Page 7 of Married to a Wicked Duke
But he knew he could do no such thing. He had already crossed a line he ought never to have crossed. And now that he and Veronica Caster were trapped in here like wild animals in a cage, that line was so far behind him he could no longer even see it.
“Cribbage?” he asked. “I’ve no board, but I think there’s a pencil and paper in the drawer.”
Lady Veronica nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. Frederick delved into the drawer for the promised writing implements, then began to deal. Veronica scooped up her cards and peered down at them, doing her best to avoid looking at him.
“You begin,” said Frederick.
She chose her cards to discard and tossed them onto the bed between them, not saying a word. Not even looking at him.
Was it going to be like this, then? Was she going to sit in silence until the hallways grew silent again and she could escape to the sanctuary of her guest room—her real guest room? Perhaps she was worried about the people in the hallways hearing her voice. Not that that was an issue through these thick stone walls and doors that would withstand a small army. Perhaps she simply wanted nothing to do with him. It certainly would not be the first time his brusqueness had caused such a reaction. But the kiss…
Stop!Frederick forced the memory away. The kiss meant nothing. Not a thing.
He reached beneath the bed to produce the bottle of brandy and a single glass he had stowed up here earlier. He uncorked the bottle and sat it on the side table. He filled the glass to the top, took a sip, and then handed it to Lady Veronica.
“Here. I only have one glass, I’m afraid. We’ll have to share.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And what makes you think I wish to drink with you, Your Grace?”
He shrugged. “Do as you wish. You look rather on edge, that is all. Might help to calm you.” He took another mouthful. Sat the glass on the side table within reach of Lady Veronica, in case she changed her mind.
Frederick chose his cards to discard and tossed them onto the pile between them.
“We are missing dinner,” said Veronica tersely.
“Yes. Don’t worry yourself over it. You can just tell your grandmother you slept through it. And no one will be surprised not to see me there.”
Veronica raised her eyebrows; the first hint of expression he had seen from her since they had sat down to play. “Why will no one be surprised? It seems half thetonhas come here today to be in your company.”
Frederick smiled wryly. She was right, of course. But that still did not mean his absence would raise eyebrows. “I do not have a reputation as the most sociable of men,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on his cards.
“I cannot say I’m surprised at that.” Veronica looked up, and Frederick felt his eyes drawn toward hers. “They say you can be something of a recluse.”
Interesting.Frederick had never heard himself described in such a way. He supposed he had become something of a recluse over the past six years. As well as something of a bastard.
Why?” she asked. “Why must you be so closed off and bitter? Is it because you do not wish to marry?”
Frederick picked up the glass and took another large mouthful. He regretted raising the issue. Because the answer to that question was one he did not want to venture too close to. It was not so much an aversion to marriage, as an aversion to all these mindless traditions and games thetonliked to play. Sometimes it felt like an aversion to life itself. Like there was not a single point to any of it, least of all to this foolish contest of matchmaking. What point was there in finding someone to spend your life with when it would only end in loss and heartbreak?
The truth was, he despised thetonwith every inch of his being. He despised their gossip, their lies, their inability to care about anything other than social climbing and lives filled with luxury. How he wished he were not a part of this foolish social construct. Frederick knew he would be far happier as a meager farmer or stable hand than as a Duke. At least then all these confounded debutantes would leave him the hell alone.
Sometimes, the depth of the despair and unhappiness inside him threatened to swallow him whole. He was not sure he could even put it into words if he tried. In any case, he had no intention of dragging bright and innocent Veronica Caster down into that hole.
He gave her a smile he knew did not reach his eyes. “Something like that,” he said. He held out the glass to her, and this time, Veronica took it. She took a delicate sip and passed the glass back to him.
Frederick found himself smiling—a genuine smile this time. “Take a little more than that. You hardly even wet your lips.”
And yes, he was looking at her lips again. Thinking of the feel of them beneath his own.
What is the matter with me?
Frederick shook his head, wrestling the thought away.
Veronica took another, larger mouthful, then set the glass back on the table. She examined her cards, a faint frown of concentration creasing the bridge of her nose.
Then she lifted her head. Listened for a moment. “The hallway is quiet,” she said. “I think everyone is downstairs.”
“It’s too late to go to dinner,” Frederick told her, leaning back against the bed head. “Turning up now will raise too many questions. And the maids will be up shortly to finish preparing the rooms. If you do not want them to see you, I suggest you stay put a little while longer.”
