Читать книгу Veronica - Nattie Jones - Страница 7

In the morning, the Duke sent me a bundle of tulips from the South. The next day brought a note, saying that he had visited my sister and her husband and “everything had been arranged.” And the following day, Georgette introduced me to her dressmaker, and we spent the whole afternoon deciding on fabrics and patterns for my wardrobe.

Aside from the fact that the dresses were going to be made for me, my life did not feel much different from what it had been as a lady's companion.

In fact, I'd thought I'd done something daring, something adventurous by agreeing to the Duke's proposal, and here I was living the same life. Watching Georgette as Countess reminded me that my life, as Duchess, would not be the adventure I sought.

I walked into the garden, wondering if today would bring anything interesting. I closed my eyes, and I imagined the Duke holding my fingers, exposing my palm to his crop.

The memory stirred a longing, a yearning in me. I turned my face to the sun, eyes closed, trying to absorb the heat of the sunlight into my skin.

A deep, rumbling voice addressed me. “Miss Veronica Bridge, will you take a turn with me about the garden?”

I grinned at the sound of his voice, opened my eyes to see his hat. “Your Grace!”

He laughed and offered his arm.

“Your brother assumed he would marry us.”

“You have arranged everything,” I said, and I was surprised that my voice was cold.

“You have no parents,” he said stiffly, looking as uncomfortable as I'd ever seen him.

We walked in uncomfortable silence, and I wasn't sure how to return the mood to when we were glad to see each other.

I tried laughing. “If this is an indication of our future disagreements, we will be a happy couple.”

He stopped us. His eyes held that devilish, teasing look, and I relaxed. “Our future disagreements will end with you bare-bottomed and over my knee.”

I looked at his hand. It hung at his side, large and wide and genteel. “And if you're in the wrong?” I asked.

He grinned. “You'll still end up with a sore bottom.”

I stepped away from him. “That doesn't seem fair!”

He laughed, but I didn't think it so funny. I finally asked, “Surely not a real punishment, Your Grace?” I blushed.

“That depends.” His eyes studied my face. “But there will be real punishments, Veronica. I do not think you will enjoy them.”

His words made something in my belly flutter, but they also made me angry at the same time. “So you will be a cruel Master?”

“There is kindness in discipline. I will be strict with you, but is it not what you want?”

It was everything I dreamed of, but it was also a lot of trust to grant someone. How easy it would be for him to be cruel, and then I would be stuck with him for the rest of my life. I knew many women would have found the money worth any amount of cruelty, but I had never expected to live richly.

“I want to know why you proposed to me.”

The path turned around a large bush, and I was delighted to see a few crocuses poking up. They would die soon, frozen when a snatch of winter returned to interrupt spring, but the splash of purple and white promised summer would come soon.

“You know why already.”

“I only know partly why.” We were getting out of sight of the cottage, so I turned back toward the house.

He grabbed my arm. He managed to make his grip soft and yet keep me from moving forward. “You push.”

“It is my right to know.” Feeling impatient, I tried to walk away from him, to punish his stalling. He did not let me.

“Veronica, I-”

His use of my given name annoyed me. Once was daring and sweet, twice was insulting. “We are not married yet, Your Grace.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and I knew I succeeded in pushing him into anger. I felt sorry, then, but it was too late to take it back.

“I proposed to you because Mistresses are too demanding; because even they think my desires strange; because you seem to feel the same desires.”

I snatched my arm from his grasp. “How can you talk to me of Mistresses?”

“Because you ask for honesty. And I also proposed to you because you are always reading. I am Master in my home, Veronica, and even though you think I did not see you, I watched you escape to my library every chance you got. I watched you smirk at Lady Caroline's audacious manners and Lady Bridget's changeable sweetness. All year I have felt your gaze upon me, whether at parties, dances, or even from my own window.”

His fingers grabbed my chin, holding my gaze to him. “Look at me, Veronica, and see me. I adore the way you go inside yourself, as if you are visiting another mysterious world. I love the smoothness of your skin, the pinkness of your lips, and this golden brown hair you have that shines in the sun.”

I couldn't think of a thing to say.

“And I thought you intriguing, perhaps a convenient choice, until the night you offered me your other hand to strike with my crop.”

I blushed and he grinned.

“I cannot get that out of my mind, the way you trusted me, the way you were so brave, so eager for the game.” He bent, snapped the stem of a crocus and presented it to me.

I was so embarrassed at his complimentary words that I blurted, “Lord Riverchurch suspects things are not proper between us.”

“What did he say?”

His gaze switched to anger so quickly it frightened me. “He said nothing, Your Grace. It was just a feeling I had.”

The Duke relaxed. “I am fond of the way you say 'Your Grace.'“ He took a step toward me, looked at me in way that made me feel like prey.

“Don't move,” he said.

I froze, fearful a bee was on me. Then I remembered it was too cold for bees. A snake? I looked at my feet. “What is it?”

“I'm going to kiss you again.”

I stepped back, looked around to make sure we were not in view of anyone. We were behind a large set of bushes. Although there were only a few leaves, the branches were thick enough that we were not in view of the windows of the house.

He growled.

I had never expected that sound from him. He had a relaxed way about him, but still he always radiated energy. His very presence commanded attention, so growling was just this side of frightening. And funny. But not either at all.

“Come here, Veronica.”

“Why?” His gaze pinned me in place; I could not obey him.

“I told you not to move.”

At his words, a thrill raced through me. Would he punish me?

“Are you disobeying me?” he asked. His face was hard, but there was an affection in his expression that let me know he was not truly upset.

“No, Your Grace.” I nibbled at my lip. “I'm just not obeying you.”

His eyebrows were already shaped in a way that naturally made him look skeptical. When he lifted one eyebrow, it made one eye look surprised. The other eyebrow was forced down in a way that looked almost angry.

The two expressions combined made my hand tingle. I glanced at his hands, but they were holding no crop.

He stepped toward me, towering over me. His hand touched my arm, and my whole body quivered. It felt so good to be touched by him; it was as if my body recognized his as its other half.

Running his hand down my arm, he forced it behind me. Our gazes were locked as he did the same with my other arm, and then circled both wrists with his hand. He held me captive loosely, as if he knew I wouldn't fight.

But I had to test my bond. I tried to pull my hands away, but his hand clasped tighter. And the tighter they squeezed, the more I liked it. I struggled more, and he squeezed so that it hurt just a little bit.

Calm washed over me, and I settled. He did not loosen his grip, but he took his other hand and softly stroked my cheek.

“Whether you disobey me or not obey me, you will be punished.” He cupped my chin with his thumb and used his finger to toy with my lips. “So pretty,” he said. He leaned down and kissed me, both gentle and firm. His lips nibbled at mine, as if he were blind and trying to memorize the shape of them by touch only.

When he was done, I could not catch my breath. “How will you punish me?” My voice sounded lower than I'd ever heard it, almost gruff. Hardly the sweet pleasantness my mother had tried to cultivate in me.

“The morning after we are married, I will carry you over the threshold and then put you across my knee. Right there, in the front foyer, I will pull up your dress and run my hand over your bare bottom. And then I will spank you with my hand until I am pleased with your squeals and cries.”

Heat rolled over my skin. Even in the chilly air, I was hot.

He released my hands and held out his arm. “Come,” he said. “Let's go back inside and visit with my sister.”

He wore an easy smile, as if what had just happened between us had not transpired. I felt I wanted to growl at him. I think I did, because he laughed.

“You are going to enjoy your wedding night, Veronica.”

That made me stiffen. “I will do my duty, Your Grace.”

Now I had shocked him. “You will do your duty?” he asked. “You are greedy for your husband to spank you, and yet you do not want to lie with him?”

I ignored his offered arm and turned back to the house. He followed.

“I am not a fallen woman.”

“I never once imagined you as one.” For the first time, he looked displeased with me. I hated the feeling it gave me, so I tried to hate him instead. He shook his head. “You know nothing of such things. I promise you will enjoy it.”

While I was comfortable speaking of punishments and such, I was not comfortable about our wedding night. Or any night thereafter. I gave a quick curtsey and fled to my room.

He left before I came down for supper, and I feared he would send a note cancelling our engagement.

No such note came. No flowers, either. No more visits.

I knew I should write letters to my sister, to Jeanette, and to Lady Bridget, but I feared he would cancel the engagement and I would just embarrass myself.

Georgette seemed to think all was in order. Even though a whole week passed and I had not heard from him. Snow came, interrupting spring, and I spent more time looking out the window, hoping the Duke would visit.

I was so self-involved, that I did not notice Georgette doing the same thing. Six days before my wedding, I noticed tears in her eyes as she was doing needlepoint. I had been pretending to read and hoping for a visitor.

I realized I had been a poor companion to Georgette. A poor friend. A poor guest. We were not so close that I felt confident asking her what was wrong. Should I pretend I hadn't seen?

But she wanted to be sisters.

“Georgette, you are crying!” I said. “I have been a poor, brooding guest in your house, when you have been the sweetest hostess a girl like me could ever hope for.” Then, aghast at myself, I added, “That anyone could ever hope for.”

She put down her needlework and came to sit on the edge of my window seat as if we were sisters already. She opened her mouth to speak, but we both heard a piercing scream from her son.

It happened again.

We both ran through the house and out the back. Lord Riverchurch was swooping him up and down, and at first I thought he was terrified. But he was laughing so hard, it almost sounded like his crying. I kept listening carefully to make sure he was laughing.

Georgette had a big smile on her face. “You are home so early!”

He smiled at her. “My Lady has hoped it to be so, and so it is.”

I curtsied to Lord Riverchurch and excused myself. I passed a servant on the stairs to my room, and she turned to the wall to make herself invisible. It was a small staircase, so this was impossible. I thought it overly formal for a country cottage, but I didn't like it in the Duke's manor, either.

On my bed was a tiny package and envelope. I opened the note first. It read, “Dear Veronica, I hope you will find this gift more pleasing than my last visit. Yours, Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey. He'd signed it Jeffrey. I giggled a little. It was hard to imagine him as a Jeffrey. I thought of him as the Duke, or the Duke of Durhamshire. I hadn't even known his given name to be Jeffrey.

I said his name out loud, softly, to test it.

I heard a laugh from the doorway. I jumped. “You have no propriety!”

The Duke stepped inside the room and gestured to the package. “Well?”

I lifted the purple velvet lid and stared at a pretty silver chain with a flower made of winding silver. It was modest, but most beautiful.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” I wanted to put it on at that second. Instead, I carefully put it back in its box. I would wear it the day of our wedding.

“I behaved badly my last visit. I am sorry.”

I wasn't sure how to respond. “I enjoyed your visit. I've hoped you would visit soon.”

He walked to the window and looked out over the gardens, watching his sister and her husband play with their son. “I come with bad news.”

My heart sank. I feared instantly that he would call of the engagement, or that there would be some impediment to our marriage.

“My steward has quit. Our honeymoon will have to be postponed until I can find someone to replace him.”

I laughed.

He gave me an odd look.

“I feared your bad news would be more terrible than that.”

His look turned predatory. “I wish we were married this moment.”

I flushed. “You shouldn't be in here.”

“I brought the crop you're so fond of.”

And I saw it in his hand. My heart stopped. I was suddenly thrust into excitement and fear, mixed together. I had loved the pain it had given me, but at the same time, it had hurt and that I dreaded. I wished both that he would use it on me and that he would not.

“Your Grace, Lord Riverchurch is here.”

“Riverchurch has no power over me. He would not dare utter a word against me, not after all I have done for him.”

“You will offend Georgette!”

He grinned. “She is my sister. And she is outside with her son and her husband in the gardens.”

“The servants!” I squeaked.

He grinned. “They are servants.”

“But they will talk!”

“Bend over the edge of the bed, Veronica.”

I gaped at him: he'd used the exact words I had given him in my diary. “You wouldn't.” But I very much wanted him to.

He looked at me with some concern. “Are you afraid?”

It felt like I was afraid.

“Come here,” he said.

I smoothed my skirt, took a breath, looked out the window.

“Veronica, I will punish you for real if you continue to disobey me when I call you.”

Last week when he'd asked me to come, I'd disobeyed him because I wanted him to punish me. This week, I did not have the same feelings. I went to him.

He put his finger under my chin. “You never need fear me, Veronica. And you may always tell me that you are afraid. You may always ask me to stop.”

“Even if I am being punished?” My voice sounded small.

“I will always listen to you. You may ask me even if you are being punished, and I will listen.”

“But will you stop?” I pressed.

“If it is not a real punishment, I will stop. If it is, I might. I might not. You'll have to trust me not to hurt you.” He touched a finger to my cheek. “You are crying. Why are you crying? Do you fear these games suddenly?”

I shook my head. “Today I feel sorry for disobeying you.”

He gave a tender laugh. “And you didn't feel sorry last week?”

“Last I week I wanted you to punish me.”

“Not this week?”

I realized my fear had nothing to do with the crop in his hand. In five days I would be married--married--to a Duke. Until he had brought me the necklace, I had doubted him. And now I would be with him for the rest of my life. It was more than I could have hoped for, and yet I was still nervous. It was overwhelming.

“We're to be married,” I said. “Does that not feel... overwhelming?”

He cocked his head at me. “No. Are you having second thoughts?”

I shook my head. “Of course not, Your Grace.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I was embarrassed by our conversation.

“Is it the wedding night that scares you?”

Yes, I thought, but I didn't say that out loud. I feared being a Duchess and all that would entail. I didn't know how to express this, so I just blurted, “Your house is big.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You are a sweet thing. Come here. There will be no playing today.”

I had felt too overwhelmed for play a moment ago, too nervous for punishment, but now I was disappointed. “Why not?” I pouted.

My pouting seemed to please him. He bowed formally. “I will see you on Saturday, Your Grace.” He winked at me.

My mouth dropped open. Then I giggled. Having a title would take some getting used to. I did a full court curtsy for him. “Your Grace.”

After he left, I realized he’d left his riding crop on the bed. I didn’t call after him because I bet he did it on purpose. He probably knew I’d spend the whole week staring at it curiously, wondering what it would feel like it when he used it on my bare bottom.