Page 32 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
“Good day, Your Grace,” Mr. Worthington greeted, bowing. “I do not wish to disturb your work. Her Grace was only showing me the next part in her plans to refurnish Westley Manor.”
“Good morning,” Henry answered flatly, his eyes landing on the Duchess.
Veronica did not look away from him even as she continued speaking to the furniture maker. “I am hoping to furnish it as His Grace’s study looks in Turner Hall.”
How does she know to do that? the Duke thought.
He was surprised that it wouldn’t be turned into anotherneoclassicalroom for her delight.
“Leave my study,” he warned.
She held his stare, a small, challenging smile growing on her lips before she composed herself.
“Let us check on the library.” She turned away from Henry. “How is the reading couch coming along?”
“Very well, Your Grace, progress shall…”
Their voices drifted away, down the hallway.
Henry truly, truly needed to remind his wife what obedience meant.
By the time a knock came on the door, he was at the end of his tether.
“What?” he snapped, looking up, expecting to find the Duchess.
It was simply a footman with a note for him placed on a silver platter. Silently, he walked in and offered the note. Henry snatched it off, dismissing him.
His head spun. He had been reading and writing all day, but he forced himself to focus on the note.
It was script he knew well.
Westley,
Do remove yourself from your work for an hour and join me for a drink. I have arrived in the village today and request your presence. I shall be at the Hoof’s Inn at the bar.
—Thomas.
Henry stood from his desk and discarded the note, walking out of his study, closing the door behind him. He could only hope the Duchess would not be as foolish as to change it while he was not present.
As he passed one of the footmen, he gave the instruction to have a horse readied for him. The footman hurried off, and Henry continued his way down the hall.
Once again, he heard the Duchess’s voice and followed it to the library.
While the room itself was, like the others, undergoing her new ideas, Veronica was at the window, arranging flowers in a vase. At her side was a maid, who was pointing and murmuring ideas.
With Veronica by the window, the sun slanted in, sending a golden flush across her chest. The beading on her dress caught the light, and he swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away from the decadent display. Her skin, glowing in the gold, made him crave her carnally.
Made him want to bury his teeth in her and possess her.
A floorboard creaked beneath Henry’s boot, and Veronica looked up catching him.
Her blue eyes bore into his. Her mouth opened, as if to speak, but Henry walked away before she could have the chance.
“Well, this is a lovely establishment,” Thomas said as soon as Henry walked in and approached him. “It is good to see you, Westley.”
He stood up from his half-empty pint of beer and opened his arms to embrace Henry, who held up a hand—a silentno.
He glowered at the man before sitting back down. Henry joined him, loosening his cravat.
