Page 53 of Married to a Wicked Duke
“That is how she died, isn’t it,” she murmured. “Your mother. She killed herself.”
Frederick’s chest heaved, his head still buried against his arm. Veronica knew her guess was correct. She pulled her hand away and sat on the floor a few yards from his feet, a gesture to let him know she would not push him for answers.
After several moments, Frederick turned and looked down at her. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, his chest still heaving with emotion. After a moment, he nodded.
Veronica let out her breath. “Frederick. I am so sorry. I had no idea.” She let the silence linger for a few moments, then asked gently, “Will you tell me what happened?”
Frederick looked into her eyes for a long time, and Veronica could practically see the indecision whirring behind them. This was clearly something he never spoke of; something he never chose to share. Veronica did not speak. She would not push him. If he did not wish to tell her, then she would not pry.
After long, silent moments, he sat beside her, his back against the wall and his knees drawn upwards towards his chest. Veronica pressed a hand to his forearm and squeezed gently, silently encouraging him to speak.
“Mother was much younger than my father,” he began slowly. His voice was thin, trapped in his throat. It wavered with emotion. “And as Father grew older, he began to socialize less and less. Mother was very sociable and warm, and she was always out in the company of her friends.
“Then the rumors started. One after the other. Tall tales of the men she was having affairs with.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “At first, Mother tried to ignore them, but the rumors kept persisting. It seemed as though her name was appearing in the gossip pages every second day—and always in relation to a different man.”
Frederick sighed heavily. “She promised my father and me there was no truth to the rumors. And around me, she did her best to pretend they did not bother her. But I could tell they did. She started going out less and less. Started locking herself up in her studio for hours on end. Sometimes I don’t think she was even painting. She just went in there to escape the world.”
“One night, she left the house for the first time in weeks. She had been invited to attend the ball to celebrate the betrothal of her best friend’s daughter to the Marquess of Pinewood. Father refused to go with her.” Frederick lowered his head, hiding his eyes with his hands. “I accompanied her to the ball, but once I was there, I was so caught up in vying for the debutantes’ attention that I barely took notice of what Mother was doing, or how she was being treated.”
“The next morning, rumors were circulating that she had taken up with Lord Pinewood. The betrothal fell apart—as did my mother’s lifelong friendship with the mother of the Marquess’s wife-to-be.”
Veronica heard a murmur escape her. “That is dreadful,” she managed. She knew just how vicious thetoncould be when it came to spreading rumors. And she knew just how hurtful they could be to those on the receiving end of such falsities.
“That final rumor was too much for her,” Frederick murmured. “I found her later that week in her studio. She had used my father’s revolver.”
Veronica let out her breath. Impulsively, she threw her arms around him, and held him tightly. “I am so sorry,” she gushed. Frederick wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her shoulder. He stayed there for long moments, squeezing her tightly, as though she were a life raft that would keep him from drowning.
“I ought to have done more.” His words were muffled against Veronica’s shoulder. “I ought to have stood up for her. Defended her. Each time the rumors surfaced, I should have done all I could to see them quashed. But I just went on with my own life, thinking they would just blow over.” His voice wavered with emotion.
Veronica felt her own tears slipping down her cheeks. “You cannot blame yourself,” she said gently. “It was not your fault.” She knelt up, pressing her palm to his cheek and looking him in the eye. “Your mother would not want you to go through life blaming yourself. I know she wouldn’t.”
Frederick reached up and pressed his hand over hers. “I let her down, Veronica. I failed her.”
“No.” Veronica got to her feet suddenly, pulling him with her. “No, Frederick, you have done anything but that.” She began to walk through the gallery, her hand firmly intertwined with his. “Look at this place you are creating. You are bringing her dream to life. She would be so proud. And so grateful to you.” She smiled through her tears and turned to face him. “I hope you can see that.”
Frederick let out his breath and pulled Veronica into a firm embrace. Her head fit neatly beneath his chin, and she leaned against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. For a long time, he held her without speaking. Veronica began to feel a little of the tension draining from his body.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “I am sure it was not easy.”
Frederick took a step back and looked down at her, his eyes locked with hers. He traced his thumb across her cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Slowly, he lowered his lips to meet hers.
His kiss was nothing like she had experienced before. This time, it was gentle, tender. Loving, even. It made Veronica suddenly breathless. When he pulled away, she looked up at him, running her knuckles gently across his damp cheek. She felt overwhelmed with affection. With a need to take away his pain.
Before she could make sense of it, Frederick’s lips were on hers again. This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier, filled with need. Veronica felt her mouth open beneath his, her body’s instincts taking over.
Without breaking the kiss, Frederick walked her backwards so she was pressed up against the wall, standing between two of the landscape paintings they had commissioned together. His hand trailed down her face, down her neck, pausing at the base of her throat. He looked into her face, his eyes blazing with need.
“Veronica,” he murmured. “I know what I said about our marriage. About it being in name only. But I…” He swallowed. “Perhaps I was wrong. I… Will you…”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.” She pulled him into another kiss.
Frederick stepped away, and for one horrifying moment, Veronica was certain he had changed his mind. But he simply hurried down to the front door of the gallery and turned the key in the lock, closing the curtains on the way past the window to hide them from prying eyes.
Then he ran back up the stairs, closing the space between them. He reached for her hand, pulling her into him and kissing her slowly, deeply, until he drew a moan from deep within her.
He guided her to the couch they had set up in the discussion area and laid her down gently, his broad body covering hers. Supporting himself on his knees and forearms, Frederick leaned over her and kissed her hard. A heady mix of nerves and desire began to gather in her belly, heat pooling quickly between her legs. She could feel Frederick’s arousal pressing against her center, and she felt herself arch her back towards him.
Frederick slipped a hand beneath her skirts, sliding his rough palm up over her stockings, over her garter, finding the bare skin at the top of her thigh. His fingers moved in slow circles, causing murmurs of desire to escape Veronica’s lips.
