Page 26 of A Bride for the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

“ W ell, are you not the most joyful face in the ton !” Thomas said cheerfully, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Coolly, Henry flicked his gaze to him, saying nothing. He lifted his glass to his lips and drank. Before him, his guests— Veronica ’s guests—enjoyed themselves. Westley Manor had likely not seen so many people in a long time.

Thomas settled in beside him, smiling. “Are you going to tell me what is on your mind? You have lurked in this corner all evening looking sour, like somebody put pickle juice in your wine.”

Henry said nothing.

His mind was a mess of Veronica. His Duchess. His wife. The woman he would never, ever be enough for.

The thought of her leaving him tonight was unbearable, yet how could he ever ask her to stay? How could he let her damn herself? It was better to have her think he wanted her to leave. She would be hurt, yes, but better to temporarily feel that pain than forever be shackled to him.

After all, our marriage was only a convenient one.

Of course. Why else would she choose to stay with him?

“Henry, if you are going to continue ignoring me, then I shall perhaps ask Miss Evelina Stapleton for a dance, for she is looking rather troubled and alone.” He sighed. “Or I can stay here and badger you until you finally admit that your mind is unsettled with thoughts of Veronica.”

Henry started, sipping his drink still.

“I am right, am I not?” Thomas asked.

Henry did not answer but that clearly signified that the answer was yes .

The ball continued without them. Veronica had fled right after their dance, and Henry could not bring himself to go after her. What would he say?

Do not go, but I cannot let you stay, either .

“Henry, I have known you for many years now,” Thomas said, his voice growing much gentler. “I have seen you angry, and I have seen you… reluctantly happy. You tolerate me; you tolerate your aunt and your cousin. But you do not tolerate Veronica. You want her. You are happy around her, and you—you come alive. She might be the only person in this world who you do not refuse the company of.” He glanced sideways at Henry. “Does that not tell you anything?”

Henry remained stubborn in his icy silence.

“Whatever problems you are having, Henry, do not let it get in the way of your happiness.”

Henry finally looked back at him, and Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. Nobody understands you. But there is one person who has tried her best, and you just let her flee this ballroom close to tears. Heaven knows that if a woman comes back time and time again to try to understand you, then she is worth chasing after. Do not let a lady such as her go so easily, Henry.”

His words sank into Henry, and he thought for a moment. But he still could not entirely convince himself to go after Veronica. She had asked him to respect her wishes, had she not? She herself had said she would return to London. He had not asked that of her.

“Perhaps a lady should not let herself walk away so easily,” he answered stubbornly, hating the way his own bitterness tasted as he lied to protect his own miserable heart.

“I am exhausted by your stubborn pride.” Thomas shook his head. Then he pointed his glass in the direction of where Lady Sheridan was approaching.

“Lady Sheridan, come and speak with this nephew of yours. He will not listen to me.”

The look Lady Sheridan gave him was truly scathing as she scowled at him. “Henry, you are a foolish man if you think you shall let that lovely woman run so easily from your arms.”

“Lady Sheridan?—”

“I am your aunt in this moment, Henry,” she warned. “And as your family, I am telling you to stop being a fool.”

His eyes blazed with warning. “Tread carefully, Aunt. This is not your concern.”

But Lady Sheridan met his gaze, unflinching. “Oh, but it is. As your aunt and as someone who’s watched you throw away happiness, it absolutely is my concern.”

“She asked to leave,” he ground out, his voice low and forceful. “For weeks now, she’s been avoiding me. That’s her choice.”

“And you? What have you been doing?” Lady Sheridan shot back. “Skulking? Avoiding her at all costs, as you did at the start of your marriage?”

Henry stiffened, tightening his jaw. “I have been miserable .” The confession sounded too loud, and Thomas nodded slowly, as if knowing it took a lot for him to admit such a thing. “And… Lonely in a way I didn’t think possible.”

He gazed outward at the dancers, wishing they were back in their dance, caught up in the orchestra’s spell.

“The other day… She was playing her pianoforte. She sang under her breath, and the sound… It was truly angelic. It… It froze me for a moment, utterly undone by her. But I could not approach, no matter how much I wished to. She… she deserves a man who can give her the world. She has endured me for long enough, and I am choosing to not hold her back.”

“But that can be you, you stubborn mule,” Lady Sheridan snapped. “Or are you already deciding that you are not willing to make changes and sacrifices to be the man she does deserve? She has endured your behavior, your coldness, your unwillingness to open up. But what you do not understand, Henry, is that she has been the sun, causing you to blossom—to finally open up. But she does not know that herself yet. If you have been so miserable without her then that speaks volumes, does it not?”

“I believe so,” Thomas chipped in. “I believe you are a stubborn mule, too, Henry.”

He did not argue for once in his life. He feared they were right. Veronica had opened him up, only for him to push her away and never see just how much she had changed him.

Thomas was correct. His aunt was correct. No matter how hard he had pushed her away, Veronica sprung right back, proving to him that he was worthy of being understood. Of being heard and listened to. She had undone him without him realizing it.

A groan vibrated in his throat as he tipped his head back against the wall.

Thomas let out a quiet laugh. “Lady Sheridan and I are right, and you hate it. No, do not give me that scowl.” He stepped away, taking Henry’s glass and finishing the remainder of his drink. “Just go and find your wife.”

“You had better listen to your friend, Henry,” Lady Sheridan said finally, “Go. And be happy for once.”

And so, she and Thomas disappeared into the crowd.

Henry’s gaze swept the room, searching for a flash of that azure blue she had worn tonight, looking exquisite, and he could not find her. She truly had fled. But he spotted Lady Grantham with another older woman, the two of them standing together, watching the buffet table as if to claim it when nobody looked.

Henry strode up to them, urgency in his steps. “Lady Grantham.”

Judith startled and turned to him. “Your Grac?—”

“Where is Veronica?” he asked, his eyes still searching, looking through every part in the crowd, but he could not spy her dark hair.

“I have not seen her since your dance together, Your Grace. Perhaps she is with Lord Grantham. She mentioned something about storytell?—”

Henry rushed off, bowing quickly, and sought out Robert, who was holding a small court, all hooked on his falsified tale of daring swordfights. He would not dispute the tales from his business partner, but he did interrupt.

“Lord Grantham, may I have a word?”

“Ah, Your Grace!” Robert said cheerfully. “You must have a hand in my storytelling! Lords and ladies, my wild encounter would not have been possible if not for this man?—”

“Where is the Duchess? Have you seen her?”

“I have not,” he confessed, frowning. “Are you quite all right?”

“I will be when I find my wife.”

He stalked away, head spinning left and right, searching for her.

Where was she? Where was his wife? He combed through the ballroom, the drawing room, and even the dining hall. Veronica was nowhere to be found, and his worry only increased.

A terrifying thought occurred to him that she had left him already.

He had betrayed her trust and affections by telling her they had nothing left to say. Had she fled the ball early, thinking there was nothing to stay for? She would not wait to return with her mother and brother?

The thought devastated him as he searched the rest of the manor, going up to her chambers. Her belongings had not been packed, and it loosened something in him. But a sight caught his attention out of the window.

From Veronica’s room, he saw her in the gardens, her head bowed, body curled over herself. She sat on a bench, highlighted by the manor’s lights. But his relief at finding her lasted only a moment when he saw a man melt out of the shadows.

A man Henry hoped he would never have to see again.

Henry ran for the gardens.

“Lord Barwicke,” Veronica gasped, standing up from the bench, ready to run.

“Oh, Duchess. Do not stand on my account.” His voice was as nasal as she remembered, a sly sound that dripped with as much revulsion as he caused in her. “I was hoping to enjoy your company on such a beautiful night. Do sit.”

Veronica did not. His mocking pleasantries faltered. He expected her to do as he said.

“How did you get into my home?” she demanded.

He laughed at her, his head tipping back. “Workers are rather easy to tip off when you know who to pick out.”

His cruel smile went through Veronica. She backed up a step as he advanced on her.

“You see, it was very easy to gain entry when one speaks highly of the Earl of Grantham and how it would a terrible shame to miss out on congratulating his return.” He laughed darkly. “Your workers would not want to risk denying entry to a nobleman such as myself, lest I have them fired.”

“Leave, Lord Barwicke,” Veronica ordered.

“No. No, I do not think I will, Veronica. We are well enough acquainted that I may call you that, are we not?”

“No,” she whispered. “We are not.”

“Shame.” He shrugged. “Regardless, Your Grace, I am not leaving until I get what I am owed.”

She drew back. “ Owed ? Lord Barwicke, my mother and I do not owe you any more money. Our debt to you has been paid.”

“My, my, Veronica, you have grown fiery in your spirits. It is rather refreshing.” He licked his lips at her, and her stomach recoiled. “I am not talking about money but revenge. Did you truly think you could get away from me so easily?”

“I am not afraid of you anymore,” she said, forcing strength into her voice.

Forcing herself not to glance in the ballroom, Veronica resisted looking to see if anybody had noticed her missing. Henry, least of all.

His laugh pierced the night, leering and mocking, and she fought against the feeling of being small. She was not—this was her home, and he did not get to order her around in it.

“Grant me my revenge, Veronica, and I shall not go ahead with my plan. Or resist me, and I shall leak the entire deal I had with the innocent Lady Grantham and tell everybody in every sordid little detail what an eager whore your mother was.”

Veronica’s anger spiked. He could threaten her but not her mother.

“I will not go with you, Lord Barwicke,” Veronica hissed, hoping her hands did not tremble as much as they felt as though they did. “You will not say anything against my mother, and you shall not get away with this. My husband will hear about this, and it shall be your own life leaked across the ton . You shall never walk down the street without shame ever again.”

“I do not care what you think you can hold over me,” he said, sounding bored. “However, I truly do have plenty over your mother, and the infamous Duke of Westley. See, I heard that he killed his own father!”

Veronica’s heart stopped.

No… No, if Lord Barwicke released such false, incriminating things…

She could not let that happen.

“My silence can be bought, Veronica,” he sing-songed at her. “Not with money but with you . Save your Duke and your mother in one go by walking away with me right now. After all, if your husband cared so much for you, why were you out here crying alone?”

His words threatened to unravel her, but she stood strong. “Leave, Lord Barwicke. I will never go with you.”

“Then perhaps we should ask the Duke what he would think of everyone in the ton seeing him as a murderer.” Lord Barwicke paused, leering at her up and down. “But first I wish to sample you. I am not opposed to damaged goods, but it depends on how damaged the Duke has made you.”

Veronica had only a moment to begin running back when the man launched himself at her, knocking her to the ground. His hands were flitting over her skirt, her waist, yanking in her hair, and she screamed out, struggling. He was heavy and vengeful, and Veronica tried to jam an elbow back to knock him off.

“Get off my wife, you bastard.” The low seething command did not need volume to carry the threat, and suddenly the weight pinning Veronica lifted, followed by the sound of a punch.

She scrabbled up to her feet, turning to see Henry kneeling over Lord Barwicke, fisting his shirt, his other hand raised in a punch ready to strike.

Henry did not hesitate. His fist slammed into Lord Barwicke’s face, and his expression was one of pure white-hot rage as Henry continued raining blows upon the man.

“You think you can lay a hand on her? Threaten her?”

He landed a hard punch to the lord’s stomach, and Lord Barwicke cried out into the night. Veronica covered her mouth, drawing further back.

“I warned you the first time, Lord Barwicke.”

“Your Grace,” the lord wheezed, raising his hands.

Henry leaped to his feet and stomped on those hands, and the older man screeched. The Duke pressed all his weight down onto Lord Barwicke’s fingers until Veronica heard a sickly snap.

“Your Grace, please —please, have mercy. Have?—”

Henry kicked him in the ribs, his face wild and contorted with anger, punches and kicks flying out rapidly. Lord Barwicke tried to curl up in a ball, protecting his face with his limp, broken fingers.

“Your Grace— mercy , mercy.”

“My mercy is wasted on filth like you,” Henry spat.

His hair flew around him as he kicked the man on the floor almost to a bloody pulp, and Veronica screamed out.

“Henry!”

Henry paused but did not relent. He punched Lord Barwicke, and Veronica rushed forward, narrowly missing his jabbing elbow as he drew back to punch again. She grappled with his arm, wrapping her fingers around his fist.

“Henry, Henry,” she murmured, trying to calm him out of such a rage. “Please stop. He is not worth it. He is not worth giving into such anger for.”

Henry was wild-eyed as he looked at her. She held his fist with one hand and cupped his face with the other.

Bringing his bleeding knuckles to her lips, she kissed them. “Please.”

At her kiss on his hand, it was as though the anger drained from Henry. He slumped, blinking, as if having lost himself for a moment. He turned to Lord Barwicke, who trembled on the floor.

“You have one day to leave the country,” he warned in a quiet voice. “One day. That is all. And if you are not gone by tomorrow sundown, I will find you, Barwicke, and I will kill you.”

Lord Barwicke whimpered, scrambling up to his feet. He did not utter a word before he dashed away, fleeing the garden like the coward he always had been.

Henry turned to Veronica, and she waited for those defenses to rise once again, but they did not. He was—open. Open, honest relief came through his face, and she inhaled softly at the look.

“Veronica,” he said softly.

He moved to her, his hands scrabbling to cup her face. She did not care that his hands were bloodied from the force of his punches. She folded her own hands around his, tears shining in her eyes.

“Are you all right? Did he?—”

“He did not hurt me,” she whispered. Her heart pounded in her chest. “I am all right, thank you.”

“I would have killed him for you if you had asked,” he told her, meeting her gaze. “I would run to the ends of the Earth for you. I would do anything you asked of me, no matter what it was.”

Veronica did not know what to say. Her lips parted, uncertain. “I… Henry?”

There had been distance. Nothing left to say. She had planned to leave tonight on his agreement of their arrangement. She did not understand.

Then, Henry was kissing her, drawing her face to his, and her breath hitched through the kiss, moaning softly into his mouth, for she had missed his closeness, how it felt to be gathered in his arms, pressed against his chest. His kiss was soft and coaxing on her mouth, and he drew back far too soon.

“Veronica, our marriage is more than a convenience to me,” he told her, pressing his forehead to hers. “I was too slow to realize such a thing. The time we have spent apart these last two weeks, barely seeing you, not speaking with you, has been torture. I have missed you, Veronica, and I have been too stubborn a fool to approach you and right the wrongs I have caused.”

She was still in shock, stunned into silence. “You… you truly mean that?”

“I do. I was wrong for everything I said. I was wrong for ever letting you consider walking away. I want you to stay in Westley Manor with me. I even want to see you sit on that beautiful pink pianoforte stool and play for me every single day of our lives. For you, Veronica, I want to try to be a better man.”

“You do not need to be better,” she told him, brushing back a strand of his hair from his eyes. He looked devastatingly handsome, and Veronica’s heart swooped. “I only want you to be . But Henry… the issue remains of how you feel about children.”

“I know what I have said,” he acknowledged. “But I want to start a family with you. These last two weeks have given me a great deal of time to think. I am not my father, and you were incredibly right to tell me so. I am tired of hindering our future just to hold onto the ghosts of my past. I want you, Veronica.” He let out a soft laugh. “I want you and our children and Christmas full of laughter and visits to the chocolatier because Heaven knows, I think at least one of our children will like chocolate. I want an entire future with you, however that looks.”

“You truly mean it?”

“With everything in me,” he said. “I am willing to change. I am willing to try.”

She drew him into a kiss, and his tongue swept over her lower lip. His hands cradled her head, and they kissed with every ounce of passion that these days apart had built up. He pulled her close to him, but he paused a moment before his hands skimmed her chest.

Henry pulled back. “May I touch you?”

Her fingers were already reaching for his shirt tucked into his breeches, wanting those hard muscles beneath her hands.

“You have gone through an ordeal,” he continued. “And I do not wish to assume I am right to touch you.”

“Please touch me,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “It is your touch only that I will allow, that will take away any recollection of his .”

Pausing for a moment, as if wanting to make sure she was true, Veronica was the one to make the move towards him. She pressed their mouths together again.

He groaned into her mouth, murmuring, “I have missed you,” over and over, his tongue brushing hers.

That endless fire he always sparked in her flared once more, and she gave into it for a few moments before pulling away. Yet Henry still found her neck, lathering it with more kisses, and she moaned softly. He took her weight as she swooned slightly.

“We must— ah , Henry—we must return to the ball.” His teeth nipped her throat, and she felt her arousal spike through her.

“Our guests can survive without us for a few more moments,” he muttered against her skin. “They are quite content without us, so let me indulge in my wife for a few moments.”

She drew his face back to hers, kissing him. “Only a few?”

“That depends on how quickly I can claim your climax,” he murmured, flashing a grin at her.

She bit her lip as he took her hand and led her back inside. They did not stop for anything nor anyone as Henry led her to the music room with intent silence, glancing back at her with a dark, promising smirk.

He pulled her in, closing the door behind her, and she expected to be pinned to it, but instead, she was pulled roughly to the pianoforte. She gasped in surprise as Henry pushed her back, over the closed lid of the instrument.

“Hands on the lid,” he ordered her. She heard the tugging of his breeches, and then his length was there, pressing against her clothed backside. Veronica shuddered with the authority in his voice as she placed her hands on the polished surface. Her knees rested on her new pink stool that had arrived earlier in the week.

She had been too upset to come in and play, but this was more than giving her a use for the stool.

Henry ground his hips against her, arousing himself as he yanked up her dress, and then her chemise, exposing her.

Her husband groaned, running his hands over the globes of her backside. He gave a small growl before he dived in, his teeth closing around the skin of one of them. She yelped before clapping a hand over her mouth.

“I wish I could hear you,” he purred. “But soon, Veronica. Soon. For every day we spent apart, I will take your climax, over and over tonight.”

The thought had her dizzy, and she nodded, moaning her yes as Henry used both his tongue and his fingers to prepare her. He spread her open, and she relished the small ache that the two weeks apart had given her in her intimate parts, for now, she needed him even more so.

Her knees spread as far as the pianoforte would allow her, and she arched her back, enticing her husband. He groaned.

“I am ready for you,” she cooed over her shoulder. “You have enforced a waiting time long enough, have you not?”

“Ah, it was I who walked away?” he growled, spanking her backside.

“You—you know what I mean.” She stuttered on a moan, shakily exhaling. And in moments, he was sheathed inside her, his breath hitching.

“Veronica,” he moaned, his voice rough as he tipped his head back.

She clenched around him tightly, her chest heaving in her gown, feeling scandalous with herself so exposed. Anybody could really walk in and see them, but she did care. She rather thought it would add to the thrill.

His length pulsed inside of her as he drew out and then back in, letting her feel every inch of it. She pressed back, only to find her hips roughly handled and kneaded, pinning her to the instrument’s lid.

She was helpless, anchored beneath his weight, laid bare to take the pleasure he gave her. She buried her face in the crook of her elbow and moaned wantonly as pleasure moved through her in waves.

“Henry,” she cried out, hoping the music was loud enough to mask her cries. “Henry!”

“We only have but a few moments,” he grunted out, speeding up.

Later, they could draw it out as much as they wished. For now, he took her and wrung every ounce of pleasure from her body. She could not prevent her moans from spilling out. She rocked back as much as she could beneath his hold, and he leaned down to kiss Veronica’s neck, leaving trails of bites and harsh sucks whenever he could reach.

When his hips slowed, giving several last deep thrusts, Veronica found herself nearing her climax.

“I ought to leave you on the edge,” he told her quietly, his voice a threat that sent delicious licks of pleasure down her spine. “But I cannot pass up the chance to have your climax in this moment. Be grateful to me, Veronica.”

When it was paired with a harsh spank, Veronica jolted.

“Thank you,” she gasped out. “Thank you, Your Grace!”

“Good,” he told her, his voice rumbling. “ Very good.”

He stroked down her back, having her curling against him, arching for more. He slid in and out of her, speeding up those slow, deliberate thrusts, until she was gasping against the pianoforte.

“Ah! Ah —Henry!”

He slipped a hand between her legs to fondle the bundle of nerves there. Veronica’s climax overwhelmed her in the next moment, spasming through her, and Henry tipped over the edge with her not a second later.

She cried into her arm as he continued thrusting through his pleasure and spilled inside of her. Her body jerked and ached deliciously as he pulled her skirt back down and his own breeches up then he tugged her from the stool.

Henry rubbed up her thighs and righted her dress before kissing her. It was a tender thing, a vast contrast to how he had just pleasured her.

Catching her breath, she laughed softly. “Who is the seducer now, husband?” she asked playfully, humming.

“It is still you,” he told her, smiling. “You enchant me, my Veronica. My Duchess.”

“As you do me,” she murmured, tipping her head back for another kiss.

She did not care if anybody waited for them. They had waited for one another for long enough, and as she kissed the Duke of Westley, sliding her hands into his hair, Veronica knew she had found her love match.