Page 14 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #2)

Chapter Fourteen

“ I t feels so good to be doing this, does it not?” Veronica asked cheerfully, kneeling in the flowerbeds in the manor’s front garden.

It was not something they were accustomed to: the sight of a duchess hiking her dress up a little to kneel in the dry dirt with them, getting her hands dirty, but they let her do as she wished.

“I did this with my mama occasionally,” Veronica said, chattering to one of the maids who followed her, holding out pouches of seeds for her to plant.

There were two aisles of flower beds running up to the back entrance of the house, and Veronica felt as though they could do with some new life and color.

“You are very skilled, Your Grace,” the maid said, smiling. “I like the ones that will bloom pink.”

“Me too,” Veronica agreed. “Tulips are my favorite.”

“They will look stunning on a summer’s day.”

“And if I am to have my sitting area set up properly the way I envision, then the Duke and I shall have a beautiful view of the countryside in the background and the flowers right here.”

“Indeed,” the maid said, and they went further along with Veronica being handed the tools to dig her small holes for the seeds and then bury them in the compost. Within weeks, the plants would bloom, and indeed, she would have something beautiful to look upon.

“I suppose I should not really envision the Duke’s involvement in my relaxing out here,” she muttered to herself. “It is not likely he will sit with me in the evening or to break our fast.”

It was quite true. Ever since the day two weeks ago when his aunt had stayed overnight for her visit, he had once again avoided her. She had invited him several times to dine with her, but he had only given her a hard look before walking past her. The two had barely uttered two words.

“He shall not share a garden with me when he will barely share a greeting,” she sighed, standing up.

She felt flushed from the heat, swiping at her forehead. Despite wearing a bonnet, she was rather warm.

“Heavens, it is a very hot day.”

“I shall ensure there is lemonade, Your Grace.” The maid set down the pouch of seeds before scurrying off.

Veronica sighed, and her thoughts of how to approach the Duke, especially since their last encounter over dinner with his aunt, and Veronica learning what she had. It seemed to change a lot of things.

“I do not feel as angry as I once did,” she contemplated to herself. “Lady Sheridan is right. It is more understandable, even if I do not know the whole story.”

“Who are you talking to?” a male voice demanded from behind her. Veronica whirled around, her wide eyes landing on the Duke, who towered over her.

Her lips parted.

“I—Your Grace, I did not know you had returned.”

His hard gaze swept the garden, and he wrinkled his nose at disarray. “I have only just handed my horse to a stable hand. What are you doing with my garden?”

“ Our garden,” she corrected with a haughty smile. “And I am inviting some color into it.”

“There is color,” he said.

“Only green,” she countered. “The grass, the plants, the trees, and even the fields in the distance. But do not worry, Your Grace, all of this gardening has been done with minimal expense. I have even been doing some of the work myself.”

His jaw tightened as he loomed closer to her. Oh, how she had missed those brown eyes, even if they hardened on her now.

“This is yet another thing you neglected to consult me on, Duchess. First the manor and now the gardens. What else do you wish to change? The man who owns the estate?”

“You?” she whispered. “N-no, Your Grace. I would never?—”

“You should not be doing things without telling me!” he berated, anger flooding his voice as he paced back a few steps.

In his black jacket and shirt, a dark, silk waistcoat with golden threadwork, he looked as though he should swelter beneath the sun.

Somehow, while Veronica felt like a flushed mess, he looked masculine and handsomely disheveled. A bead of sweat slid down his temple as he brushed his hair back from his forehead.

Veronica swallowed, following the line of movement.

“Your Grace,” she whispered, “I… I am sorry.”

“You should take—Excuse me?”

He had been preparing for her counter argument, ready to continue arguing his own point without even listening to her, until he realized she had apologized rather than argued.

“I am sorry,” she repeated.

He blinked, stepping forward, as if he did not trust himself to have heard her correctly. “You are sorry?”

Veronica nodded. “Indeed. It is only that I noticed you have been busy meeting with your tenants these past weeks, and I wished not to bother you. However, I wanted you to have a beautiful countryside estate that felt like your own home. Lady Sheridan told me some of your favorite colors as a boy?—”

He scoffed. “I am not a boy who concerns himself with colors.”

“Nonetheless, I hoped some colors would cheer you up out here,” she said.

Almost nervously, she laughed as she gestured around her. “I thought… perhaps we could sit out here together on a hot day.”

“And talk?” he guessed, his tone sarcastic.

“Well, why not?” she asked kindly, cocking her head at him.

He sighed. “You could not keep up with the sort of things I talk about,” he replied.

She ignored the jab. “I thought I could do this alone,” she insisted, her patience wearing thin.

Nothing she did pleased him.

“Forgive me for wanting to offer something nice for you while you have been busy with your work.”

“I do not need nice,” he growled. “I need an estate that functions, and Westley Manor does just that. I endured the manor’s refurbishments with difficulty. Do not test my endurance, Duchess, or you shall regret it.”

“And why might I regret it?” she challenged, all element of apologies gone.

He had a past, yes, but that did not allow him to speak so harshly with her every time.

“I am your wife, and I live here. Am I not allowed to ask my own husband to dine with me? To sit with me? To pretend as though I do actually exist?”

“We are in an arrangement of convenience!” he shouted. “How clearer do I have to be?”

“I understand that,” she argued back, her hands balling at her sides as she got closer to him. “But when will you admit that you are simply a man who cannot handle not being in control?”

That brought him up short, and she knew she had guessed correctly. He leaned in close. “Do not overstep your place, Duchess.”

“And why not?” she whispered, looking up at him.

The last time they had argued so heatedly…

She swallowed, thinking about his clever tongue that could reduce her to being a flustered mess in more ways than one.

“What happens when His Grace loses control?” she asked.

Anger sparked in his gaze, and she felt her face warm up.

But it wasn’t simply due to the argument, no. Had the Duke gotten too close? She suddenly felt a sickly sort of heat flush through her, dampening her skin beneath her dress and chemise.

Veronica swiped at her forehead again. “Oh,” she murmured. “Heavens, it is hot.”

“Well done for finally noticing,” he muttered. “You see, this is why I keep telling you not to interfere. We have gardeners for a reason, Duchess. You do not need to trouble yourself being out in the sun.”

“I thought…” Goodness, her chest felt tight. “I thought you did not care.”

Her body swayed, and she reached out, fearful of why she felt like this.

He stood too close. Surely, it was his own heat being close to her. She needed air—she needed to breathe.

“Duchess?” he asked. She imagined a tinge of concern in his voice.

He stepped closer to her, his hands raising.

“Please, you must move,” she gasped, her vision blurring. “Your Grace, I…”

Her voice trailed off as her mouth parted slackly, her energy suddenly draining. Her entire face was in flames with the heat of the day as her knees weakened.

Around her, the world spun sickly, and right before the world went dark, she felt like she’d landed into the Duke’s strong arms.

Veronica did not know what had happened, but when she woke up, the white canopy above her bed took over her vision. She blinked, her fingers twitching where they rested atop her bed coverings.

“You are awake.”

The voice was much softer than Veronica recalled it ever being.

She glanced around to find the Duke seated beside her bed, folding a damp towel.

“May I?” he asked, lifting the towel.

She bit her lip, nodding, feeling strange that the Duke was in her chambers.

He reached over to place the cool towel on her head. Immediately, the soothing contrast made her feel much better. She sighed, pressing it to her skin more, feeling a trickle of water slide down her temples.

His hand pulled away from hers, having been beneath her fingertips without her realizing.

She gave him a weak smile.

“What happened?” Veronica asked.

“I brought you back here,” the Duke said. “We were in the garden… and you lost consciousness. It is a hot day. I believe one of the maids went to fetch you some lemonade but had not brought it back before you fainted.”

“Oh,” she murmured, blinking up at the ceiling.

Mortification burrowed in her, flushing her face once again in a hot wave so intense she thought she might faint once again.

“That is… most unfortunate.”

“It is only that due to your fainting you did not prove your point,” he told her, and she was not sure if there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

She squinted, unable to tell.

“I am sure my point was excellent,” she muttered, closing her eyes, but she opened them moments later, frowning. “You say you brought me up here?”

“Yes,” he answered, clearing his throat. “You… Well, you fell in my arms.”

Veronica stared down at her bed coverings in humiliation. It was not enough to have fainted but into her husband’s arms? The very husband who despised her presence?

“Your Grace, I am sor?—”

“Do not apologize,” he told her quickly. “It is no matter.”

She still could not stop blushing. “I am still rather warm.”

“Perhaps you overdid it in the sun, trying to prove yourself helpful to our staff.”

“I told you that I merely wanted you to call the manor your own without worrying about it,” she muttered, fanning herself with her hand.

The towel had lost some of its coolness now, having been on her warm skin.

He did not answer her, only gazed at her. And it was only in trying to distract herself from his gaze that she noticed she was in her chemise.

A flood of warmth went through her, spreading through her neck and chest.

“I only did it to help you keep cool,” the Duke said, his words sharp but firm.

Yet there was a pinch to his brows that betrayed his worry. “Your dress is right there.”

He gestured to the armchair in the corner of her room where her pale blue gown she had been gardening in was laid out.

She had a brief flash of envisioning the Duke stripping her of her dress, and she blushed harder. Perhaps she might faint once again.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Are you still feeling faint?”

“A little.”

“Here,” he said, picking up a glass of water from her beside and pressing it to her lips.

Their eyes met over the rim, and she thought she could see his eyes tracking the movement of a water droplet that slipped down her lip and her chin, sliding down her neck.

In her mind, he leaned in to kiss it from her.

You must not have these thoughts ! she mentally chastised herself, blaming the heat and the fainting for the wild fantasy.

She took another sip of water. Once again, his eyes followed the movement of her tongue swiping across her lips to wet them further.

“Thank you,” she said again.

This time, he only nodded before drawing himself up high on the chair. “I shall call for a maid to run a cool bath for you. If the heat is still affecting you, then it shall be good for you.”

“I am quite fine,” she said. “All I need is a moment to rest. Besides, I would think you do not care. As you said, this is a marriage in name only, and that you care for nothing.”

“Must we do this now?” he sighed. “The sun tired you out, and yet you still have energy to bicker with me.”

“I am merely stating a fact.” She sighed dramatically. “I would think a man who cares very little for being my husband would not care either if I have a cool bath or rest in bed.”

“I carried you up here myself, did I not?” He leaned in, his gaze fixed on her so deeply she felt it through her body.

“Yes,” she whispered. “And undressed me to ensure I was cooling down. Another act of care.”

“A necessary task to ensure you were not more deadweight in my arms.”

“By your muscles, I would think a woman like myself is no issue with your strength.”

A muscle in his cheek fluttered. She fought back a smile, knowing she had gained the upper hand.

“Well then,” he muttered, standing up. “Perhaps I should have left you in the grass to bake beneath the sun. Next time, I shall remember your lack of gratitude.”

His voice had an edge to it so that she almost regretted accusing him of not caring. But when he was so hot and cold with her, what was she supposed to think?

“Fine,” she said hotly. “And when you come home to a bland garden and a drawing room that looks indeed like the inside of a circus tent, and I know you dislike it because to Turner Hall’s decoration, I shall leave it and watch you despise it even as you are forced to live in it.”

Her words held more of a bite than she meant.

He shook his head before standing up. “I shall call for a maid,” he told her before striding out of her room. However, he paused at the threshold, looking back at her.

“I know I have said I do not care for anything, including you,” he said, his voice low, “but that does not mean I am heartless.”

Before Veronica could answer, he left her alone.

When a maid came to run her bath, Veronica wordlessly let herself be taken to the bathtub, her thoughts on the Duke.

How was this the same man who had pleasured her against a wall and had kissed her with such reckless abandon? If he so despised the world and everything in it, how did he kiss as though he cared deeply?

Perhaps that was why.

But Veronica would not delude herself into thinking that she might be the one thing he cared about. Lady Sheridan had said so herself: the Duke was tolerant of only a few people.

Veronica would be fortunate to have even that level of respect from him.

That evening, Veronica returned to the parlor which was coming along very nicely. She looked around at the curtains in their pale palettes, replacing the old, awful curtains, and she was happy with herself.

“Well, His Grace might not like it, but I certainly do,” she said to herself, happily. “And this is my home as well as his. He told me so himself.”

Reminding herself of that only led to her further recollection that the moment Robert was found, their marriage as they had begun it would be over, and they would live separately. At the time of their agreement, Veronica had wanted that but now…

She was enjoying her life at Westley Manor. She found that the thought of not seeing the Duke, even if he did avoid her and spoke harshly at times, was painful.

Veronica wrung her hands, distressed, as she paced the parlor. Outside the door, she heard a creak. She paused.

“Your Grace?” she called out.

Nobody answered, and she heard the squeak of boots on the polished floor. She would not let him get away with retreating from her once more.

“Your Grace,” she said again, firmer this time, running out of the parlor to find the Duke’s powerful back turned to her.

His shoulder tensed.

Annoyance simmered away at her. “I am grateful for all you have done for me and my mother, but I wish for something more.”

“A title, fortune, and a beautiful home are not enough?” he asked.

“Of course, they are. They are more than enough, but I wish for… companionship. I wish to speak with you about your day once in a while. Eat together perhaps once a week. Just to know that my security does not come at the price of loneliness.”

The Duke stiffened at her words. He half turned to her. “Duchess, I do not think you understand the meaning of true loneliness. You have your high spirits, do you not? Your mother. You speak with the staff here. You likely have friends in London, all parading around Dalton Square. Loneliness is a stifling shroud, and you should be glad you do not wear it.”

“Of course, I am lonely,” she shot back. “Ever since my brother disappeared, I have been deserted by those I called friends. Rumors forced both my mother and I into solitude, relying on one another and nobody else. But it appears to me, your loneliness has been somewhat self-inflicted. You have your aunt, who tries to reach out, and a Mr. Shawcross whom you tolerate. You have your business partners. You had— have —my brother, should you wish to call him a friend.”

She paused.

“And you have me.” Her hands wrung, distressed. “Should you wish to let out your frustrations about your days, please dine with me. If you have slept fitfully, break your fast with me. I am a very good listener.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing, as if he was considering her offer. Hope rose in her chest, light and disastrous, for she knew he would only break that hope. And he did, of course, and she was foolish to think anything else could have happened.

“No,” he answered flatly, and then he walked further down the corridor, away from her.

“Fine,” she said, her voice tight with restrained emotion.

I am only feeling vulnerable due to my fainting spell earlier .

“But is my future forever to be this erratic esteem you show me? One moment I am but a ghost, something to be brushed to the side and forgotten, and the next you give a semblance of care.”

“Do not mistake honor for care . I would not have left you out there in the sun to bake alive, unconscious.” He met her eyes over her shoulder. “Good night, Duchess.”

“Good night,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

Once he left to go upstairs, she waited several moments to ensure they would not pass by one another then she fled to her rooms.

Still, she hoped, deep down, for another late-night rendezvous in the hallway, so she might feel important beneath his gaze once again.