Page 10 of Duke with a Deception
His wife, his duchess.
King felt the knowledge settle into his bones, becoming a part of him. He had never been responsible for another soul in suchfashion before, aside from his beloved dog, Spy, who had been gone for a few months now. He still felt a burning deep in his chest at the thought of the hound who had been his steadfast companion for nearly all his adult years.
He had done it, this seemingly impossible feat.
He, Peregrine Septimus Castelyn, the tenth Duke of Kingham, who had once avowed he would never marry or carry on the family line, had wed the innocent sister of one of his best friends.
Granted, best friend no longer, as Riverdale had repeatedly warned him whenever their paths had crossed, the menace and underlying threats growing with each successive meeting. King had lost his old chum. But how to explain? His desire to possess Verity surpassed his need to maintain a friendship that had served him for many years.
It defied logic, he well knew.
And yet, King thought as the carriage he shared with his new duchess crept along busy London roads to Castelyn House, it was so. He had never denied himself what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to begin now.
They had married in the church of her mother’s choosing before their friends and family, including every member of the Wicked Dukes Society and their rapidly growing families. The wedding breakfast had been hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Riverdale, the dowager duchess presiding as only a well-pleased matchmaking mama could. Her smiles had been endless, and why should they not be? Her daughter, who had consigned herself to spinsterhood and a lifetime pining over a long-dead betrothed, had landed a fine marital prize.
King was no fool. He knew that any number of ladies had set their caps at him. He was wealthy, handsome, and a duke. He was sought-after, despite his unsavory reputation as a voluptuary. He could have had any woman he desired as hisbride this last decade. And yet, he had not wanted a single one of them.
He had wanted Verity, however.
Enough to be seated in the carriage at her side, her gloved hand in his.
“You are quiet,” he observed to his bride. “Is something on your mind?”
“It has been a long morning,” she answered, smiling softly at him in the way she reserved for King alone.
It was a smile that never failed to make him feel as if he were indeed a king in truth rather than merely in sobriquet alone. If this was the manner in which she had gazed upon Lord Leopold, as if he had personally stitched each star to the velvet of the night sky for her delight alone, it was a miracle the poor bastard had died. It was enough to have King seeking eternal life.
“Your mother was pleased,” he told Verity lightly, striving to keep her happy and distracted.
And to keep himself from ravishing her in the carriage. In her perfectly fitted gown, she was even more lovely than he could have imagined she would be. Her white silk was adorned with Honiton lace and sprays of purple silk flowers, which had also been threaded through her hair. Rose brooches encrusted in diamonds decorated her bodice, and a matching bracelet was on her wrist. At her throat, she wore her customary gold locket because, as she had said, it was a gift from him.
King wished she hadn’t. The locket was from Lord Leopold, and when King looked at it, the jewelry served as a pointed remonstration. A reminder he had stepped into a dead man’s shoes and taken his place in not just Verity’s memories, but her affections as well.
She laughed lightly, unaware of his tumultuous thoughts and the tension stiffening his shoulders.
“Mamanwas thrilled. She said something to me that I found quite curious, however, even for her.”
“Oh?” he asked, grateful for the distraction.
Her bodice was enticingly low. She was an alluring combination of angelic and wicked. He wanted to debauch her, right here in the carriage. Of course, he could not do so. She was his wife, and she was also an innocent. He’d have to settle for polite conversation instead.
“She said she had questioned if I would ever find a place in my heart for another,” Verity continued, her forehead wrinkled, “but she was relieved that I had. She also suggested that I had vowed never to marry. That doesn’t sound like something I would say, does it? Not when we have had an understanding for so long.”
They were creeping into territory that was vaguely unpleasant. He didn’t like lying to her any more than he already had.
King shifted on the squabs, wishing his neckcloth hadn’t been tied so bloody tightly by his exceptional valet that morning. But then, Hutchens had been intent upon turning him out to perfection for his nuptials.
“I wouldn’t concern yourself with it too much, angel,” he reassured her. “Your mother was likely overset, her joy at seeing her beloved daughter married leading to her saying things she otherwise would not have.”
Verity’s eyes were on his, open and earnest. “You are right, I’m sure, darling.”
Darling.
He wondered if that had been her pet name for Lord Leopold. Either way, it was King’s name now. The poor bastard would no longer have any need of it. King didn’t want to think about that either.
“I am right about a great many things, you know,” he teased, bringing her hand to his lips for a kiss.
About choosing to marry her? That remained to be seen.
