Page 18 of Duke with a Deception
There was no feigning her exuberance. How was she so perpetually filled with cheer? He couldn’t begin to guess. Her heart was impossibly pure.
“I am gratified you found it so. Most ladies in your position might find it taxing, in addition to thrilling, however.”
“Would they? Then I daresay they weren’t marrying the man they loved.”
Damn. If only she would cease referring to love and to him being the recipient and cause. He disliked that quite a bit. Romantic love didn’t exist. It was a delusion. And Verity hadbeen living in it for a decade, convincing herself that she loved a ghost, and that she must remain true to him, even to her own detriment. Clearly, King had done her a favor, poor sweet angel.
“You are a paragon of bridely perfection,” he praised, meaning the words.
Until her strange flights of fancy following the fire, he’d never considered wedding anyone. But he knew to his marrow that there was not any other woman he would rather have at his side and in his bed in her stead. Verity would be faithful, loyal. She would revere him without question, turning away from all his faults.
Unless she remembered.
She beamed at him. “Do you think so?”
King didn’t hesitate. “I know so.”
Verity rose on her toes suddenly, pressing her mouth to his with such enthusiasm he stumbled backward beneath her onslaught. It took him a moment to steady himself and keep from falling on his arse. He held her to him, his hands on skin that was softer than silk, lush and perfumed and warm and enticing. So damned tempting that he couldn’t resist.
His hands slid lower, cupping her bottom. Twin palms full of Verity’s derriere, her mouth on his. He wanted nothing more than to turn and walk the few paces to the wall, pin her there with his body, ravish her lips with his, stake his claim.
He shouldn’t.
But there was that damned devil again, perched on his shoulder.
And there were her lips, soft and full and maddening, clinging to his as if she were starved for him. She wasn’t exceptionally skilled at kissing; he reckoned she hadn’t much experience, given her decade-long devotion to the departed Lord Leopold. But that didn’t matter. She more than made up for her lack of skill with her enthusiasm.
King shouldn’t be so roused by an innocent who was all ardor and no finesse, but the instant her tongue demanded entrance to his mouth, he groaned and deepened the kiss. She was inquisitive and bold, and he couldn’t get his fill of her. He knew instinctively that he never would.
There was something about Verity that had drawn him to her that day in the alcove. It had been her devotion, the tears swimming in her ice-blue eyes, the steadfast love she had shown for a man who was long gone. But it had also been her determination to pass through life according to her own rules. It had been her willingness to be vulnerable, to weep instead of waltz. And that had only compounded when he understood the depth of her affection for the orphans at the Children’s Foundling Hospital. She was a good woman, pure of heart and soul. The sort of woman he didn’t deserve.
But that didn’t matter any longer.
Because she was his wife now, and she was kissing him so pleasingly that he knew he couldn’t entirely resist. His restraint was aflame. All he wanted was her. Every plan he had made these last two months was destroyed.
He gripped her bottom and angled her against him, letting her feel the effect she had on him, even through the barrier of his clothes. She gasped into his mouth, head tipping back to break the kiss, her eyes wide pools of luminous longing.
Breathtaking. How had this exquisite woman been within his reach for so long without his realizing sooner?
“As you can observe,” she murmured softly, her lips the color of crushed summer berries, “I am very well healed and not at all weary from the excitement of the day.”
Who was he to decline such a decadent invitation?
“I can see that, angel.”
“Do you still wish for me to go to my own bed?”
Only a madman would.
And King was no madman, even if he wasn’t entirely sane.
“No, love. You may stay with me. But I do insist that you pay some attention to your modesty. If you remain thus, I can’t promise I’ll be a gentleman this evening and show you the care you deserve.” He gave her delightful rump a caressing squeeze to underscore his warning.
The minx gave him an impish smile. “I’ll fetch myrobe de chambre.”
CHAPTER 3
Her dressing gown was rather transparent, crafted of fine silk that left little to the imagination. Verity observed herself in the long, beveled mirror in her new bedroom, taking note of how much detail of her naked form the clinging fabric revealed.
