My Last Duchess, стр. 11
“We’re already well into Hyde Park and will arrive at your house in no time.” He sounded so sensible. He couldn’t be trembling,the way she was.
Then he reached out and caught one of her hands and brought it to his lips, and she caught another flare of desire in hiseyes.
The storm didn’t unsettle him—but she did. That was a surprisingly satisfying thought.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing herself to relax. Her breath was catching in her chest, but she wasn’t sure whether it wasdue to the storm or his kisses.
“I might as well point out that there are advantages to having a husband,” His Grace said, his dimple making an appearance.
“Are you planning to clamber out and take the reins?” She didn’t take her hand away. His was comforting, a big male hand thatlooked capable of anything. “You have calluses on your fingers . . . from driving?”
He nodded, turning her hand over. “Whereas your hand is delicate and pink.”
“A useless hand,” Ophelia said, pulling it away.
But he hung on. “A hand needn’t be scarred to be useful.” His mouth twitched and then he said, “Marie rocked her babes everynight. Her hands were not scarred, but they were not frail.”
Ophelia was caught between a sense of danger—he really was looking for a mother for all those children—and elation that he had understood. He wouldn’t scorn her if he knew she rockedViola to sleep.
Just as that thought went through her mind, the carriage skewed across the road. The duke reached over and plucked her intohis lap as easily as she might pick up Viola.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
He braced one large foot against the side of the carriage opposite them, and the other on the opposite seat. Ophelia cranedher neck sideways to frown at him just as the carriage slipped again.
This time it slid clear across the road.
“We’re likely to lose a wheel,” the duke said in her ear, one arm across her chest like an iron band, the other holding onto the strap.
“A wheel?” she managed, but the crack of splitting wood drowned her voice.
His Grace said one short, brutal curse, not at all dukelike.
The carriage began to list to one side slowly, as if it were a boat on the verge of capsizing. Just when it was about to fallover, it rocked back in the other direction and she heard a crunch as the axle presumably hit the ground. They were tilted,but not upside down.
The door blew open, and, with a theatrical swirl, snow rushed into the carriage.
Ophelia hardly felt it. The duke’s massive body had taken the shock of the carriage rocking, and now he tucked her closeragainst himself, as if his arms could ward off the winter. The wind caught the door and slammed it shut again.
“We made it,” the duke said, sounding very satisfied. “Your carriage driver, Ophelia, is worth every shilling you pay him.”
“My—what happened?”
“We lost a wheel, but he managed to keep us from toppling on our heads,” His Grace said. “Much though I love the feeling ofyou in my lap, I’m going to clamber from this carriage so that I can get you out. I don’t like the idea that a fool mightbe bowling along in the dark and run straight into us before he can stop.”
Ophelia was breathless, terrified, oddly exhilarated at the same time. “I must get home to Viola.” She caught his sleeve ashe snatched up his gloves and pulled them on. “I must go home.” It came out like a command, the way no duke was addressed,let alone by an insignificant widow.
He turned, put a hand along her cheek. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”
Ophelia sat back, her heart pounding. There was a horrid tension between her shoulders at the idea of being separated fromViola. At the same time, there was something so sweet in the duke’s eyes that she felt dizzy.
Her cloak had fallen to the floor. He tucked it around her, passed over her gloves, threw open the door, jumped down, andwas gone.
Ophelia looked around, dazed. Her pretty, feminine carriage was changed not only by losing a wheel. She felt as if he had—theduke had—invaded it with his smile and his sensuality and his certitude.
She could say his certainty came from being born to a title, but it didn’t. There was a calm confidence that was the essenceof the man. It was potent, like strong tea. Not like Peter, though that was a disloyal thought, and she oughtn’t to thinkit.
Peter would have been as excited and worried as she if this had happened. Their eyes would have met, and they would have knownwithout words that they were feeling a shared terror.
The duke hadn’t felt terror, none at all. She sensed utter calm in the steely strength of his arms, and the rumbling satisfactionin his voice when he said her coachman was worth his wages.
Bisquet would be cross with her; he had protested leaving the house because the sky was lowering. But she had insisted. Itwas the first invitation she’d accepted since she left off mourning.
She had wanted to arrive in her sparkling, beautiful carriage, wearing a new dress. She hadn’t spared much thought for thehot, crowded ballroom.
But then she’d seen the duke.
And now . . .
There was no point in thinking about it. Instead she thought about the way he smelled, like clean man and snow. A touch ofleather and spice.
He tasted good too, faintly like peppermint. The thought of his taste and his kisses lit a spark of fire in her belly again.
The wind picked up and slammed snow against the carriage, but Ophelia had made a deliberate decision not to worry. His Gracewould get her home. He wouldn’t let Viola wake up alone.
It might take a few hours, but she would be with her little girl again. The sound of men’s voices shouting came over the soundof the wind.
She wasn’t alone.
If the duke had his way, she would never be alone again.