”
He chuckled. “I shall have some food brought up to you. Would you like it brought to your studio?”
Veronica felt something sink inside her. Her blindly optimistic side had hoped they might eat together in the dining room and continue to discuss their plans for the gallery. But it seemed there were limits to how much of her company her husband could endure. She forced a smile. “Yes, thank you. My studio will be just fine.” If nothing else, it would give her the chance to think about the pieces she would create for the gallery.
The Duke nodded and turned to leave. “Your Grace,” Veronica blurted, “there is something I need to ask.” At her words, she saw a look of hardness fall across her husband’s face, as though he was steeling himself against whatever was about to come out of her mouth. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. Veronica knew there was every chance her question would lead the Duke to close down and turn on her, as he had done when she had asked if they were to share a bed. But she needed an answer. Needed to know a little of what was going on inside his head. Needed to understand.
She drew in a deep breath. “At your grandmother’s party,” she began carefully, “you had no qualms about kissing me. On more than one occasion.” Speaking the words made her cheeks hot, but she pushed on determinedly. “I was under the impression that you…”desired me. The statement felt too bold, and she could not bring herself to say it. “…found me somewhat appealing,” she managed. “And yet you wish for us to be husband and wife in no more than name.” She looked up at him, her heart knocking hard. “I am sorry to press the issue. But I feel I deserve an explanation.”
She held her breath, waiting for her husband to fly into a rage. But he just dropped his head and sighed. “Yes,” he said finally. “Of course you do.” He sank into the armchair in the corner of the room and rubbed his shaven jaw.
Veronica perched on the edge of the rickety chair beside the easel, waiting patiently for him to speak.
“I do find you appealing,” he said. “Very much so. I know there is no point in denying that. To you or to myself. But I…” He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. “I regret that I allowed myself to act upon those feelings in Cambridge. I did so thoughtlessly. And I would not have done so had I known you were to become my wife.”
“Why not?”
He sighed heavily. “Because I can never offer you more than physical attention,” he said. “I am not…” He frowned in hesitation. “I am not a kind man.”
“That is not true,” said Veronica gently. “You have plenty of kindness inside you. I have seen that side of you on more than one occasion. You hide it well, but I know it is there.” She smiled. “No man would have given his wife such a magnificent studio if he did not have kindness inside him.”
He did not speak at once, just fixed his gaze on the row of paintings. His gray eyes were glazed, over as though he was looking beyond the canvases. “Please trust me on this,” he said. “It is better this way. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. And I fear that if I allow myself to grow close to you, that is what I will end up doing.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I know this was not the life you wished for. I know I’m not the kind of husband you wished for. But I am afraid this is all I can offer.”
Veronica nodded wordlessly. It was not the answer she had hoped for, that was true, but it was an answer, nonetheless. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured. “I appreciate your honesty.”
He looked up to meet her eyes. His hands were tightly clasped in his lap, almost as though he were trying to prevent himself from reaching for her. “Frederick,” he said. “I may be your husband in name only, but surely we have no need for such formality.”
Veronica nodded.
“And I hope we can continue to work together on the gallery, and create something we can both be proud of.”
Veronica stood and smoothed her skirts. “I would like that very much,” she said, doing her best to ignore the voice inside her head that whispered that such a thing would never be enough.
ChapterFourteen
Frederick rinsed his paintbrush in solvent and sank wearily into the armchair. He had been tucked away in his studio for hours, and he had barely anything to show for it. In truth, he had spent far more time staring out the window into the dark courtyard, than he had working on the portrait of his mother.
His head was full of Veronica, his mind a tangle of conflicting thoughts.
He had told her on more than one occasion that theirs would never be a marriage in more than name. And each time he had spoken those words, he had meant them wholeheartedly.
So why can I think of nothing beyond how it would feel to hold her in my arms?
It had been three days since he had invited her to work with him on the gallery. He and Veronica had begun taking their meals together—much to the relief of his grandmother—and their discussions about the gallery left him filled with inspiration.
Frederick had already heard back from several of the artists he had contacted, expressing their gratitude and excitement at the commissions he was offering. He knew he ought to feel excited. But he felt restless. On edge.
Perhaps I have lost the ability to feel excited. Perhaps that part of me died along with my mother.
The moment the thought came to him, he dismissed it as rubbish. What point was there in lying to himself? He knew exactly what was causing his restlessness, and it was nothing to do with an inability to feel excited. It was the thought of his beautiful wife upstairs, and his blinding need to kiss her again. To feel her.
