Page 92 of Duke with a Deception
“Thank you.”
She tucked the handkerchief into her bodice in quite indiscreet fashion, but what else was she to do, cornered in this alcove with him?
“My pleasure,” he said gallantly, his eyes falling briefly to her decolletage before rising back to hers. “Now that the matter of the handkerchief is settled, our next conundrum is that you are still tucked away in this damnable alcove when you ought to be in the ballroom, flitting about like a butterfly.”
“First a hen and now a butterfly? I cannot decide if you pay me insult or compliment, Kingham.”
His lips twitched, and for the first time, she noticed how finely formed they were, sculpted and full. “The latter, of course. I would never dream of paying you insult, Lady Verity.”
“I suppose not. You’re far too much of a gentleman.”
He chuckled and extended his arm to her. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, my dear. Will you not accompany me back to the ball? It’s only fair that you cease depriving the gathering of your presence.”
She eyed his arm. “I don’t know…”
“There is also the matter of your brother and your mother,” he pressed. “I would imagine they are both looking for you and wondering where you have gone. It would ease their minds if you emerged from hiding.”
She hesitated, thinking of what he had said.Mamanand Riverdale would likely indeed be wondering at where she had gone. She didn’t want either of them to worry. Then there was also her new sister-in-law, the duchess. It was most unsporting of Verity to keep herself from the ball in Sybil’s honor.
“Come now, Lady Verity,” Kingham coaxed. “I don’t bite.”
She settled her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Very well.”
“Unless I’m asked to in very polite fashion,” he added with a flawless grin.
The memory faded.
How charming he had been. How handsome and debonair, caring and amusing, how very like the man she had come to know so intimately. He had swept her out of the alcove, and later, they had danced. From there, she recalled, they had struck an unlikely friendship. He had donated to the Children’s Foundling Hospital.
But they had beenfriends.
Not in love.
Never in love.
King would have known that. And yet, when she suffered amnesia and had blithely announced their plans of marrying, he had not corrected her. Instead, he had gone along with her. He hadmarriedher.
They had been living as husband and wife all this time, sharing a bed, sharing a life.
Had any of it been true?
She was shaking. Trembling. There was no way she could return to the ball. Not in this state. She was sick. Her head hurt. Her heart ached.
And everything she thought she had known was a lie.
A growingsense of dread knotting in his gut, King took the steps two at a time. He had finished his fifth circumnavigationof the ballroom by the time he was certain that Verity was not within its crowded confines. Polite inquiries had yielded no hint of her whereabouts until, at last, a shamefaced Marchioness of Greetham, who had been soundly in her cups, confessed to accidentally spilling an entire flute of champagne on Verity’s gown.
The withdrawing room had yielded no spoils. Finally, it had come down to Mrs. Sendall informing him that one of the chambermaids observed the duchess going into her apartments. Presumably, she had done so to repair the damage to her gown. But something didn’t sit right about her absence. It had been far too long since he had last seen her across the ballroom.
This was her ball.
Her cause.
It hardly seemed like his wife to disappear. Had she taken ill? Had someone paid her an insult? With each step that took him closer, his heart pounded harder. He needed to know that all was well, even as he told himself that his concern was unnecessary. What could have happened to Verity in their own household, during the ball she had planned and organized and brought so beautifully to fruition?
He reached her door and knocked, but there was no answer within.
“Verity?”
