Page 20 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #2)

Chapter Twenty

“ Y ou are late.”

Veronica’s voice came from the breakfast table as she cupped her face with her palm, looking out at Henry as he walked into the breakfast hall.

“My wife kept me awake late into the night,” he said. “Apologies.”

“Your wife would have enjoyed sleeping next to you, so you could wake up together.”

He hesitated. That had felt far too intimate, and Henry knew he had already broken down so many of his own boundaries. Letting Veronica become complacent would hurt them both. He had already fought hard not to give into his desire for her, had avoided her, resisted her, only to submit to it last night.

And in return, she had submitted to him.

The way her body had looked encased in the bedcovers had been nothing short of a beautiful delight. Henry swallowed as he looked at her now. Utterly presentable, not a hair out of place, and that delectable body covered up. He wished to tear her clothes from her frame once again.

“Again,” he said, “apologies.”

Taking his seat opposite her, he reached for a slice of toast.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Veronica said, breaking the silence.

He glanced at her, nodding for her to continue.

She laughed. “Oh, Your Grace, you had plenty to say to me last night. Are you truly going to go back to being quiet now?”

“I have plenty to say in the bedroom,” he conceded. “But it is you who wishes to speak now, is it not?”

She glared playfully at him across the table as she spread jam over her toast. She sipped at her tea, and when she licked her lips of any stray droplets, he was reminded of how she had done that very same thing the night before with her wine.

It was the start of his unraveling. That, and seeing the attention of those young lords who did not know respect even if it should hit them in the face. He had been seconds away from warning her off them when Lord Forbes had made his announcement.

“What is it you wish to share?” he prompted.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, surprising him. “For your… cooperation last night with my mama. I debated telling her about the investigation into Robert’s disappearance, and you provided me with the confidence to tell her.”

“I did nothing.”

“Exactly.” She let out a small laugh that he swore he did not find endearing in the slightest. “You were… more welcoming to her last night. And through that, I saw hope. I know, I know, you do not like false hope or people assigning you a caring man, but?—”

“You are welcome, Veronica.”

It was the first time he had used her Christian name outside of their activities the night before. It rolled off his tongue much more comfortably than he realized it would. The meaning scared him. It meant becoming more acquainted with her, but he had been the first to ask her to use his.

She blinked at him, clearly startled at his use.

“If it is still all right to call you that,” he was quick to amend. “I can call you?—”

“Veronica is very well,” she assured him. “Henry.”

He heard his name in her tone now, soft, when last night she had all but cried out his name in passion. He cleared his throat and began working on his piece of toast.

“So, you only wished to thank me for being pleasant to your mother? I am not a sociable man, as I have explained, but I am not utterly without manners.”

“Well, the first time you met her you were rather rude to her,” Veronica pointed out.

He spared her a scowl.

“I was not rude . I had hastened myself into a marriage I did not think I would need to arrange.”

It was immediately the wrong thing to say. He stilled.

Hastened myself into a marriage .

Why had he said that?

Veronica only cocked her head at him, rising to his challenge as he had seen her grow to do recently. Once, she’d have cried out, perhaps, questioned him. Now, his wife only smiled at him pleasantly.

“It is simply nice to see you to be nicer to her. You did save her life and prosperity, after all.”

“I was thinking mostly of you,” he admitted quietly.

She said nothing more, and he offered nothing else. The confession was quite enough.

“Today, we shall ride out to the village in our carriage.” He had the day’s agenda in his mind. “The village fair begins at noon ,so we must make haste if we are to be there in time for the water games.”

“Water games?”

“It is a village.” He smiled at her. “We are not in London anymore.”

“Yes, but water games? I shall be wearing a fine gown.”

“Then you might want to rethink your gown choice. It shall be muddy. Westley is beautiful, but we shall be visiting farmland. A cloak and some good boots should do it.”

Veronica struggled to answer, her mouth opening and closing.

He only laughed. “Surely you did not think you would have a tidy, clean stroll around some village, winding paths, idyllic and quaint, only to retire to a tavern for a glass of wine at the end of the day?”

“Well,” she began, “no, but the countryside is beautiful. Why must we go into muddy farmland?”

“My tenants include farmers,” he said. “And was it not you who wished to save face?”

With that, he finished up his breakfast, wiped his mouth, and nodded curtly at her. “We shall leave within the hour. I will be doing work in my study before we leave… should you require me in any way.”

He walked away, concealing his smile. His wife was not na?ve though it was clear she was hoping for a different sort of village fair. She would have quite the shock when they arrived into the village.

“I expected a sweet stall,” Veronica muttered, “and perhaps a balloon that rides in the air, like the one that has recently been advertised as flying in the last month. I even thought there might be animals.”

“There are,” Henry pointed out, nodding at the pens. “Are pigs not animals?”

The animal’s snorts went up as six pigs ambled around the wooden enclosure, rolling in the mud. It was wet, and mud slide threats were abound, but it did not stop the village children from running through the square, laughing. Veronica watched the children as they passed by.

“They are, but I hoped for something… more exotic,” she laughed. “How foolish.”

“I believe they have some zebras down the road.”

She glared at him. “Stop making fun of me.”

“Forgive me, Duchess, but this is village life.”

“And I understand that! I am not a fool. I only heard different tales of villages.” She looked around. “You truly come here most days?”

“Every day if I can,” Henry told her. “The tenants in Westley have been in need of assistance, and I have wanted to make sure they see me being there for them.”

“I am surprised your temper does not rise with them.”

“Why would it? They are hard-working men trying to provide for their families.”

Veronica nodded. She opted for a simple deep green gown, and she indeed wore fine boots, and a cloak covered her hair which was styled as though she was attending a ball. That, at least, had not changed.

They walked past the pig pens until they got to a fountain, where children splashed right through. Mud streaked the water, clearly from where children had washed off. Veronica sat down on the edge of the fountain, mindless of the water splashes.

Henry watched her as she looked around the Westley village square. She was strong-minded, steel-willed, and did not balk despite her earlier surprise.

He had been surprised, really, at how well she was taking to her role as Duchess of Westley. Today, he had a surprise for her.

The town fair included a concert. He had not told her as such, but he remembered the Earl of Grantham mentioning Veronica’s love of music.

“Veronica,” he said as they sat at the fountain. The smell of baked bread rose through the air. “Do you enjoy music?”

“Yes,” she answered, nodding. “I enjoy listening to it. My mama took me to the opera several times when I was younger.”

“Do you play yourself?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Yes but… well, I have not really found an excuse to play since my father died and… since Robert disappeared. Music has always been joyful to me, and my father enjoyed my playing for him. Once he was not there to listen, the joy was taken out, and it started to feel rather pointless. My brother had less and less time to hear my recitals after our father’s death, for he was trying to provide for us, and my mother was withering away before my eyes.

“She told me that my music sometimes reminded her too much of her husband.” Veronica’s shoulders lifted. “So, I stopped playing.”

“Is it something you miss?”

Veronica nodded. “Yes, but… I am a person who likes to do things for others. If I cannot play for anyone, I rarely see the point.”

“I noticed you do not frequent the music room.”

“No,” she admitted, “I do not.”

“If I accompanied you there, would you play for me?”

His question caught even himself off-guard. Veronica glanced askance at him. “You wish to hear me?”

“In many ways,” he told her, flashing her a teasing smile. “But yes, I do. Your—” He cleared his throat. “In one of our meetings, your brother spoke highly of your talents. He even commented on what a pity it was that you stopped playing.”

“He noticed?” Veronica asked, surprised.

She had been so headstrong about her brother, he’d noticed. She did not bring him up except to demand information or the struggle of supporting her and her mother and enduring that vile man, Lord Barwicke, in Robert’s absence.

“He did.” Henry nodded. “Very much.”

“I always thought he was too busy to notice very much about me. We were close growing up, but after father… Well, we drifted apart. He had to take the role of the man of the house, so indulging his sister was not part of his priorities.”

Henry nodded. “He noticed, Veronica. And he missed it.”

Two children streaked past them, giggling, as they tugged a kite string, urging their kite to go higher.

“Do you have any siblings?” Veronica asked.

He shook his head. “No. And I am grateful for it.”

His voice went hard again, and he had to remind himself that there was no harm in her asking. But he was defensive, prickly, especially when anybody spoke about his family.

His chest tightened. “My… upbringing was hard enough without having to worry about another sibling. Once a male heir is produced, if he is born first, very few married couples see the point in continuing their line. They have what they wish.”

“And it truly is something you do not wish for?” Veronica asked quietly. Her eyes were also on the children, where more had gathered to detangle the kite from a tree branch. “Do you not see these children and wish for your own?”

He did not meet her gaze when he cleared his throat and stood up. “Come. There is much else to see.”

“Henry—”

“In public, you should call me Your Grace,” he corrected her quietly, hating himself for his defenses rising once again.

She blanched, drawing back. Her face grew solemn, changing from pained surprise to detachment.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Her voice was hard, flat. “Where shall we go next?”

You cursed, wretched fool , he berated himself.

“Would you like some lunch?”

“I find myself losing my appetite.”

“Veronica—”

“Are you not required to use my title, too in public?” she shot back, her words venomous. “Or is it only you who gets to push me back the second I grow close to you?”

She turned away from him, but he caught up easily.

“Do not walk away from me.”

“Because you do not wish for your villagers to gossip?”

“No,” he countered, “because I want to walk beside you. As husband and wife. As Duke and Duchess. As… as Henry and Veronica.”

He felt like a damned fool.

“If you will not answer my questions, and you still continue to shut me out, then why should we keep up such a silly pretense? I will not be hurt by you, Your Grace. If you are to have your defenses, then I need mine.”

“I know,” he said, “and I understand. So, if you need to walk away then you can, but… I am asking you… To stay.”

“Asking or ordering?”

“Did you not listen? I told you could walk away.”

“And I am still here,” she whispered in a hiss. “Does that not tell you I do not back down when things are hard? That I do not give up?”

“You began to walk away.”

“I saw something glistening on the ground,” she told him. “I was going to pick it up and ask you what it was.”

He followed her gaze. There, in the mud, was a golden talisman, and he immediately knew what it was. Henry let out a laugh.

“That is your surprise,” he said.

“What?”

“I arranged something for you today. As the new Duchess of Westley, the villagers will be hoping for sponsorship from you. There is a concert later tonight. My surprise was to invite you to first play and then announce what musician you wish to sponsor. That includes not only a prize gifted to the musician but also this talisman. The mark of our name.”

Veronica searched his face for any deception, but it was all true. He had ventured out several days before, riding hard into the village to organize it all with the village council and those he’d placed in charge.

“Well then.” Veronica lifted her skirts, so they did not trail the dirt.

To Henry’s surprise she began picking her way across the muddy puddle that was not deep but still wet and splashed around over her boots. Standing ankle-deep in mud, Veronica swooped down and snatched up the talisman and sauntered back to him, right past, and dunked the golden coin in the fountain to wash it.

Then she returned to his side, holding up the coin. “This is what you mean?”

“Yes,” he laughed.

“If it is important when it comes to announcing my musician of choice, then perhaps it should not be left in the mud.”

“Maybe whoever dropped it wanted to know how adventurous the Duchess was. Having this title is not all elegance and balls.”

There was a streak of mud on her face, and he lifted his hand to her cheek, smearing it off with his thumb. Veronica closed her eyes briefly, her face moving with the movement.

“You… confuse me,” she said quietly. “Terribly.”

“As you do me,” he answered her. “As I do myself.”

“We would be a lot less confused if you simply talked to me and stopped shutting me out whenever a conversation is sensitive for you. If you do not wish to discuss your past, then that is all right, but you do not have to dismiss everything we have built.”

“And what is it we have built?” He meant it to come out sharply, defensively, but it sounded more teasing.

Veronica lifted her chin defiantly. “I think you can answer that question, Your Grace . Now, I actually do find myself rather ravenous. A certain Duke had me cleared from breakfast after only one slice of toast despite there being many delicacies.”

“You did not have to follow me into my study,” he reminded her as they walked along to where a village stall offered hot cakes dripped in honey. “And especially not to kiss jam from my mouth.”

“Your Grace!” Veronica said, surprised, and a bark of laughter came from her as she whirled to face him once again. “You would speak of such scandalous things in public?”

He moved close to her, paying no mind to if anybody watched them. “I thought I made myself clear last night that I do not care for public propriety.”

She wriggled away from him, still giggling. “I believe you should when it comes to your own village. You must have more decorum about yourself.”

“Ah, says the Duchess who traipsed about in the mud.”

Veronica rolled her eyes as they stopped at the cake counter. She ordered two cakes and then turned to him. “What will you have?”

He eyed the cakes in her hand. “Do you plan to sweep Westley of its honey supply?”

The vendor looked between them, bowing. “It is an honor to serve the Duke and Duchess of Westley. And an honor, further, that you are attending our fair today.”

“It is very enjoyable,” Veronica said, handing over more coin than necessary from the reticule she wore at her hips tied to her cloak. “I am very happy to be introduced to the village of Westley.”

“Have you met any of the musicians, Your Grace?” the vendor asked.

Veronica shook her head. “Not yet. Do you know where I shall find them?”

“They are in the tent behind the bandstand, Your Grace. I am sure they eagerly await your visit.” He paused. “And sponsorship.”

“Indeed.” The Duchess smiled brightly before walking out, her cakes in hand.

Henry paid for his own quickly before following her to the tent.

“I shall pay for your food,” he told her. “Whatever you require is mine to provide.”

“I am quite fine with my own coin,” she said.

“Well, it is only that the coin you have prepared is for the musician.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I see.”

“It is no matter. I shall compensate what is missing.” He stepped back to allow her entry into the tent. “Now, shall we meet the revered musicians who await your attention eagerly?”

Veronica was quite taken aback by the sheer overwhelming nature of the fair.

It was not what she had expected though to admit what she expected had brought her some shame. She was not above her own humility to say she had been quite corrected.

As the sun began its descent across the sky, each musician came forward to play during the concert, from pianofortes to violins, flutes to even harps.

“What do you think?” Henry asked her, eager for her opinion, clearly.

“They all are dazzling,” Veronica said. “It is rather hard. It is quite interesting to see the quality in instruments as well and how that changes the quality of performance. Yet it is clear every musician loves what they do. I like that about the music.”

“And you shall fit right in for your performance.”

Nerves fluttered in her stomach at the thought of playing for the crowd that had gathered before the bandstand. It had been some years since she had passed her fingers over the keys of a pianoforte, but the one that was set up for her now called to her. Her heart ached whenever she thought about Robert telling Henry about her love for music.

The fact that even before his disappearance, when Veronica had been sure he was ignoring her so often, too overwhelmed with responsibility and duty, he still spoke of her…

It made her ache for her brother more.

When it was her turn to perform before she announced her sponsorship, Veronica found her nerves settled. She pictured the days her brother would stand at the pianoforte and watch her, encourage her. She envisioned her father, proud and telling her she would fill her future home with the most delightful sounds.

She thought of her mama, who had stopped watching her play, unable to bear it due to her grief.

So, Veronica took a seat at the pianoforte provided to her and laid her fingers on the keys.

“Thank you all for allowing me to play for you,” she spoke to the crowd who watched her curiously. “It has been wonderful spending the day in Westley, learning about your village and businesses and land. Every musician has impressed me, but before I announce who I wish to sponsor, I would like to play a ballad for you.”

Veronica closed her eyes and let herself find that old rhythm she loved within the instrument.

Henry watched his wife up on the village stage, the coin placed in a tankard atop the pianoforte.

It was purposefully set up the way a tavern musician would have it. Although Veronica’s coin was in the tankard now, whenever the artist played once again, villagers would be welcome to provide gratitude in the form of coins.

Her fingers settled over the pianoforte keys, her upper body almost bowing towards the instrument as if it was a dance partner, someone who would hold her while they swayed to a symphony.

Henry watched, enraptured, as she began.

She is pure magic , Henry thought as her fingers danced expertly over the keys.

And that is how it felt: like magic, flowing over the heads of the villagers as she played for them. Her performance was brief, and when it was over, she stood and announced who she would sponsor.

It was a boy of five and ten who had played a lyre, hauntingly beautiful. Veronica presented him with the coin in the tankard, and he began to play his own tune. She poured her coins into the tankard before returning to her seat.

“You played beautifully.” Henry’s mouth dipped to her ear. “But I confess, I could not help myself being distracted by those deft fingers. Might you play me, and produce a pleasurable symphony, the way you played the pianoforte?”

Veronica gazed at him, and he grinned.

“Do not pretend to be scandalized.”

“I am merely taken aback by the boldness of your request.”

“And I more interested in your answer.”

His fingertips grazed her shoulder, slipping just inside the sleeve of her dress. “I wish to dine with you at the inn we are staying at, and then I intend to pleasure you until you can no longer remember your own name.”

Veronica’s breath caught. He felt her go taut beneath him. A delicious shiver passed through her.

Henry held out his hand. “Come. I am famished.”

“And you threw mud at him?”

“Oh, yes,” Henry laughed, drinking his wine. “He was an insufferable little creature. Each summer, I would visit my uncle in the countryside, in Westley Manor, when I was only heir to the Sheridan title, and I would be forced to play nice with my cousin. The poor man died at sea some years back, but that is beside the point.”

Despite himself, he could not help sniggering. Perhaps it was the wine that loosened him.

“My cousin, Gregory, always had a particular trick he would play on me, and I still have not figured out how he would do it. But he would put a bucket of water atop a door and have it balancing so that when I walked into the room, it would tip all over me. One time, I got quite annoyed and exhausted of his foolish trick, so I marched right outside to where he rode his horse, gathered a handful of wet mud, and flung it at him.”

Veronica’s laugh was brighter than any music he had heard that day, and Henry found himself wanting more of it.

“He would have made a terrible duke,” Henry snorted.

Veronica covered her mouth, incredulous. “You do not miss him?”

“It may sound cold to say, but I did not truly know him. My father was too reserved with my family, so I only saw him for that brief week in the summer season. Otherwise, we did not share any time. When I heard of his death, I thought it was tragic since he died so young. And after that, I remembered that he was the heir of Westley.”

“Until it came to you.”

He nodded slowly. “Until it came to me.”

“And your uncle? The former Duke? What was he like?”

“Ah, well, as you have seen, he was rather eccentric. He threw balls at every opportunity he could. His wife shared his tastes, but she passed away when Gregory was a young boy. My uncle became lonely which was why he threw so many balls. He wanted Gregory and me to be closer but knew that his own brother, my father, prevented that. Perhaps we would have been otherwise.”

Henry shrugged, recalling his cousin’s sniveling face. He had been a cocky man, even in his twenties. Still, he had not deserved such a terrible death at sea.

“I did grieve my uncle. Greatly,” Henry added. Then he finished the remainder of his wine. “But enough of this chatter. Grief has darkened enough corners.”

He could see questions flitting over her face, and he could only hope she would not ask. After a moment, as if thinking better of it, Veronica indeed dropped any notion of asking her questions.

“Besides,” Henry dropped his voice lower, “I would much rather discuss how I am going to please my wife tonight.”

Oh, how he enjoyed the look on her face. Her cheeks flooded with a pretty blush, and she swallowed, likely thinking he did not know her cues. But he had learned them. It was what had driven him to pursue their intimacy in the first place, finally caving in after her plaguing his thoughts over and over.

“And how is that?” she asked, smiling with a tilt of her head.

“Let us go to our room, and I shall show you instead,” he stood and extended a hand to her.

Veronica’s eyes were wide as she let him pull her to standing. They left the crowded dining area of the Hoof’s Inn, where only weeks ago Henry had sat with Thomas, unable to get her out of his head.

He took her up to their shared room, his hand never leaving her. Whether it was her arm he grasped, her waist, or he slid his hand through hers in a strangely intimate gesture that felt strange doing but somehow… right , he did not let go of his wife.

When they made it to their room, Henry closed the door behind him.

“Get on the bed,” he instructed. “And face me. I plan to use those pretty hands tonight, Duchess.”

She swallowed, her eyes searching his face. He searched hers right back, looking for any moment of fear, hesitancy, or reluctance. But all he saw was open anticipation. Her full lips parted prettily in that way he loved her doing.

She looked so innocent—and he was very much enjoying tarnishing that at every chance he got. He held her gaze as he unfastened his breeches, slowly pulling them down.

“I do love that expression when you look at me,” he told her, smirking. “It is as though you wish to give into your desires, but you think you should not. Let me help you, Duchess.”

Slowly, he pulled off his clothing as he strolled forward, sauntering towards her. By the time he reached her, he was half aroused, excited purely by how her legs had naturally parted to let him stand in front of her, and how that doe-eyed look utterly undone him every time.

“Give me your hand,” he told her.

Veronica obeyed without hesitation. He had enjoyed instilling that in her over time. Her eyes went slightly glassy, a sign he had learned of her arousal. Gripping her wrist, Henry guided her hand to his length.

“Close your fist gently.”

She did, her fingers wrapping loosely around him in such a way that her touch was light enough to cause him to twitch. Her sharp intake of breath made him smile indulgently.

“It is… warmer than I thought it would be,” she confessed, her laugh a quiet exhale. Her eyes lifted to his, and she swallowed. “It is harder, too. I did not realize quite how it would feel. It… pleases me.”

“How does it please you?” he asked her. “Tell me.” His eyes dropped to her skirt-clad legs. “Touch yourself as you tell me.”Veronica’s chest heaved with the order but she did not waste a second before she was reaching beneath her own skirts with her other hand, as Henry guided her loose fist up and down his length.

Her eyes were wide, fixed on him in wonder, in pleasure, as she touched herself beneath her skirts. Her soft moan only spiked his arousal more.

“It—the feel of it…” she closed her eyes, her mouth parting on a clearly pleasurable touch. “It arouses me. As if my body knows that I am ready to receive it.”

“Good,” he told her, his voice low. “Guide your thumb over the tip. Just like this.”

He showed her how to properly caress the head of his length, and with her touches so light and questioning, Henry could not resist bucking into her, naturally forming a harder stroke.

“Tighten your fist,” he told her, his breaths shallower as he fought not to chase his pleasure selfishly in her fist. “And move it up and down.”

She did as he instructed, and Henry cursed under his breath, especially when Veronica’s own soft moans chorused with his own deeper ones. Her dress rustled, and the sight of her own hand moving against herself, drove him half mad with desire.

With his hands, he pushed aside her skirts, exposing her. He moaned at the sight of her own fingers coated with her pleasure as she slid them in and out of herself, setting her own speed when he had neglected to tell her.

“Slow down,” he ordered, just to tease her. “We have all night, do we not?”

“We—” she gasped, angling her fingers in such a way that clearly felt good. “We do but—I cannot slow down. It feels too good.”

He smiled wickedly. “Then speed up. And when you reach your peak, do not stop, nor slow down. If your hand tires, I shall take over, but I shall have you quivering for more. If you do not wish to wait, then you shall not wait.”

She gasped, looking up at him. He bent down to kiss her, the kiss only having him hardening fully in her grasp. She hastened her strokes—both on him and within herself. Veronica’s fingers worked inside of herself, and he fought the urge to sheath himself in her immediately.

But he wanted to draw this out. He wanted her to bring him to pleasure using only her hand, even if he guided her. There was an extra layer of pleasure to it: taking her hand in such a way when she performed this for him.

Her thumb sought out the tip of his length, brushing over it, smearing the pearl of arousal that gathered there. With her legs spread so, and her chest heaving, her face flushed, Henry was only getting nearer and nearer his climax.

“Speed up,” he told her tightly. “And do not stop.”

She followed the two orders, and her fist quickened around him. Even when her own hand slowed on herself, more focused on him, she continued. Her palm was soft on each stroke up, her fingers delicate yet intent. Soon, her fist flew up and down him, and Henry’s breaths came in sharper punches as he chased his climax through her hand.

“Veronica,” he moaned, his voice low, as he stood over her, her eyes fixed on him. He did not dare look away from her, not for one moment. Not when the mere sight of her face alone was almost enough to tip him over the edge of his pleasure.

When she brought him over that edge with her touch, Henry groaned, his hips stuttering with the unexpected force of the pleasure she wrung onto him. Her stroke only slowed down slightly, and soon, he was hissing, the touch too much.

And, as he had ordered, her own hand did not cease against her intimate parts, and, as if the sight of his pleasure coating her other hand was her own undoing, Veronica soon tumbled over that edge of desire after him. She cried out, her hips lifting, seeking more, as she followed his further instruction to not slow down.

Not even when she hissed, too. And yet she searched for more—as if a part of her craved the pain that came with the pleasure of too much .

Henry grinned. “Do not slow,” he reminded her. “Keep touching yourself for me. This little show shall have me quite entertained until I am recovered enough to bury myself in you once again.”

She sighed on a moan at his words as she spread her legs and lifted herself just so that he would have a better view. Veronica was heavenly, and as he walked around the edge of the bed to settle against the headboard, he knew she was a particular delight he would return to feast upon again and again.