Page 107 of Duke with a Deception
“The problem is not withMonsieurBarreau,” he explained. “It is with me. I am not hungry.”
“But you must eat.”
“Are you my mother now, Hutchens?” he growled, feeling quite irritated with the way his valet was fluttering about like a worried hen at her nest. “Because I could have sworn the heartless wretch was dead and buried.”
“I am worried for you, Your Grace,” Hutchens said quietly. “We all are.”
Well. It seemed as if his domestics had converged to discuss him. King didn’t think he appreciated that, even if their intentions were good. He could take care of his bloody self. Andif that meant not eating when he wasn’t hungry, then he wasn’t going to fucking eat.
“You needn’t fret,” he said, aiming for politeness. “I am perfectly well.”
“You have not been yourself.”
“That is because I amnotmyself,” he snapped. “I shan’t be again, unless…”
He allowed his words to trail away, not wanting to say her name. Not wanting all the emotions that inevitably followed.
“Have you written Her Grace a letter?” Hutchens asked.
Dozens of them, all unsent. Some of them more pathetic than others. All of them filled with helpless yearning for the woman he so desperately loved.
“No,” he said succinctly.
“Ah.”
King’s eyes narrowed on his valet. “What does that mean?”
“It means nothing, Your Grace. It was only a comment.”
“You may bloody well save your fucking comments, Hutchens,” he snarled. “That will be all.”
“But, Your Grace, we haven’t finished your preparations,” his valet objected.
“Leave me,” he ordered. “Or I shall give you the sack.”
Hutchens bowed, his expression going stiff and stoic. “Of course, Your Grace.”
King waited until he was alone again before he turned to a vase one of the maids must have brought up. It was filled with roses. And roses reminded him of Verity. Without thought, he picked them up, vase and all, and hurled them into the fireplace.
The shattering porcelain did nothing to quell the emptiness and anger inside him. He stared at the ruined vase and flowers, a few lone petals scattered about, and felt nothing. Verity was still gone. And he didn’t yet know if he had lost her forever.
There was nothing he could do but give her the time and distance she had asked for.
And wait.
CHAPTER 21
My love,
I have broken countless objects, destroyed much of my study, and even took out my frustration on a vase of roses, all to my shame. It solved nothing. You’re still gone, and I still miss you desperately.
Ever yours,
King
“Watch me, Lady Vitty!” Emma exclaimed, rushing along the gravel path, her new boots crunching as she went.
“I’m watching,” Verity called, trying to keep up with her active charge. “Whatever are you doing, dearest?”
