Page 65 of Duke with a Deception
He stared, remembering the exact moment he had given her that handkerchief. They had been alone in an alcove overlooking Riverdale’s ballroom, people teeming below. She’d been hiding herself there, weeping over the man she loved.
The man whose place he had taken.
His heart froze. Did she remember? No. She couldn’t have regained her memory, or she wouldn’t be looking at him as she was now, with such tender sadness and love.
He swallowed down the rush of icy dread and accepted it. “Thank you.”
He began to tuck it into his coat in a force of habit.
But she caught his hand in hers, stopping him. “The handkerchief is to dry your tears.”
He stared at her, horrified she was seeing him this way, that she was acknowledging his grief so openly when he scarcely could himself.
“Here,” she said softly. “Let me.”
She took the linen from his hand and gently wiped first one cheek, then the other.
King held still, allowing Verity to tend to him, warmth invading his chest. She didn’t remember; he was certain of it now. He hoped to God she never would.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly.
“You needn’t thank me, my love. I am here for you, always.”
Her unwavering love and unconditional loyalty weren’t his to claim, but he couldn’t deny needing them both. He had never wanted something that didn’t belong to him more than he wanted this woman’s heart and devotion.
He should tell her. Tell her everything right here in this cramped attic. Set his guilt free the same way he had his grief.
He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bear the way she would look at him when she knew. If he told her the truth, he would lose her, and he couldn’t lose her because he needed her.
Because helovedher.
The realization was overwhelming. He wasn’t merely falling for Verity. He already had. Perhaps even from that long-ago night at the ball. And here they were, coming full circle. She was using the same handkerchief he had given her then to dry the tears she had shed over the loss of her betrothed. Using it to dry up the tears he was crying over the daughter he had loved and lost.
Grief had brought them together.
Perhaps it could hold them together.
He reached into the crate and extracted the porcelain doll, which had been carefully wrapped and placed within. “This is what I was looking for. It’s a doll I bought for Daphne. I thought that perhaps Emma would like it.”
Verity’s brow creased. “You don’t need to do that, King. We can buy her another doll, and you can keep this one safely packed away.”
Yes, they could afford to buy the child a different doll, a new doll. Hell, they could afford to buy her hundreds of them. That wasn’t the point, however.
He shook his head. “I want her to have this one.”
“What if she breaks it or loses it? Children can be rather irresponsible. Only look at what happened with her mother’s locket.”
“I want it to be Emma’s now. This doll is not Daphne, and hiding it away in the attic won’t bring her back. Nor will shutting up the nursery or packing up her belongings. It won’t make my sorrow any less either.”
He had spent far too many years avoiding the pain of his past, and he had locked away his heart along with it. No longer.
“You truly want Emma to have it?” Verity asked hesitantly.
“I do.” He took a deep breath, feeling some of the heaviness in his chest lift. “I’d like for us both to give it to her together.”
Verity smiled at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “Together, my love.”
He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a reverent kiss. “Always.”
