Page 42 of Duke with a Deception
But then she had grown ill, and he had lost her in mere days, and whenever he’d looked at the empty blanket afterward, he had only been able to think of the babe it should have swaddled, the tiny child so still and quiet in death.
“What was unnecessary in the nursery?” she asked. “The crib? The doll? I do wish you would explain to me. What happened, King? The child…”
“She is gone, as is her mother,” he said harshly.
“Gone? Do you mean?—”
“Dead,” he finished succinctly. “Both of them. The babe’s mother died not long after bringing her into this world, and mydaughter lasted no more than a week after. She was sick. There was nothing to be done.”
But he had felt as if he could have done something more. If he had gone to Lucinda sooner, if he had known she was dying, if he had taken Daphne out of Lucinda’s apartments, if he had sent for the physician sooner, if he had known how quickly a fever could take a babe… The ifs had abounded. Once, they had threatened to be the end of him. Until he had forced himself to move beyond them, burying the pain, numbing himself to the blame.
“Oh, King,” Verity breathed, reaching for him.
The compassion in her voice, on her face, was enough to make him take another lengthy draught of gin straight down his gullet as he shrugged away from her touch. “I don’t require your pity.”
Nor did he want her softness, her understanding. He wanted to be alone. To rage and drink himself into a stupor. Tomorrow would be another day. He hadn’t been prepared. He hadn’t known seeing Verity in the nursery would eviscerate him. And he wasn’t sure he could bear it now, her kindness, her compassion. Not when he was also keeping such a wretched secret from her. Not when he didn’t even understand himself.
“Of course not,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to suggest you did. Nor was it my intention to dredge up hurtful memories.”
“Of course it wasn’t,” he snarled, feeling ugly, hating the old emotions returning, the anguish, the grief, the bleak despair and helplessness he had thought long exhausted. “Sweet, perfect Verity. You’re too pure and good to cause anyone pain.”
Verity flinched as if he had struck her, but still, she remained where she was, elegant and beautiful and far too good for him. “I am sorry for what happened and the pain it must have caused you.”
“It is not something I wish to speak of, not today and not ever again. It happened ten years ago, and it belongs in the past.”
“Ten years,” she repeated, her brow furrowing.
Bloody hell.
Had he inadvertently stirred her memory? It occurred to him that she had also lost her beloved betrothed a decade ago. How odd to think that they had suffered losses at the same time, so different and yet both so profound.
But he mustn’t dwell on that now.
“That feels important somehow,” she murmured. “Are you certain I didn’t know about this happening?”
“Aside from a small handful of trusted servants and the physician who attended Daphne, no one has ever known,” he answered honestly.
He hadn’t even told any of his friends. Daphne’s death had come before their drunken revelries had led to their tongue-in-cheek creation of the Wicked Dukes Society. He had thrown himself headlong into their debauchery, and the camaraderie had been just what he had needed, the perfect distraction.
“I can’t shake the feeling that I somehow knew,” she said, pressing a hand to her temple as if her head suddenly ached.
Desperation seized him. He didn’t want her to remember. He wanted her to remain as she was. He wanted her to always look at him as she had that morning, with eyes full of naked longing and misplaced trust.
“You didn’t,” he repeated, finishing his gin.
He needed another.
He needed to forget.
Verity nodded, looking unconvinced but perhaps deciding against arguing the point. “Very well. I suppose I must be confusing the detail with some other memory. There remain parts of my mind that feel as if they are laden with fog.”
“You consider it a burden, losing those memories,” he said before he could stop himself. “But have you ever considered it could be a boon? Only think of it. The memories you have forgotten could have brought you considerable pain, pain that is gone in their absence, leaving you as you are, blissfully unaware.”
He was treading perilously close to the truth, and he could not, for the life of him, comprehend why. Was it the gin? Perhaps he was soused and had yet to realize it. Or he was simply trying to excuse his own behavior in marrying Verity.
She shook her head. “I would far rather know, even if remembering was painful. Having these missing pieces inside me makes me feel as if I’m a stranger to myself. Sometimes I don’t know who I am.”
“It’s better this way,” he insisted bitterly. “Trust me. I’d give everything I owned to forget.”
