Page 105 of Duke with a Deception
“At least I am bathing, and I’m not hiding fish bones in the piles of correspondence on my desk,” he pointed out unkindly.
They both knew he referred to the occasion, not terribly long ago, when King had coaxed Richford from his self-imposed isolation at his country seat, where he’d been wallowing after ruining Whit’s sister, who was now his wife. Richford had beenin a dreadful, drunken state when King had gone to him, and he liked to think he had a hand in encouraging Richford to realize he was in love with the woman who had become his duchess.
“But it does look as if you have been redecorating,” Richford pointed out, also uncharitably, as he cast a glance around the study.
So, he hadn’t managed to have the walls patched yet. Who cared?
“One of the holes belongs to Riverdale,” he grumbled.
“Did he take a hammer to it?” Richford wondered, pointing at a spot near the window.
No, that had been King’s fist. He wasn’t proud of that, and his knuckles were still cursing him for it, but sometimes the frustration and fury at himself took him in a relentless hold.
King glared at his friend. “Did you come here solely to offer commentary upon the state of my walls?”
“No, I came here because we are running out of time, and we are growing rather desperate about what we must do with the club,” Richford admitted. “You had mentioned speaking to Lady Corbett about it.”
Blast.So he had.
“I have been rather busy, and I hadn’t the chance,” he admitted.
“I can see that you were indeed preoccupied,” Richford said wryly. “Would you care to speak about it?”
“Would you care for me to feed you your teeth?” he returned, feeling surly.
“I don’t think my wife would appreciate it very much if I came home without them,” Richford said calmly. “She is rather fond of my pretty face, you know.”
“No doubt she is.”
Richford sighed. “Would you like me to speak with Lady Corbett on your behalf?”
“No. I’ll do it.” Ophelia was his friend, and he needed the distraction.
“Might I suggest you clean the ink stains from your fingers first?” Richford asked.
“Might I suggest you shut the hell up?”
“You might,” Richford said, nodding. “And I won’t argue. You’re clearly not in the mood. I will, however, point out that you are the man responsible for my seeing the error of my ways. I understand that your wife is displeased with you, but you are clearly in misery without her. As a wise man once counseled me when I was stinking like a barn, splattered inSalmon a la Chambord, and half soused, you should go to her.”
Odd, that. Having one’s words repeated in a different circumstance, being the one given advice instead of the one offering it. King didn’t think he liked it.
“I would go to her,” he relented, “but she has asked me for her space, and I mean to honor that request, even if it proves my undoing.”
Richford cast an uncertain glance around. “It looks to me as if it already has been your undoing, old chap.”
And curse his hide, the Duke of Richford was not wrong.
My love,
Ten days. I am wretched without you. The hours that pass have no meaning. Come home to me.
Until then, I am ever yours,
King
With Emmain her nursemaid’s capable care, Verity had donned a sturdy pair of boots and a simple walking gown she had discovered in her wardrobe. Now, she was walking along the stream where she had often lingered with Leo. Forget-me-nots bloomed in tufts around her feet, small and vibrant.
The lone forget-me-not Leo had given her was still in her locket, dried and faded but forever preserved. It was a fond memory, and she was glad it had returned to her, along with the verses of the poem he had recited.
