Page 13 of Duke with a Deception
“Perhaps I’ve developed a new appreciation for it,” he suggested.
“But that’s absurd. One doesn’t suddenly acquire an appreciation for fish.” Heavens knew that she never would. It was impossible. The very notion of a salmon or some trout on her plate was enough to make her bilious.
“According to you.” He shrugged, grinning. “One is always capable of changing one’s mind.”
With that, he took up another bite of fish, lifting it to his perfectly sculpted lips.
She felt faintly queasy, hoping he didn’t intend to kiss her with that mouth. At least not until he had either consumed something that would mask the flavor or thoroughly brushed his teeth. She certainly didn’t want to avoid kissing him. She’d thought of scarcely anything else in weeks.
An interesting conundrum, indeed. Something nettled her still, some sense of an itch that would not be scratched. Was it that he now enjoyed fish when he hadn’t previously? Was it the cavalier way in which he had acknowledged the change? Or was it her memory, which was hazy and indistinct? Had she misremembered?
“You are displeased.”
King’s statement cut through her thoughts. Perhaps she was being churlish about the fish. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps it didn’t matter at all. Today was her wedding day, the day she had been anticipating for so long that this very moment itself felt something like a dream. She must cling to that, to the reminder she had wanted nothing else, and forget about the stirrings of memories, real and forgotten and otherwise.
“I’m not displeased in the slightest,” she denied, smiling brightly. “How could I be anything but content? Today, I married the man I love, and tomorrow is the first day of our life together.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but she knew him well enough to catch the sign that something in her words affected him. Was it her reference to love? Of their life together? Verity knew King better than she knew anyone. He was the other half of her. And yet, sometimes it still felt as if he were a stranger. In some ways, she was still learning him.
“That sounds almost ominous, angel.”
His words were teasing. Light. But secrets only he could unlock lingered in his dark eyes, belying his tone.
“Hardly ominous.”
“Mmm.” He reached for his glass of wine. “The first day of our life together. What is it you think that we shall do with this life of ours?”
The intensity and intimacy of his gaze and voice made a frisson of something decadent dance down her spine. Then there was a memory, a shadow at the edge of her thoughts. One she couldn’t quite catch or make sense of.
She reached for her own glass. “We must have discussed it before the fire. I recall making many plans, but the details are hazy and indistinct now.”
“Perhaps we ought to plan anew, then,” he suggested, his eyes dipping down to her untouched plate. “Over the next course.”
He rose from his chair, went to the bellpull, and rang for the butler he had dismissed earlier so that they might dine privately. Retrieving a bottle of wine from the sideboard, he moved to her side, refilling her glass, near enough that she could feel his heat.
Near enough that his scent wrapped around her, one unique to King. Musk with hints of fresh meadow and an undercurrent of lemon, reminiscent of spring days redolent with promise. Of course, he would pay the same exacting detail to his scent as he did the rest of his dress, but she couldn’t deny that each time she caught a hint of it, the ache within her grew.
She thanked him, eyes on his long, elegant fingers again as he finished pouring. “You needn’t dance attendance on me, you know. I am fully capable of seeing to myself.”
“And miss the pleasure that tending to you brings me? I think not, angel.”
He returned to his chair as the butler arrived. Pierpoint was dressed in dapper black with a stiff, starched collar, his graying hair pulled back from his high forehead. With his aquiline nose and stern expression, the butler rather resembled a bird of prey.
The butler bowed elegantly. “Your Graces.”
“Pierpoint, Her Grace has expressed an ardent dislike of fish,” King announced. “Please do consult with Mrs. Sendall so thatMonsieurBarreau refrains from the use ofpoissonin any future dishes.”
“None, sir?”
“Not one.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Pierpoint intoned, unmoved. “I will informMonsieurBarreau and Mrs. Sendall directly. Would Your Graces prefer the next course?”
“Yes, please,” King said.
With a nod and another bow, the butler took his leave.
“But I thought you had developed a new appreciation for fish,” Verity objected when Pierpoint had quietly excused himself, not wanting to deprive her husband of a meal he enjoyed.
