My Last Duchess, стр. 13

He pushed that thought away.

No comparisons. Ever.

The world had given him so many blessings, and he had thought never to have one of this magnitude again.

She tasted like snow. Their tongues met and twisted around each other, danced an ancient measure. His heart thudded in hischest, making his breath shudder and his hands tighten around her.

Ophelia had kissed him in the carriage. But now, with the snow swirling over their heads, she was fire and ice at once. Shesubmitted to him and owned him all at once. When she drew back, moments later, he felt remade.

As different from his usual self as the white trees, the white carriage path, the white mound that was her little carriage.The one he would beg her to give up because its perch was too fragile to carry such precious cargo.

Tomorrow, he told himself.

She was smiling up at him, still arched against him, allowing her hand to rest in the hollow of his back.

“I’m happy,” he said, hearing wonder in his voice with a touch of embarrassment. “Gentlemen aren’t supposed to experiencean emotion so juvenile.”

“Happy Hugo?” she asked, laughing.

He snorted. “My given name is reason enough for never admitting to such a foolish emotion.” He let her go and turned to thehorse. Bisquet had cut the lead to use as reins and thrown a blanket over the animal. A layer of snow already covered theblanket.

The coachman had also left a brass lantern hooked to the bridle. Hugo checked, but it was no more than pleasantly warm againstthe horse’s shoulder. The gelding snorted and twitched its ears.

“I’m going to pull off that blanket and put you straight up on his back before snow settles.”

At her nod, he whipped off the blanket and lifted her up, taking care to make sure that she was well-seated, her cloak tuckedaround her skirts. “Sidesaddle is absurd,” he muttered. “Not that we have a saddle.”

“I have too many skirts to sit any other way,” she pointed out. “Are you going to snuff the torch and lantern?”

“No, I’ll leave them burning, in case someone tools along in the snow and doesn’t see the downed vehicle until it’s too late.”

Keeping the reins in his hand, he stepped on the mounting block and vaulted onto the horse behind her, his right arm goingaround Ophelia to steady her. She put a hand on his chest and smiled up at him, and he changed his mind about sidesaddle.

If she had been seated astride before him, he couldn’t have seen her face.

“We merely need to make our way through Hyde Park,” he told her.

“This is so improper,” Ophelia said a moment later, as they rode out of the circle of torchlight, leaving the carriage behind them. Theirlantern cast a pale light by comparison, though the snow reflected every ray with the glint of diamonds.

Hugo pulled her close and felt an indescribable satisfaction when she relaxed against him. “It’s a beautiful night,” he said,trying to distract himself from imagining her leaning against him naked. “All the hedges look like puffed-up pillows.”

“Or large ladies huddling under rabbit-fur cloaks.”

“My daughter Betsy loves fairy tales,” he said, forgetting his sister’s admonishment not to mention his children under anycircumstances. “Last week, she told me that snowflakes are fairies in little slippers that spin over the church steeple anddon’t come down until they’re tired.”

“How old is she?”

“She is four years old, almost five. She can already read,” he said proudly. “Her brothers were much slower learning to talk,and Alexander—my youngest son, who’s three—still speaks mostly in short sentences. But Betsy could instruct Parliament inits duties.”

“My daughter, Viola, is two,” Ophelia said. “I’m not precisely sure what she should be saying, but she’s mastered a few words.”

“My Joan is two as well and she doesn’t say a word,” Hugo told her. “Nothing to worry about.”