Page 12 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Veronica blushed. “I am afraid they are really nothing special, Your Grace.”
Almost involuntarily, Frederick took a step towards her. “I am sure they are much better than you believe them to be. I can hear how passionate you are about your art just by hearing you speak of it.”
Veronica smiled shyly. “The landscapes in the entrance hall are beautiful,” she said. “Do you know who the artist was?”
“My mother painted those,” said Frederick, feeling a tug in his chest. “She was very talented.”
Veronica’s smile widened. “Your mother painted them? Goodness. You are right, she was extremely talented.” She caught his eye. “Your mother passed several years ago, I believe?”
She spoke evenly, almost lightly, and Frederick could tell she did not know the horrifying details of his mother’s death. Not that he was surprised at such a thing; he had kept the truth hidden from as many people as possible. These days, most of thetonbelieved the late Duchess of Brownwood had simply died from an unfortunate illness. And that was how he intended to keep things.
“She passed six years ago,” Frederick told Veronica. “And my father not long after.” He kept his voice deliberately measured and level. Expressionless. Even after so long, it was the only way he could speak of his mother without being overwhelmed by grief.
“I am terribly sorry,” said Veronica. “That must have been awfully difficult.”
You have no idea, Frederick wanted to say. But instead, he just nodded towards the bookshelf. “Come on. Let’s continue searching. Otherwise, we shall miss lunch and we’ll be berated for missing yet another meal.”
Veronica nodded and returned to the bookshelf. She began pulling volumes from the shelf again and sifting through the pages. “Here’s another letter,” she announced, setting it on the table with the others. “There is a pattern here, you know,” she said. “Look. All the books with clues in them are about art.”
She was right, Frederick realized. He went back to the shelf and began to search through his grandmother’s collection for more books on the topic. Some of these, he felt certain, had belonged to his mother.
“What about yourself, Your Grace?” Veronica asked as she searched. “Did your mother ever teach you to paint?”
“Yes,” said Frederick. “A little.”
Veronica looked up at him with a smile. “How wonderful. What do you paint?”
“Portraits, mainly,” said Frederick. His voice was clipped, and he had to stop himself from speaking further. He knew that if he began to speak at length on the subject, his thoughts and his passion would run away with him, just like Lady Veronica’s had. He had no intention of being so open with anyone, least of all a young debutante he had only just met.
Never mind that there was a big part of him that wanted very much to do so. That part of him would just have to be ignored. He would tuck it away in the far reaches of his mind—along with the part of him that very much wanted to kiss Lady Veronica again.
Heaven and hell, if I do not get out of this room soon…
Frederick did not even dare finish the thought out of fear of where it might lead.
“Portraits,” Lady Veronica said brightly. “How wonderful.” Her smile made something warm in Frederick’s chest. “I have tried painting portraits in the past, but I am afraid they left much to be desired. I painted my younger sister Jane once, and even though I made sure every inch of her face was accurate and true to life, it still came out looking like someone else.”
Frederick nodded. “There is far more to painting portraits than merely capturing a person’s physical appearance. That is a big part of it, of course. But it is more about looking into their personality. Putting a piece of their soul upon the canvas.”
He only realized he had taken another step towards her when he caught another waft of her lavender scent. They were close now—dangerously close. Frederick could see the shards of green in her blue eyes, could see the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose. As she spoke with passion, a strand of dark hair had fallen over her cheek, and it took all Frederick’s willpower not to reach out and touch it.
Veronica swallowed visibly. “Looking into their personality,” she repeated. “Yes. That makes sense. But very difficult to do, I imagine.”
“Yes.”
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Her chest was heaving, Frederick realized, the alluring swell of her breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath her plain yellow day dress. Her lips parted slightly, and suddenly all he could see in her face was a blatant look of desire.
Before he could stop himself, his lips found hers. This time, she did not pull away as she had done in the bedroom but rather pressed her body against his. Opened her mouth, letting his tongue slide over her lips. Frederick dug a hand into her hair to keep her close as he deepened the kiss. The faintest of moans escaped her lips and it shot a frisson of need down into his groin.
He broke the kiss and stepped back hurriedly.What in hell are you doing?
“Forgive me,” he mumbled. “That was… foolish.”
Veronica lowered her eyes and began to fumble with her hairpins in an attempt to fix her ruffled hair. Her cheeks were blazing, her lips reddened from his kiss. She hurried back towards the table and began shuffling through the pieces of paper they had unearthed from within the books.
“We are still missing a few letters,” she garbled, “but I think… perhaps… uh… I think this word could be ‘under.’ And then something starting with ‘C’ perhaps?”
Frederick blinked hard, forcing himself to focus. Finding the damn key and getting the hell out of this room had just become a thousand times more pressing.
