Page 89 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke
Veronica could feel her husband’s eyes on her, even as she scolded her older brother. It was not respectful, she knew, but her mother had sold herself to Lord Barwicke due to Robert’s lack of thought. He had chased financial desperation before family honor, and that had caused damage.
“I plan to return to London and resume the proper duties of my title,” Robert told her seriously. “In fact, I have already written to our mother to inform her that I shall visit her once I have rested for a day or so.”
“You may take more time than that,” Veronica told him, frowning.
Robert shook his head. “No, Veronica, I have imposed on you enough. Your hospitality so far has been everything I could have hoped for, and I will not overstay any welcome.”
His eyes flitted to the Duke for a brief moment before returning to her.
Bathed and groomed, her brother finally looked like the man who had left London all those months ago, not the rough, rugged man who had burst into the music room like a wild man on the loose.
“I am sorry I failed you.”
“It is not your fault,” she told him, offering him a kind smile. “We—Henry and I—shall help you reenter society. Will we not?”
She turned to Henry, who nodded, despite his anger and harder remarks about her brother’s tale.
“We shall,” he said. “I shall endorse you.”
“Your Grace?—”
Henry lifted his chin, his jaw tight. “You may call me Henry still.”
Robert blinked at him, as if uncertain to the Duke’s honesty. Did he truly think himself so unworthy of forgiveness? Veronica brightened the silence with a tinkle of her fork against her glass.
“Then a toast,” she suggested. “To the return of the Earl of Grantham.”
“To the Earl of Grantham,” Thomas and Henry echoed, and Robert looked at his sister gratefully as they all drank.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Veronica went to her husband’s room, as he requested, and lingered once again in the doorway. He was half naked, sprawled in bed, his gaze already on her.
One of his bare legs was uncovered, and she wet her lips at the sight of how much bulk he carried. She longed to have her thighs either side of one of his, enjoying how the muscle felt sliding between her legs, grinding against her heat.
“Husband,” she said, cocking her head.
“Wife.”
The word rang through her, grounding her in his possession. Once she would have despised it, but now, Veronica feltkept—wanted. She draped her leg forward, tucking it around the doorway, letting the slit in her robe expose what he wanted to see.
“Loosen the robe,” he told her.
Those familiar nerves fluttered through her as her fingers went to the belt, and she loosened it, letting it billow open around her breasts. They spilled out, hanging within the silk, not quite visible yet in full but not closed off from him.
“Come.” Henry raised his hand, flicking his fingers in a beckoning motion.
His eyes bore into her. The way he could command her without any words made her shiver as she stalked forward, closing the door behind her.
The Duke sat up higher in bed, his eyes raking over her, from her unbound hair, falling in loose waves around her shoulders, to her chest, to the glimpses of thigh he got as she walked. When she reached his side, he hummed, assessing her.
“I do not know if I wish to see how you ride me,” he said, “or if I wish to see you going to your knees.”
Veronica’s stomach tightened as she considered the options too. Her core ached at both, knowing that even if she pleased him, she would still find release. Her eyes dragged up his muscled upper body, every inch of him exposed to her. She longed to lick her way along every ridge and groove of his muscles until she let him devour her mouth.
“Veronica.”
Her name came, sharp as a whip, and she snapped back to attention.
