Page 13 of Married to a Wicked Duke
“Curtains?” he suggested. “Carpet?”
Veronica hurried towards the rug that lay in front of the unlit fireplace. She pulled it back to reveal a large brass key.
Almost simultaneously, they both let out a sigh of relief. Veronica held it up with a look of such gratitude in her eyes it was as though she had just unearthed the fountain of youth. She hurried towards the door and shoved it in the lock.
“Wait.” Before she could turn the handle, Frederick reached out and grabbed her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through his body that he did his best to ignore. “My Lady, I think it best that…” He glanced down, feeling oddly tongue-tied. “What just happened here…”
“Will never be spoken of again,” Veronica finished. She looked up at him with intense blue eyes. “Do not worry, Your Grace. I know it was a mistake. On both our parts. It should not have happened the first time. And it should not have happened a second.” She speared him with a look that felt suddenly cold. “And there is no way it will happen a third.”
ChapterSix
Veronica could not get out of the library quickly enough. Her heart was still thundering against her ribs, and every inch of her felt jittery. Hot. Out of control.
What in heaven’s name had she been thinking, kissing him like that? Because this time, she knew all too well, the kiss had not been one-sided like their encounter in the bedroom had been. No, this time, she had wanted it. Craved it. Had practically begged him with her eyes for it.
The feel of his lips against her own had been just as incredible as the first time. No, more so. This time… This time she had let it happen. Had let herself enjoy it. And enjoy it she had—far more than she knew she ought to. Her heart was racing, her breath was fast, and an indescribable ache was blooming between her legs. It was all so foreign and frightening. And yet somehow, it was also impossibly pleasant.
Pleasant, ha!If there was one thing that the Duke of Brownwood was not, it was pleasant. And yet she could not deny that she had seen a new side of him today in the library. A passion, a depth to him that she had not been aware of before. Something that drew her to him—however much she did not want it to.
She could hear his footsteps behind her as she made her way into the dining room to join the others. Slow and steady, deliberate in putting space between them. Her hand went back to her hair, feeling whether it was still out of place. No one could evereverknow what had just happened between her and the Duke. Again.
To Veronica’s relief, there were few people in the dining room when she arrived. She guessed most of the young couples were still scattered about the property, solving the puzzles the Dowager Duchess had given them. When Veronica stepped through the door, her grandmother and the Dowager Duchess turned in unison. Patch the dog leaped off the Dowager Marchioness’s lap and scurried towards Veronica. She bent to scratch his ears.
“You are finished already!” the Dowager Duchess said with a bright smile. She peered past Veronica into the hallway. “And where is my grandson? I hope he has not run off again.”
“I am right here, Grandmother.” Veronica took a step aside to allow the Duke to enter. “No need to send out the search party.” He looked down in disinterest as Patch sniffed his shoes.
The Dowager Duchess clapped her hands together. “Goodness, it took the two of you no time at all! How wonderful. You do seem to work very well together.”
Veronica glanced down, praying her cheeks did not look as red as they felt.
“I thought this was a painting competition,” the Duke said dryly.
“Yes, yes, all in good time, my dear,” said the Dowager Duchess, ignoring his saltiness. “Why not take your seats for morning tea? Although you may be waiting awhile, given you were the first pair to arrive.”
“Lady Veronica, dear,” said the Dowager Duchess gesturing to the top end of the table closest to the window, “perhaps you might like to sit here with His Grace and discuss—”
“Oh no, Your Grace, thank you,” Veronica blustered, painfully aware she had spoken too quickly. And probably too loudly. “I couldn’t. I shall sit with my grandmother and father.”
“If he bothers to show himself,” she heard her grandmother mutter. Veronica turned to give her a warning look.
The Dowager Duchess’s eyes darted between Veronica and the Duke, almost as though she was debating whether to insist on these ridiculous seating arrangements. What on earth was she thinking, offering the Earl of Volk’s daughter pride of place beside the Duke of Brownwood?
The racing of her heart went up another notch. But Veronica had to admit that these nerves were not entirely unpleasant. She could not deny there was something utterly intoxicating about these new feelings the Duke had stirred up within her. Could not deny there was a part of herself that very much wanted to explore them further.
But of course, those feelings, and those dizzying sensations, did not matter. Not one scrap. No matter how he made her body feel, the Duke of Brownwood was bitter and sharp-tongued. Sometimes even downright cruel. And those were the last traits she wished for in a husband.
Veronica hurried her grandmother into a seat towards the back of the room and sat beside her before anyone could protest. The Dowager Marchioness whistled for the dog and he scampered across the room and bounded into her lap.
A few other pairs were dribbling into the dining room now, each being greeted overenthusiastically by the Dowager Duchess. The Duke had taken his seat at the head of the table, no doubt deciding that his grandmother would tear him to pieces if he dared to miss another meal. Veronica watched out of the corner of her eye as he nodded his thanks to the footman who filled his teacup. He brought the cup to his lips and took a slow sip. He kept his eyes down, as though deliberately avoiding making eye contact with any of the guests.
Feeling secure in her ability to observe him—just for the briefest,briefest, second—without anyone noticing, Veronica turned his way. And as she watched him, with his head down and his broad shoulders hunching forward as though he were closing in on himself, she felt overcome with an emotion that was not anger, or frustration, but almost overwhelming empathy. Because she could practically see the weight of the Duke of Brownwood's sadness hanging on his shoulders. It seemed to hover over him like a storm cloud, dark and unyielding. What must it be like, she wondered, to live in such a state?
Veronica had had her share of unhappiness, certainly. Life with her drunken father had not been easy, especially after her mother’s passing. But she had always prided herself on being optimistic. Trying to find the positive in every situation.
Sunshine, a kind boy had called her once. And that was how her family still referred to her. The ray of sunshine in their difficult lives. Veronica knew it was her optimism that had allowed her to get through the challenges life threw at her. How awful it must feel to live without such a belief. How difficult it must be to live inside the Duke of Brownwood's head.
The Duke looked up suddenly and caught her staring. Veronica turned away in horror. Was very pleased to see the footman had filled her teacup. She picked up the cup and gulped down a large sip, burning her tongue in the process.
