Page 7 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
The butler closed the door behind her, offering to take her cloak. Veronica relinquished it, feeling more vulnerable without her arms covered by the silk fabric, but it was improper otherwise.
Her satin slippers were silent on the oak flooring beneath her as she was taken through the main hall, and down another corridor beyond.
The doors were heavy wood, some adorned at the top of the doorway with gilded art or signs to indicate the room. Very few paintings lined the main hallway until the butler turned them onto another hall where several paintings were hung up. One man looked like the Duke did but was older. The butler caught her eye.
“There are not many paintings,” she noted.
The butler did not answer, only nodded at the one she had spotted. “The late Viscount Kemble, His Grace’s father.”
Viscount? Veronica thought.But he is a Duke.
She could smell a story, but it was not hers to find out, not yet. First, she needed to discover her brother’s whereabouts.
Knocking on the door, the butler walked in, leaving Veronica just out of sight.
“Lady Veronica Hartley is here, Your Grace.”
There was a low response that Veronica couldn’t catch before the butler walked back out to her and gestured for her to enter. Once she did, he moved behind her, awaiting his dismissal.
“You can leave, Pennington.” The Duke’s voice was a deep rasp, commanding without ever shouting. The butler inclined his head and left, closing the door behind him.
And it was like all the air had swept from the room, and Veronica could only look upon the man sat behind the impressive writing desk.
He lounged casually, assuredly, but he did not look unkempt in the stance. His eyes were on hers, silently assessing her as she did him.
The Duke of Westley was handsome, and Veronica was quite surprised. She had seen him in passing at other parties since her debut but never so close up and never so intimately.
Black hair was coiffed back from his forehead, more as if he had run fingers through it rather than styled it so. It curled around his ears and brushed his neck, not unruly but not the uptight, severe haircut other gentlemen maintained. The length was thick and beautiful, and Veronica had the strangest notion to run her hands through it, too.
Her eyes traveled down his pale face to the strong mouth that pulled in amusement the longer she looked at him. Brown eyes, the color of her own but deeper and darker, somehow,watched her. Dark lashes framed them, blinking slowly, clearly impatient.
Veronica lifted her chin and took a step forward, but he held up a finger.
“I did not say to come closer, Lady Veronica,” he told her.
AndHeavens, that voice…
It rumbled through her very being, and she swallowed.
The gossip sheets were quite right. He did indeed have a torrent of icicles around him.
She dared to take another step and was rewarded with a look of curiosity from the Duke.
His head tilted, as if he questioned that shetrulydared to disobey him, and he was curiously amused, hiding the true insult beneath.
She had never properly been introduced to the Duke of Westley before, and now, she was glad, for he took up presence in every corner of the room.
Dressed in a black suit jacket that covered a well-fitted waistcoat beneath that was so dark blue it was almost black as well, the Duke cut an imposing figure.
He was intimidating, and yet, Veronica could not help another step forward, allured.
And he watched her just as intently, the room filling with their silence.
“I believe that is quite enough proximity, Lady Veronica,” he told her.
He pulled out a pocket watch, glanced at it, and those dangerous eyes cut back to hers. “You have five minutes of my time.”
He waved his hand, lifting a thick brow, a gesture for her to begin.
