“He never insulted me. He was my betrothed.”
“Did he have a name?”
“Leo.” She sniffed. “Lord Leopold Douglas. He was the second son of the?—”
“Duke of Morgan. Yes, I did know him,” Kingham intervened, frowning. “A pleasant fellow if I recall correctly, though quite a bit younger than I, given my ancient years.”
He hardly looked ancient to her.
“How old are you?”
“Four-and-thirty.” He brushed at his coat sleeve lightly. “You see? Terribly old.”
“You are only six years older than I am,” she pointed out. “I don’t think myself particularly wizened just yet.”
Kingham studied her somberly. “And so you aren’t, Lady Verity. Which is why hiding yourself in this alcove is such a crime.”
She snorted—indelicately, but what did it matter when she’d already used his handkerchief to wipe her nose? It wasn’t as if she were aiming her cap at the Duke of Kingham. Her heart would forever belong to Leo. And besides, nearly all the ladies in London were regularly swooning over Kingham. With his choice of anyone, he most certainly would never settle upon someone like her.
“In such a crush, I scarcely think I shall be missed,” she demurred lightly, grateful for the distraction he presented.
“But how am I to leave you here, now that I know it’s where you’ve chosen to roost?”
“You make me sound as if I am a nesting hen.”
“Forgive me for my lack of polish.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, for Kingham’s polish was quite legendary. He could charm the sternest, steel-willed dowager into doing anything he wished.
“You are forgiven, of course,” she allowed. “Would you like your handkerchief back, Your Grace?”
She was finished with it now, her tears dried for the moment, thanks to his interruption. He was rather like the sun, parting the clouds after a particularly lashing rain, restoring the brilliance to the skies, shining light and warmth.
He eyed it as if she were extending a boot that had just trampled a pile of horse dung. “I think it should be yours now. Only think of how easy it shall be, should you need one again.”
“Thank you.”
She tucked it 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 this 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.”
