Page 89 of Duke with a Deception
“Richford didn’t marry Whit’s sister whilst she was an amnesiac,” King said, self-loathing lacing his words.
The truth of it was, had Verity not suffered that head injury that caused her mistaken belief that they were in love, she wouldn’t have married him. They were all wrong for each other. He had been a jaded sybarite who didn’t believe in love, and she had been in love with someone else. Their friendship likely would never have led to a courtship. There was the crux of the matter. If he hadn’t seized the moment and married her, neither of them would have known how beautifully they fit together. But in so doing, he had also poisoned the well.
“At least she recalled you, old chum,” Brandon said brightly.
“She didn’t,” he admitted for the first time, the words torn from him.
But it felt good to admit. Practice, perhaps, for when he would have to unburden himself to the woman he loved more than life itself.
Brandon cocked his head, studying him, clearly confused. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that she confused me with her dead betrothed,” he elaborated grimly. “Lord Leopold Douglas. The blow she suffered to the head robbed her of specific memories and confused others. I supplanted her beau in her mind, and she no longer remembers him. All that was left when she awoke was, for reasons I shall never know, me.”
Brandon stared at him, his expression inscrutable.
“And, no,” King added, “before you ask, no one else knows.”
“Not Riverdale?”
“No.”
“Your wife?”
King shook his head. “She has no recollection of Lord Leo. Nor does she realize she and I were never truly engaged to be wed.”
“Yet you married her.”
He held his friend’s gaze, unflinching. “I did.”
Brandon raised a brow. “Were you drinking one of your potions when you agreed to it?”
King bit out a laugh. “I was as sober as a vicar. We were taking tea, and she asked me when we were going to announce our betrothal to her family.”
“Riverdale is going to plot your murder if he ever finds out the truth,” Brandon said.
“I am aware. It isn’t Riverdale who concerns me most, however. It is my wife.” He paused, his gaze finding Verity across the ballroom. “I’ve fallen in love with her. I reckon I deserve my suffering for what I’ve done. But I’m going to have to tell her somehow.”
“The sooner you do, the better off you shall be,” Brandon advised. “Trust me on this matter. Honesty is of the greatest import in a marriage. You cannot keep secrets from each other. Tell her, and then beg for her forgiveness.”
“That is what I intend to do,” he said, still drinking in the sight of Verity.
She was radiant. The most beautiful woman in the room, with a heart to match. He thought of how patient and caring she was with little Emma. Of how tender and adoring she was with him, even though he didn’t deserve it. He loved her more than he had ever imagined possible, and he was so proud to stand at her side as her husband that he might as well have gone about shouting to everyone in attendance how wonderful and kindhearted she was, and how grateful he was to call her his.
“Mayhap don’t tell Riverdale,” Brandon added. “If you value your life and limb.”
“It isn’t Riverdale that I fear,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Verity with great reluctance. “It is what I will do if she cannot forgive me.”
CHAPTER 17
One moment, Verity was encouraging her guests to offer a more generous gift to the Children’s Foundling Hospital to aid in repairs, and the next, Lady Greetham was spilling her champagne down the front of Verity’s ball gown.
“Oh, dear heavens!” Lady Greetham pressed a hand to her heart, looking horrified by her actions, if a trifle soused. “I am so very sorry, Your Grace. Pray forgive me my clumsiness.”
Too much champagne for Lady Greetham, it would seem.
And although Verity’s gown was a dark purple, the splash of the champagne was quite notable, beginning at her bodice and traveling down her skirts. She gazed at herself, dismayed, before pinning on a smile and turning back to Lady Greetham as if she were completely unperturbed.
“You needn’t apologize,” she reassured the marchioness. “I shall go to the withdrawing room and blot it off, and it won’t even be noticeable.”
