Chapter 15 #2
“Thank you,” she said, setting the box aside.
“I do appreciate your concern, Sybil. And I am so glad to have you as a sister. It pleases me greatly to see the love you and Everett share for each other. I hope that, in time, you and my brother both will come to see what I do in King. He is a good man and an excellent husband, and I love him so very much.”
“You deserve nothing but the utmost happiness, my dear,” Sybil said fervently. “I am reassured to know you have it with Kingham.”
With the heaviness of the past somewhat lifted, Verity returned to the true reason for her call.
“Now then, let us turn to the details of the ball,” she suggested. “The sooner we have everything organized and set into motion, the sooner we shall be raising much-needed funds for the Children’s Foundling Hospital.”
“I see you have been reviewing your mother’s lists,” Sybil said with an arched brow, seemingly as eager for a lighter subject and change of topic as Verity was.
“I have indeed,” she said wryly.
They spent the rest of the afternoon finalizing the details and guest list, with the help of Maman’s carefully penned lists.
As Verity traveled home with the box of letters Sybil had given her, she decided it would be best if she left them unread.
What was the point in wallowing in a past love she couldn’t remember when she had King?
King was in his study, the door kept intentionally open, when he heard a commotion in the hall that told him Verity had arrived.
He had returned from his meeting at the Black Souls Club earlier than planned, eager to see his beautiful wife.
She was like an elixir he needed to get through each day.
Particularly after the bit of unpleasantness with Riverdale, King had been looking forward to spiriting her to his bedroom and losing himself in her arms.
But he’d been dismayed to learn she was still taking tea with the Duchess of Riverdale.
Verity had told him that morning that she planned to call upon her sister-in-law to finalize the details of the charity ball the two were planning to benefit the Children’s Founding Hospital.
Apparently, they required more time to plan a ball than all six members of the Wicked Dukes Society took to polish off three bottles of port.
Trying not to appear as if he were a desperate, green swain trotting at the heels of his first love, King rose from his chair and stalked across the Axminster.
Verity was passing through the hall as he crossed the threshold, looking like a package he dearly longed to unwrap in an outmoded lavender day gown.
He truly did need to urge her to commission a new wardrobe.
She looked gorgeous in anything, but he wanted to spoil her.
Verity deserved the finest, newest silks and nothing less.
In typical Verity fashion, she didn’t pay any notice to her wardrobe. She was far too consumed with caring for everyone else around her.
Her eyes widened when she spied him, a welcoming smile on her full, pretty pink lips. “Darling, you’re at home.”
He would never, for as long as he breathed, grow tired of the naked adoration she showed him.
The love in her eyes, the devotion—sweet God.
It was more potent and headier than any potion he’d ever created.
And he didn’t give a damn if all that love had been meant for another.
It was his now, and he was selfishly claiming it and her.
“Of course I am,” he said, meeting her halfway. “Where else should I be? This is where my goddess of a wife is.”
She chuckled at his flattery, a flush stealing over her cheeks. “All too mortal, I fear.”
“Never.” He reached for her hands, intending to take them in his, only to discover she held a small, wooden box in one. “What is this?”
He had been drinking in the sight of her, and he’d failed to notice the object until now.
She frowned. “It is something of mine that I apparently left behind at my brother’s town house when I left. Nothing of importance.”
The hackles rose on his neck. “What is inside it?”
Her expression shifted, indecision crossing her features. “Letters, according to Sybil.”
King felt as if he had been dealt a sudden, fierce blow to the gut. He knew at once the source of the letters.
Her dead beau, a man whose name he didn’t even want to think.
He tensed. “What manner of letters?”
“I’m not sure,” Verity said hesitantly. “But apparently they were sent to me from an old suitor.”
He clenched his hands at his sides, longing to tear the box from her grasp and throw it into the nearest fireplace. But he couldn’t do that, even if he hated the unwanted intrusion of the past.
Tell her, the voice inside him urged. Now is the time to tell the truth.
“I see,” he said.
“I haven’t read them,” she told him. “I’m not even certain why I kept them or why Sybil thought I would want a box of old letters. She did say something about perhaps, if I read them, I would understand.”
He’d always liked Sybil. But apparently, she was as meddlesome as her husband. He loathed the feeling that others were trying to come between him and Verity, damn it. He wanted to tell her the truth in his own time, in his own way.
But not here in the hall whilst she clasped the heartfelt letters of another man in her hand.
Not ever, said the most selfish part of him.
“Do you intend to read them, then?” he asked stiffly, the very notion filling him with dread.
A picture flashed in his mind, of Verity in tears at Riverdale’s ball for his duchess, hiding away in an alcove in mourning weeds, that blasted golden locket at her throat. So much love, and none of it had been his.
He was a thief, taking what didn’t belong to him. But the time he’d had with her had been worth being consigned to hell, should that be his fate. He would do it all again, just for a minute of knowing Verity’s love.
Verity shook her head. “I don’t want to read them. I have no wish to cling to the past. This is part of the old me, who I was before. I’m the new me, and I know it has been difficult for my family to accept, but I like this new me. I am happy just as I am.”
Relief dispelled some of the weight from his chest, though not all.
He could breathe again.
King nodded. “I am glad you are happy just as you are, angel.”
“I should not have brought the letters home.” She worried her lower lip. “I hope you aren’t vexed with me. I didn’t want to leave them, since Sybil had brought the box to me. But I didn’t truly want them either.”
“I could never be vexed with you, my love.” He cupped her cheek and lowered his head, stealing a kiss because he couldn’t resist and he didn’t give a damn if the servants were wandering about and saw.
She kissed him back, sweet and welcoming as always, his wonderful Verity with the soul of an angel. His Verity, damn it. Not anyone else’s. He knew he had to tell her the truth so that their love wasn’t built on a foundation of deception, but there had to be a moment better than this one.
Reluctantly, he lifted his head, breaking the seal of their lips as he put a respectable distance between them once more. “Did you and the duchess finish your plans for the ball?”
He couldn’t very well ravish Verity here in the hall after all, even if he longed for nothing more. He was not a complete beast. King was capable of treating her as she deserved.
She blinked, looking adorably flustered. “We did, yes. Are you still certain we should host? You have taken on a great deal recently, and all because of me.”
“I would host a ball every day for you if it made you happy,” he said, and he meant that, despite his own profound hatred of such monstrous societal events.
He was proud of his wife and her accomplishments, proud of her devotion to the orphans and her determination to see that a bigger and better building was erected for them, one that would ostensibly lead to greater education and, thus, opportunities for the children.
He’d host a ball and dance a bloody quadrille and smile at dowagers and do anything she asked of him.
“I don’t need a ball every day to make me happy, silly man,” she said fondly. “All I need is you.”
“Fortunately, you have me.” He winked. “I am yours, to do with as you like.”
“As I like, hmm?” A saucy smile curved her lips, one he recognized well by now.
He wished she weren’t holding that damned box of letters. And he wished he had been the one to know her ten years ago, to pen those letters to her and win her heart. He wished the love burning in her heart was all for him.
But he couldn’t have any of that, so he would settle for what he could have, which was his charming, kindhearted, gorgeous wife in his bed.
“Exactly as you like,” he promised her with full, wicked intent.
“Come with me, then.” She tucked the box under one arm and held out her free hand to him.
He took it, wishing that blasted box and the undoubtedly amorous epistles within to perdition.
Hand in hand, they went up the staircase, Verity carrying the albatross of her past along with them.
She stopped at her bedroom, depositing the wooden box.
He waited at the threshold, watching her place it on a dresser, feeling like an interloper in his own life.
It wasn’t a particularly enjoyable sensation.
He should tell her. What if she ever did decide to read those damnable letters? What if they brought her memories flooding back, and she remembered everything?
Yes, he should tell her for all those reasons.
But when?
How?
She turned back to him with a soft smile, and he opened his arms.
Choose me, he thought. Choose the future, not the past.
And as if she had heard him utter the words aloud, Verity flew toward him. He held her tightly, wrapping her in his embrace as the beloved scent of bergamot and rose enveloped him.
“As I said, angel, I am yours,” he reminded her. “What shall you do with me?”
“I have a notion or two.” Her gaze was sensual and frank as it settled on his mouth. “Is Hutchens in your chamber?”
“If he is, I’ll give him the sack.”
She chuckled. “You wouldn’t. You are far too fond of the way he takes care of your wardrobe.”
“The man is a priceless gem,” he admitted, grinning back at her as he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of her curves pressed against him. “Let’s go next door and have a look, shall we?”
They moved together through the door adjoining their chambers, finding his blessedly and conveniently empty. Hutchens likely wouldn’t come until King rang for him to dress for dinner. And dinner was a long way off, thank God.
He kissed Verity, tasting tea and desire and the only woman he would ever need. She made him whole. She brought him to his knees. Somehow, some way, he would explain himself. He would find a way to keep from losing her.
Because a life without her was as impossible as one without air.