Page 57 of Duke with a Deception
King?
Verity searched the child’s excited countenance, sure she had misheard. “His Grace helped you to find the locket?”
Emma nodded, her golden curls bobbing excitedly around her heart-shaped face. “It was under my bed.”
“My goodness, His Grace has proven quite a hero,” Verity said, startled that he would have involved himself.
How would King have known the child’s locket was missing? Had Emma been weeping?
The girl held up her locket, clasped firmly in her fist, and that was when Verity noticed Emma held one of King’s handkerchiefs in the other. A brief, sudden memory hit Verity of King handing her a handkerchief when she’d been weeping. It was the same memory that had come to her before, faded and indistinct then but clearer now. She had been disconsolate about something, she remembered vaguely. Or perhaps someone. And there had been a ball, she was sure of it.
Frowning, she scoured the corners of her mind for the memory that seemed determined to elude her grasp. They had indeed been in the alcove overlooking the ballroom at her brother’s town house as she had initially recalled. But why had she been weeping?
“There you are, Miss Emma.”
King’s sinfully smooth baritone caught Verity’s attention. She looked up to find him striding toward them, elegant and handsome. The smile that curved his lips when he saw Verity was genuine and laden with sensual heat.
“And there you are, darling wife.”
“Husband,” she greeted him, summoning a smile even though her mind was still bogged down by the memory.
“Come now, Lady Verity. I don’t bite.”
Had they been flirting? She wished she could recall. Verity had the faintest, fleeting impression that the ball had been held in Sybil’s honor. But how could that have been? Sybil and Everett were still fairly newly wed.
Whilst she and King had been in love for far longer.
How long, she didn’t remember.
Why had no one told her?
Why did it feel as if everyone around her were keeping secrets from her?
“Angel, is something wrong?”
She blinked at King’s voice, so near now, and realized he had reached the place where she and Emma stood and loomed over them. What could she say? Somethingwaswrong, but she didn’t know precisely what.
“Not at all,” she lied brightly, standing as she forced the unfinished memory aside for now. “I hear that you have been quite heroic in finding Miss Emma’s lost locket whilst I was away.”
His gaze searched hers, almost as if he didn’t quite believe her. “I don’t know that I would describe myself as heroic, but I will selfishly accept all accolades from two such lovely ladies.”
“I hope Miss Emma wasn’t disrupting your day,” she added. “Where is Grace?”
“The nursemaid? I do believe she is fetching something sweet for Miss Emma from the kitchens.”
Verity lifted a brow. “At this hour of the afternoon? She shall spoil her dinner.”
King grinned, looking sheepish. “At my suggestion. All blame for the spoiling of dinner shall be laid at my door, I fear.”
She studied him, realizing he didn’t appear bothered by the child’s presence, when he had previously gone out of his way to avoid Emma. “What has happened whilst I was away?”
“Quite a bit, actually,” King said, his smile fading and giving way to seriousness.
“Your Graces.” The nursemaid appeared in the hall, bearing a tray laden with a small bowl of cream ice and a spoon, dipping into a curtsy. “Forgive me for Miss Emma’s exuberance. She promised to behave whilst I fetched her treat fromMonsieurBarreau. Come with me to the nursery, if you please, Miss Emma.”
“She was behaving quite well,” Verity reassured the concerned maid. “She was merely telling me about the afternoon’s adventures.”
Which had apparently involved King helping Emma to find her missing locket. The knowledge warmed Verity’s heart. She had feared he would never grow accustomed to the girl making a home with them. Meanwhile, as the days had gone on, Verity had been more certain than ever that Emma was the daughter of her heart. She hadn’t realized, until spending so much time with the child, just how badly she wanted to become a mother.
