Page 90 of Duke with a Deception
“I don’t know what I was doing,” Lady Greetham lamented. “I must have tripped on my hems.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said gently, reminding herself that the marchioness and her husband had provided a sizable pledge to the orphanage and that she would gladly bathe in champagneif it meant the children could soon have a home restored to them. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I will be back in a trice.”
Verity made her way through the throng of revelers, pleased at both the crush of guests and the funds that had been raised for her cause. It was, she didn’t doubt, a success. The champagne would dry. She had wanted to dance with King, but that would have to wait until she tended to her gown.
Movement was slow. The ballroom was overly warm, the blazing chandeliers and the sheer number of people in attendance making perspiration trickle down her spine. The champagne on her front was beginning to seep through her layers, and her feet had begun to ache long ago in her impractical slippers. They were hours away from supper. Perhaps a small sojourn to the withdrawing room wasn’t as irritating a task as she had initially thought.
At long last, and only after working her way through the crowd whilst covered in champagne and smiling brightly and exchanging pleasantries with all who crossed her path, she emerged from the ballroom to the cooler and quieter air of the hall. But her hopes for the withdrawing room were dashed by the line of ladies preceding her.
Better yet, she decided, she would slip up the staircase and say goodnight to Emma while her gown dried. Perhaps she could even find some towels to blot the damp silk velvet whilst she was en route to the nursery. Whirling away from the crowded line of ladies, she ascended the curved staircase, stopping at her chamber along the way.
Within, her room was hushed and chilly. Thank heavens no one had lit a fire in the grate. Verity found a towel and began to blot the liquid from her soaked gown. She wouldn’t have long to linger here, she thought, but then, it was so lovely to be away from all the noise and bodies below. She hadn’t liked balls since…
Verity stilled, a strange feeling overwhelming her.
She hadn’t liked balls since what? Since when? The answers were there, at the edge of her mind, whispering their secrets to her. The last ball she’d attended had been the one she andMamanarranged for Sybil. She had been on her own then as well, hiding…
And suddenly, as if the mists that had been fogging her mind abruptly lifted, everything returned to her.
Sheremembered.
Yes. Verity remembered being alone in the alcove at the ball she andMamanhad planned for Sybil’s introduction. She’d been thinking about how much she hated balls. About how much they reminded her of Leo and all she had lost when he had died.
She’d been weeping when a low, mellifluous voice had startled her…
“Handkerchief?”a voice asked.
Verity spun about with a squeak, having not taken note of anyone else’s presence.
King was there, dressed elegantly, looking diabolically handsome as ever, and bored. He held out a hand, offering her an embroidered square.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Did my brother send you to find me?”
“Riverdale is too busy growling at every gentleman below who so much as glances in Her Grace’s direction to take note of anyone else,” Kingham said wryly. “Here. Take the handkerchief.”
“That is quite kind of you to offer, Your Grace, but I don’t require one.”
He gave her one of those considering looks of his. “Your nose is dripping.”
Embarrassment instantly suffused her. How dreadful she must appear, so very ragged in contrast to his debonair perfection. She accepted the offering, dabbing at her eyes and nose.
“Give me a name, Lady Verity.”
She was confused at his request, jolted from her thoughts and misery so unexpectedly.
“Do you mean you wish for me to grant you a nickname?” she asked.
“No, but you have my permission to do so should it amuse you. I was referring to the cad who is responsible for your current state. Only tell me who he is, and I’ll be more than happy to thrash him for making you weep.”
“It is kind of you to offer,” she said gently. “However, I do believe that the task of defending my honor is reserved for my brother, should it be required. It would be most unseemly for you to thrash anyone on my behalf.”
“Are you defending him, my lady?” he demanded.
“No,” she told him, voice quavering, “I cannot, for he is dead.”
“How surprising, you’ve resorted to murder. I confess, I didn’t think you had it in you. What was your weapon? A blade? A pistol, perhaps?”
A hysterical laugh escaped her, and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle it.
