Sybil smiled up at him. “Then have me.”
And he did.
Thankyou so very much for readingDuke with a Duchess! I hope you enjoyed this emotional, angsty second chance romance between Everett and Sybil as much as I loved writing their HEA. We have one more founding member of the Wicked Dukes Society to fall. If you’re eager to find out what happens between Lady Verity and King, look for their grumpy/sunshine HEA in Duke with a Deception, and do read on for a sneak peek (unedited and subject to change).
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Duke with a Deception
(Please note that this is an unedited sneak peek, subject to change.)
The Duke of Kinghamdelights in doing bad deeds. Which is why no one is more surprised than King when he decides to go a very good deed in marrying his best friend’s sister. Lady Verity Saunders suffered a traumatic blow to the head that left her with partial amnesia and the persistent delusion that King is the love of her life, her fiancé.
Never mind that her real betrothed died ten years ago and she’s been mourning him ever since. Or that King is a heartless rake who vowed he’d never wed. The jaded, grumpy former bachelor is now husband to a do-gooder lady whose disposition is brighter than summer sunshine.
But when their marriage of convenience slowly burns into an unrivaled passion, King finds himself falling for the wife he didn’t want. Until Verity’s memory returns and she’s devastated to realize she’s been living a lie.
Prologue
The Duke of Kingham—Kingto those in his coterie—had never considered himself the type of chap who would run into a burning building to save anyone or anything. Unless, of course, the burning building in question had been his town house and that which needed saving his favorite waistcoat.
And yet, incredibly, and in blatant contrast to his proud lifelong history of coldhearted selfishness, he had ventured into a flame-ridden orphanage of his own accord to save his friend’s sister. He had indeed carried Lady Verity Saunders in his arms through the hellish blaze and smoke one week ago.
It was nothing short of a miracle that she was sitting before him, dressed in pale purple silk, her mahogany hair unbound around her shoulders in deference to the blow she’d received to the head and the tresses that had been singed by flames. She was ethereally lovely, possessed of a singular pale-blue gaze that she shared with her brother, the Duke of Riverdale, and she was staring at King just now as if he were a god descended to walk among mere mortals.
A man could grow accustomed to being looked upon thus. Admittedly, he liked it far too much. Because Lady Verity was decidedly forbidden to him. Not only was she the unmarried and innocent sister of his good chum Riverdale, she was also madly in love with her betrothed, a man who had died some ten years before. And yet, Lady Verity remained ever true to her Lord Leopold, the gold locket at her throat a perennial testament to her love for him. She never took the necklace off, not even at balls, and she had been dressing in mourning weeds ever since.
Which was what made her purple day gown rather odd, now that he thought upon it. It was the first time he recalled seeing her in a dress that wasn’t black. Perhaps her fortunein remaining among the living had proven a call to alter her toilette.
“I have already told everyone our happy news,” she said, smiling.
They were taking tea together at Lady Verity’s request. King had reckoned she wished to thank him for pulling her from the burning wreckage of the Children’s Foundling Hospital the week before. But something had been distinctly different about her demeanor from the moment he’d walked through the door at Riverdale’s town house.
“Happy news?” he repeated, thoroughly confused.
“That we are engaged to be married,” she said brightly.
King’s teacup slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. Tea soaked into the Axminster. Porcelain chipped and flew in various directions.
“That we are to be married?” he repeated, thinking that he must have misheard her.
There was no understanding between them. He liked Lady Verity, it was true, but as a friend. As the innocent sister of his chum. As a lady with a sparkling disposition and a kind heart, who looked after urchins and sang them silly songs and nearly killed herself in a burning building trying to save them.
“Yes, of course. Shall I ring for a maid to sweep up that teacup?”
“I…er…no.” He raked his fingers through his hair, an old habit he had thought he had overcome for the way it left his locks in disarray.
Apparently, being informed of his impending nuptials had that effect upon him.
He stood, bemused to discover that his tea had splashed his trousers, and bent to retrieve the fragments of his former cup.
“Allow me to help you, then,” she suggested.
“That won’t be nece?—”
She was already at his side, her lavender silk pooling on the Axminster, before he could complete his protest. She smelled like roses and bergamot, and she was near enough that he could detect flecks of gray in her eyes.
“—ssary,” he finished lamely.
