Page 109 of Duke with a Deception
Verity smiled at the excitement in the child’s voice and countenance. She knew Emma had missed King. She asked after him daily, wondering when he would join them in the country.
“Yes, to see the duke,” she answered.
“That would be better than catching any old frog,” Emma said.
She chuckled. “Yes, dearest girl. I do agree with you wholeheartedly, and I am sure the duke would be glad to know you hold him in higher regard than a mere frog.”
Emma nodded seriously. “And he’d be proud I didn’t even say bastard that time, Lady Vitty.”
“Excellent use of yourh, darling,” Verity praised, trying not to laugh, lest she hurt the child’s feelings. “Let’s go and find out whether Cook has prepared us any cakes or biscuits, shall we?”
“Oh yes!” Emma exclaimed and then promptly burst into a run.
“Emma,” Verity called after her, “no running in the?—”
The girl tripped on her hem and went sprawling to the Axminster.
“…house,” Verity finished wryly. “Are you hurt, dearest?”
Emma popped up as if she hadn’t just taken a spill at all, grinning, a golden curl hanging over her brow. “I’m right as ninepence, I am.”
“Excellent.” Verity reached her and ruffled the girl’s hair affectionately. “I’m beginning to think that I am as well.”
Five different tongueswere licking him at once.
It wasn’t the greeting King had expected when he had finally dragged himself to Ophelia’s town house to do his duty for the Wicked Dukes Society. But it was a welcome one, nonetheless.
“Mary, do settle down,” Ophelia chastised mildly.
“I don’t mind,” he told his old friend, patting Elizabeth on the head.
“Charlotte, Christina,” Ophelia added. “Please behave yourselves.”
Neither Mary nor Charlotte nor Christina appeared inclined to listen. They were vigorous and effusive in their greeting. He didn’t think his trousers would ever be the same.
For the first time since Verity had left him, he found himself smiling. And then King felt the distinct nip of teeth on his ankle.
“Samuel and Henry, you naughty boys,” Ophelia scolded, sweeping a wriggling, white-toothed puppy from the Axminster and lifting him into her arms. “You mustn’t bite my guests. Forgive me, King. These five are still learning their manners.”
It had been too long since he’d had the comfort of a warm, furred body at his feet. Anguish hit his chest and made his eyes burn. God, he missed Spy.
He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes downcast at the fawn-colored pups who had finished eagerly greeting him and were now rolling about and chewing on each other’s faces.
“Think nothing of it,” he managed. “You know how much I adore dogs.”
“I do,” Ophelia said warmly. “How is Spy?”
Blast.
“Gone, I’m afraid,” he rasped, blinking.
Damn it, since when had he become such a bloody watering pot? Since the love of his life had left him, that was when.
“Oh, King,” Ophelia said. “I’m so very sorry to hear that. I know how much you loved him.”
He forced his gaze up to meet hers, trying a wan smile that likely emerged more as a grimace than aught else. “Thank you. He was a good lad, and I shall miss him always.”
“That explains why you look so wretched,” she added, compressing her lips as the pup in her arms licked her chin. “Samuel, no licking, darling.”
