Page 12 of Duke with a Deception
The hands that held her heart.
His movements were graceful. Elegant. He was a careful man. Concerned with his dress, with his words, with details in his household, from the most minute to the largest, everything from the dinner that would appear on his plate to the wall coverings.
As if he could hear her thoughts madly whirring through her mind, he glanced up, his warm brown gaze upon her. Although she wasn’t seated near enough to detect the striations of bronze that flecked his eyes, she knew they were there, mixed with hints of gold.
“Do you dislike your dinner?” he asked solicitously.
She glanced down at her own plate, realizing she hadn’t touched a bite. She had been far too distracted by the excitement of the day and what was to come later.The wedding night.She could scarcely think of anything else. The yearning she felt for him seemed to emerge from somewhere deep within her very soul.
“Of course not,” she denied, smiling. “Your chef is quite excellent.”
King had a habit of surrounding himself with the best. The food on her plate had been exquisitely prepared and exactingly arranged.
“Then why are you not eating?”
Because all she wanted to do was launch herself at him across the table. But she couldn’t say that. Could she? Best not, she decided. The truth was, she was rather dismayed they had spent the day since their arrival at his town house just as any other married couple would. She had been introduced to his domestics. They had toured the home. He had excused himself to give her time to settle her belongings and acclimate herself to her new surroundings. And then they had reconvened in the drawing room prior to dinner.
Somehow, she had thought her husband would be more romantic. That he would sweep her into his arms and carry her up the staircase to his bedroom.
Foolish, she realized now. How would he have done so with the servants looking on in scandalized horror? He had continued to treat her with the polite respect he always showed her. Silly of her to be disappointed for all the rational reasons, and yet Verity was.
She cleared her throat and took up her fork. “Iameating.”
Verity carefully avoided the salmon on her plate, forking up a bite ofharicot vertsinstead.
“But not theSaumon à la Mornay,” he observed.
She bit her lip, thinking it odd that he would neglect to recall such a detail about her. Had they not held conversations about her refusal to eat fish? Perhaps he had somehow forgotten.
“Not yet,” she said brightly, hoping he wouldn’t press her on the matter.
She didn’t want to call attention to his lapse in memory, for she had no wish to hurt his feelings.
He raised a lone dark brow. “Do you intend to?”
Suddenly, Verity recalled walking along the stream at Riverdale Abbey, a wrap pulled around her for warmth, a hat shielding her face.
The air was cool, the sky light blue and filled with the promise of early spring. She wasn’t alone, the companion at her side steadfast and comforting.
She loved him. The ease between them was one born of familiarity and true devotion. Oh, how fortunate she was to have a beau like him.
She was laughing, happy and carefree. “You will not judge me for my lack of appreciation forpoisson, I hope?” she asked her companion.
The sun blotted out his face as he responded. “Not at all. I cannot abide scaled creatures of any sort myself. I simply refuse to eat fish.”
As quickly as the memory had appeared, it faded, leaving Verity to jolt back to the present in time to watch as King took another bite of salmon, chewing on it thoughtfully.
“You don’t like fish,” she blurted.
King’s brows drew together. “Of course I do.”
“But you don’t,” she insisted, more certain than ever. “That is what you told me. Because I don’t like fish either, and it was a topic upon which we could agree. Do you not recall? It was by the stream at Riverdale Abbey.”
Sometimes, it was difficult for her to discern the difference between a fragmented memory and a dream. But she simply knew she was not wrong about this. They had walked together, hand in hand. Birds had been singing above, trilling from branches, and she had thought to herself that she didn’t recall ever having been happier.
“Ah, yes,” King said smoothly. “I do believe I remember now.”
“But if you do not like fish, then why don’t you tell your chef that he ought not to prepare it?”
