Page 11 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #2)

Chapter Eleven

“ T hat woman,” Henry growled, waking up in his bedroom after more frustrating dreams.

It had been a few days since he had given into his desire and kissed her.

She had clouded his mind ever since, centered every thought around herself, wrapped herself so securely in his head that he could not think of anything else.

Beneath the sheets, he moved a hand down towards where he had awoken, aching. But he stopped, closing his fingers into a fist. He thought of her soft, plush mouth beneath his, how he had tasted the gasp, and that quiet noise of desire. What other noises might she make?

He resisted the urge to take himself in his hand again.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, shoving himself out of bed. “She irks me. That is all.”

And yet, when he had pushed her back into that chair, she had arched for him, as if…

As if she had liked the rough push.

Henry shoved a hand through his hair and sighed, standing up and reaching for the jacket, breeches, shirt, and waistcoat that had been left out the night before.

He had needed things so prepared lately, for his mind certainly had not been on the right things. No, they drifted to a dark-haired beauty who was now his Duchess.

A disobedient one at that.

The thought had him snarling again as he knotted his cravat angrily and stalked from his bedroom, down the hallway, intent on losing himself in his work again.

As he entered the study, he paused, looking around.

Indeed, it was full of his late uncle’s taste, and he did miss the dark comfort of his Turner Hall study. He tried to keep his thoughts on that instead of Veronica, and he hunkered down at his desk, pulling a stack of ledgers towards him. There was rent to iron out for the villagers, livestock to take note of, letters to write, and business meetings to arrange.

“That is where my focus should be,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not on an insolent woman whose tongue is as sharp as her wit.”

But that thought only led him to think of what else her tongue might do, and he groaned, dropping his head into his palm. The thoughts only grew worse when, as the day wore on, he heard Veronica’s voice drifting through the house. Even with his door closed, he heard her bright voice, always dripping with optimism.

He despised it.

“And I should think we can make a start on the Duke’s study once he has finished his work,” her voice came through the open door.

He had never had to close his study before. He should not have to now simply because his wife did not know to stay away.

He had told her to stay out of his work and business.

So why did her face appear in the doorway, followed by Mr. Worthington once again?

For a second, their gazes locked across his study.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the Duchess said.

“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 another neoclassical room 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 silent no .

He glowered at the man before sitting back down. Henry joined him, loosening his cravat.

“Even in the most joyous of times, you will not permit me anywhere near you.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “I do not envision your marriage being consummated with such a demeanor.”

Henry shot him a warning glare. “Do not speak of my marriage.”

“But I am ever so curious.” Thomas flagged down a barmaid, eyeing up her generous, bursting chest pressing against her dress.

It is no sunlit display , Henry thought, thinking only of Veronica—before he caught himself once again thinking such things.

“Four more pints, please.”

“What has possessed you?” Henry muttered. “God knows how many you have already been through.”

Thomas shot him an easy grin. “Last we left off, you were a grumpy old duke?—”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “ Old ?”

“Fine—just a grumpy duke. And now, you are married, a settled man with a beautiful duchess, I hear.”

“Settled,” he scoffed, looking away.

“Regardless, you are married, and the gossip sheets—yes, yes, I read them—said it would never happen. And it has! Surely that warrants a pint, does it not?”

Henry glowered at him again.

The inn’s noise swirled around him. As much as he liked his peace and solitude, he enjoyed the life in the Hoof’s Inn. Conversation rose, glasses clinked, and shouts across the bar should have rattled the windows.

“We are a far cry from the renowned gentlemen’s clubs, are we not?” Thomas asked, noting his focus on the room around them. “As a refined man myself, many would think I prefer those. However, village inns like these feel more intimate to me. Which is why I asked to meet here. If you were to glare at me for enquiring about your marriage, then at least I should have some comforts.”

“I am more interested in my own enquiries to you ,” Henry said. “What did you find out of the Earl of Grantham?”

Thomas waved him off right as their beers arrived. As much as Henry tolerated Thomas, called him a friend even, he couldn’t help his impatience at being dismissed.

Thomas hoisted a pint right over his head with enough gusto that it almost sloshed.

“It is always business first with you!” he crowed. “Pick up your pint and toast with me to your wife, Your Grace.”

Once again, Thomas only met Henry’s glare, and he did not pick up his pint yet, no matter how much he would be appreciative of it in that moment.

Perhaps the beer would chase Veronica from his mind.

“What?” Thomas asked. “Trouble in paradise, Your Grace?”

It was said with all the sarcasm that his friend constantly possessed. Until, at least, he would let Henry change the topic to business.

“All right, all right,” Thomas continued. “Let me at least take a sip first. I shall let your wife know when I meet her that you would not let me toast her.”

“You will not meet her,” he half growled.

They were married in name only. There was no need for procession and public pretense, he hoped. It was bad enough that he had needed witnesses. Of course, Thomas would know as his father, Mr. Shawcross, had been Henry’s own witness.

“All right, all right, I shall tell you what I know,” Thomas finally said. “It just so happens that when I was on my travels, oh, some weeks ago, I was looking for an old family heirloom of one of my father’s clients. They claimed it was with another family member who had moved to France. But when I arrived in the beautiful Paris, that family member said they had given it back a decade ago.

“Off I came back to England but …” Thomas paused, holding up a finger to take a long few swigs of his beer. “… when I sailed, my captain just so happened to have connections in the Ton. He had given up his title many years ago to travel across Europe. Anyway, he mentioned carrying an Englishman of noble birth to Europe as I believe was planned.”

Henry nodded, leaning in, interested.

“But the captain told me that that man was scheduled to return a week later after conducting business. However, the Englishman did not show up. On the port, the captain asked around. He had been paid handsomely, of course, so he did not want to risk leaving the port without the man. But after several hours, he still did not show, and the captain was forced to leave. Yet, he overheard that the Englishman was stranded on a Spanish island. To the captain, it was one more Englishman. He could find other travelers, so he paid it no mind.”

“And you think the Englishman could be Robert Hartley?” Henry asked.

“It is possible. The timeline fits, and you mentioned in your earlier report to my father and I that your business was only supposed to be conducted for a week. Yet it has been a year, and the Englishman did not show up for his boat journey back to England after that week.”

“ Stranded , though?” Henry muttered. “And on a Spanish island? He was conducting a meeting in Nanterre.”

“I know,” Thomas stressed. “But I have tried to follow up that business meeting. The Earl did show, but when I looked into his lodgings, he did not come back from that meeting.”

Henry frowned. The possibility of recovering both his business partner and freedom from a married life drained away very quickly. His guilt tried to eat at him—it had been the reason he’d offered Veronica the security that he had. After all, he had sent Robert out there in his place, insisting that he prove himself a loyal business partner. London had enough crooks.

And now…

“A Spanish island,” he mulled over. “What on Earth is he possibly doing in Spain?”

Thomas shot him an apologetic look. “I have not stopped looking for more clues. I have been searching since before your wedding, should the heir return to provide for his family. I do hope he has not fancied himself a Spanish holiday with a senorita .”

Henry glared hard at him. “He is not the type of man to abandon his family.”

“But for money?” Thomas asked. “You did mention he chased money to prove himself responsible and able to provide.”

“Just…” Henry paused, shaking his head. “Keep following that lead, yes?”

“Very well.” Thomas finished one of his pints and started on his second. Henry took another sip of his first beer. “Now it is my turn to question you, I believe.”

“No.”

“Oh, but I must!”

“No.”

“What is she like, the Duchess of Westley? Is she as beautiful as the Ton says? An angel sent from God himself?”

“Thomas,” Henry warned.

“Does she set your loins alight with passion?—”

“ Stop ,” he growled. “It was a marriage of convenience. I proposed only out of duty. It is my fault that her brother is not there to provide. She was… tangled in an unfortunate situation, so I offered my assistance. I do not love her. I am not attracted to her. It is simply to provide for her.”

And yet as his insistence of not being attracted to her left his mouth, Henry thought of how he had kissed her. How he had pushed her into that chair, and his thoughts had raced to wondering how she felt beneath her skirt.

How he had let his eyes track over her chest and neck earlier that day.

He shook himself off and polished off his drink.

“It sounds as though your wife has rather unnerved you.” Thomas grinned, all jovial again.

Henry sent him a scathing look.

Thomas simply laughed and patted him on the back, but Henry flinched back, giving another glare.

“My friend, you need a way to vent,” Thomas spoke up. “It is clear to me that you have a lot on your mind. So, either turn to alcohol and finish those beers I so generously bought you, or lie with a working lady of the inn.”

Henry just sipped at his drink, ignoring Thomas, but the other man simply laughed.

“Well, if you will not enjoy your time with a lady, then I shall once we are done here.”

Henry drank faster.