Page 82 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
“Will you tell me in great detail?” she whispered, her brow raising.
“I will,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth, “if you shall indulge those thoughts and make them a real thing.”
“That depends on what I am to do.”
“I only ever ask for your willing submission,” he told her. “That is all.”
“And you have it,” she told him. “So, tell me what you think about when you lie alone in your chamber—seeing as you refuse to sleep in mine or let me be in yours.” Pressing herself closer to him, Veronica swayed against his body. “What do you think about when you take yourself in hand, wishing it me that was encasing you?”
Henry sharply inhaled. “Do not taunt me here.”
“As you did to me in the hallway?”
“I will not hold back in here,” he warned. “We will not be interrupted.”
Veronica only gave him a challenging stare, as if to saywell, then?
Her husband’s mouth slotted over hers with a groan, as if he was tired of holding himself back. He hoisted her up to sit her up on the pianoforte. He stood between her legs, and she wrapped her thighs around his waist. His hands grappled with her dress, pulling her skirt up higher and higher?—
Suddenly, the door opened, slamming against the wall. Veronica cried out and looked at the person who had interrupted them so loudly, and her jaw dropped.
“You! Get off my sister!”
Henry jerked back, away from Veronica, who hastily clambered off the pianoforte, her heart hammering in her chest as she gaped at the man who entered the music room.
It was herbrother.
Robert Hartley, the Earl of Grantham stood in the doorway, and Veronica nearly fainted right there on the spot. She clung to the surface of the instrument, her mouth moving around words she could not find.
For her brother stood there, face contorted with anger. He had no jacket on, his shirt was askew, and his face was almost gaunt yet tanned. His hair was longer than she remembered, slick with oil, and she took him in.
A gasp fell from her lips.
“Robert,” she whispered.
“I am sorry, Henry!” Thomas cried, appearing behind Robert, flushed and out of breath. “I tried to stop him, but he tackled me outside the house.”
“Imbecile,” Robert snarled over his shoulder before he thundered further into the room. He jabbed a finger at Henry. “I have searched for a way back home for a year, only to do exactly that and findyou—find you—compromising my sister? Get away from her.”
“Lord Grantham.” Henry’s voice was calming, as if speaking to a spooked animal. “Calm down.”
“How dare you—” Robert cut himself off with a shout as he stormed towards Henry, charging at him before he launched a punch that knocked both men to the ground. “That is my sister!”
Veronica gasped again, leaping backwards. Henry could easily overpower her brother, especially as Robert had grown thinner and visibly weaker, but he did not. He only defended himself.
“Lord Grantham!” Henry shouted. “Compose yourself immediately!”
“I willnot!” he yelled. “I trusted you!” The words spat, seething. “Westley, you worthless, sniveling, backbiter!”
He threw another punch, but this time, it was Henry who gained the upper hand by catching Robert’s fist.
“Stop it!” Veronica cried. “Mr. Shawcross, do something!”
He launched into action, having watched the fight unfold in a state of shock. He lunged forward as Veronica stepped back. Fists flew, and she heard the land of knuckles against flesh. Robert pounded Henry, grabbing his shirt and wrenching him back to their feet. They stumbled, and Henry rolled his neck.
“Do not fight me, Robert,” he warned. “We both know I am stronger.”
“And I am angrier,” Robert spat, throwing a wild punch.
