Page 55 of Duke with a Deception
“So did you,” she told him. “Or have you forgotten? My memory may not be what it once was, but I do remember that much. And yet, look at how much you have changed. How muchlovehas changed you.”
There was no denying her brother was wildly in love with his wife. Or that falling in love with Sybil had made him a better man. He had been a dedicated bachelor for years, swearing he would never marry.Mamanhad harangued him at every opportunity, heaping guilt upon him over his lack of adherence to familial duty whenever she could.
Everett sighed. “That is different, Verity. What I have with Sybil is nothing like your marriage to Kingham.”
“You are not the only person capable of finding true love and happiness.” Try as she might, Verity couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
She was beginning to wonder why she had accepted the invitation after all. She hadn’t come here to defend her husband. She had visited because she had not seen her brother, sister-in-law, andMamanin two weeks. As she had told Everett upon her arrival, she had missed them.
“I never suggested you were incapable of doing so,” Everett said tightly. “But for ten years, you were so determined that you would never marry either. Not after what happened. I don’t understand how you fell in love with King in such haste.”
Ten years? There it was again, that odd sensation within her, akin to an itch she could not scratch. What had happened ten years ago with this Lord Leopold?
“I don’t know what you’re speaking of,” she denied, frowning at her brother. “If you would only explain yourself fully, perhaps I could have a better understanding of your concerns.”
She didn’t miss the way Sybil laid a staying hand on her brother’s forearm, as if to warn him against offering further argument.
Everett clenched his jaw. “Now is not the time for it. Let us enjoy our tea before it grows cool.Mamanhas been missing you dreadfully as well, as has Sybil. I suppose I must not monopolize the conversation.”
Before anyone could say more, a commotion heralded the return of Lady Eastlake and Henry from their shopping expedition. The two joined in for tea, and Verity spent the rest of her call trying to distract herself from the troubling things her brother had hinted at.
A commotion was being unleashed somewhereon the floor above King, a cacophony unlike any which he had heretofore heard. Perhaps one of the maids had spied a mouse, hereasoned. Although he was more than certain there weren’t any rodents here at Castelyn House.
King frowned and attempted to devote himself more thoroughly to his correspondence, a task which proved futile when the noise only became louder and more intrusive. Verity had gone to pay a call on her brother. Riverdale had invited her to tea, whilst intentionally withholding an invitation to King. He hadn’t minded the insult. It was earned. But he missed her already. Not because of the clamor that was currently nettling him, but because knowing he could find her at any moment and make love to her was one of his favorite things in the bloody world.
Shewas one of his favorites, actually, full stop.
Being married to her was a joy he had never before imagined. He woke to her naked in his bed every morning, fell asleep to her in his arms, her soft scent surrounding him, her seductive curves melting against him. They broke their fasts together, bathed together, and otherwise spent as much of their waking and sleeping hours as possible together. And perversely, the more he had of her, the more he wanted.
He wanted her more than he wanted to eat, sleep, or breathe. More than he wanted the present uproar in his household to stop.
Blast.He truly was going to investigate what the bloody hell was going on. With a sigh, he rose from his desk and stalked out of the study. He found his butler at once.
“Pierpont, what is that dreadful sound?” he demanded.
“I do believe the source of the noise is our young Miss Emma, Your Grace,” the butler intoned with an almost comical lack of expression.
The sound grew louder, and at once, King knew what it was. Now he understood. The noise was no longer muffled but quite loud and distinct. The child was weeping.
“Where the devil is the maid who is meant to be watching her?” he demanded.
“I shall inquire with Mrs. Sendall, Your Grace,” Pierpont said.
That would only take longer. The wailing grew shriller. He sighed.
“Never mind, Pierpont. I will do it myself.”
“But, Your Grace,” the butler protested.
King ignored him, for he was already striding for the staircase. The sooner he reached the source of the disagreeable screeching, the better. Pity Verity wasn’t here to help him. He had no doubt that his wife would have already calmed the child by now. That was part of what made her an angel among mere mortals. Well, that and the way she continuously and unfailingly saw the best in his own miserable hide.
The wailing child was in the hall outside the nursery, face streaked with tears, lashes spiky and wet. Her cheeks were reddened. The maid was at her side, awkwardly patting her shoulder in an effort to console her.
“There now, Miss Emma,” she was saying in a soothing voice. “We’ll find it soon. Don’t you fret.”
All this because the child had lost something?
“What is the matter?” he asked, startling Emma and the maid both.
