Veronica. Nattie Jones

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.