My Last Duchess, стр. 21
“Viola doesn’t have a nanny,” Ophelia confessed. She felt even guiltier upon hearing about all the people helping the duke’schildren become civilized adults. “I only have a nursemaid. Of course, I ought to acquire a proper nanny.”
“Not if you don’t want to,” Hugo said.
“I am a lady, and Viola must be a lady too. What if she thinks that one’s mother is no more than a playmate?” She peeked atHugo from under her lashes. “Sometimes we play together.”
He blinked, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“I cut out houses from foolscap. People too. Sometimes horses, though I’m rubbish at cutting around their legs.”
“She plays with paper?”
“She does crumple them,” Ophelia said with a wry smile. “But not before I tell her a story about the people who live in thehouse.”
“I cannot tell stories,” Hugo said. His tone was final.
Ophelia sighed. Peter had been given to statements like that as well. Perhaps it was a male failing.
“I could try it,” Hugo said, surprising her.
“You wouldn’t be embarrassed?”
Astonishment crossed his eyes but he kept his answer simple. “No.”
Of course he wouldn’t be. Dukes were probably never embarrassed. Why should they be? Ophelia fidgeted, thinking of the wayher skin crawled with embarrassment when she thought about a nanny entering her nursery and seeing the way she played withViola.
“If you were my duchess, you needn’t be embarrassed either,” Hugo said, exhibiting a nimble ability to turn the conversationto his advantage. “Duchesses set the fashion; they don’t follow it.”
“I have no wish to set fashion,” Ophelia stated.
“Your dress last night was very elegant, and so was your carriage.”
“I ordered both because I enjoyed the designs, not because I wanted them copied by others.”
“You are already a duchess,” Hugo murmured, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Would you be offended if I mentioned that I haven’thad a cockstand this long for years? Since I was a young man.”
Cockstand? Ophelia tried out the word in her head and decided it was useful. “Is that a compliment?”
“Of a sort.”
“Would you like me to return to my bedchamber? It’s just next door, to be frank.”
“Absolutely not. Unless you wish to go.”
Ophelia thought about that for a moment. This was a night stolen out of time, in a way. She had decided not to marry the duke,and he wouldn’t bed her without that promise. So they were at an impasse.
But perhaps . . .
“We could be friends,” she said, blurting it out.
“What?”
“We can’t be spouses, because I don’t wish to marry you. We can’t be lovers, because you don’t want to bed me without a weddingring.”
“Oh, I want to,” the duke growled.
Ophelia waved her hand, ignoring the fact that her body clenched at the rough desire in his voice. “You know what I mean.”
“Not lovers, not spouses.” His voice was mournful. “Friends? I don’t want to be your friend, Ophelia.”
That stung, but why would he want to be friends? She had been at risk, for just a moment, of forgetting the real reason hehad singled her out: because she was a good mother. Because he had children whom he didn’t know, by the sound of it.
“I understand,” she said, keeping her expression absolutely even. She’d learned that trick during her marriage, because ofPeter’s dislike of disapproval. She’d practiced in a glass until she knew the exact arrangement of her features that portrayedbenign interest without judgment.
Without the flash of real anger that she felt inside. She was good enough to kiss and fondle, good enough to marry, but notgood enough to be friends with?
“I didn’t say that correctly,” Hugo said.
“I think your point is an excellent one,” Ophelia said. “Men and women are rarely friends, as I understand it.”
“I am friends with my twin sister.”
“Marvelous,” Ophelia said, another stab of resentment going through her.
“What are you thinking?”
“I am wondering why a man who has so much has any need of a wife. You have all those children, and a sister to boot.” Shecolored and looked at the expression in his eyes. “Besides that, I mean.”
“I am lucky,” he offered.
“Yes.”
“I think it’s very interesting that you narrow my assets to my family.”
Ophelia forced a smile. This had been pleasurable, and startling, but now she wanted to be alone. A bone-deep melancholy wasbuilding up in her heart: a feeling of missing Peter. That was the problem with being widowed: Grief wasn’t something onegot over with a year of mourning, or even two.
“I think perhaps we should sleep alone,” she said.
“Most women think that the duchy of Lindow is my greatest asset,” Hugo said, taking her right hand and bringing it to hislips. “Power equals money, after all. The holder of a dukedom is all-powerful in a society like ours.”
Ophelia tugged her hand free. “You seem to me an excellent representative of power and money.” She swung her legs over thebed, reached over, and picked up her dressing gown. She didn’t mind sitting in bed without clothing, but she wasn’t goingto stand up naked. The light cotton brushed over her nipples, sending a thrill of feeling down her body.
“I’ve mucked it up, haven’t I?” Hugo said, moving off his side of the bed.
“There was nothing to muck up,” Ophelia replied. “I have much enjoyed our time together. I truly have.” She reached out andcaught his hands in hers. “This has been a pleasure.”
“Ophelia,” the duke said.
She shook her head. “I do not wish to be a duchess, Your Grace.”
“May I stay tomorrow?”
“I think not.” She kept her voice even, without a hint of what was really in her mind. There was no reason to spend time togetherif they couldn’t even be friends.
“Please?”
“Your Grace.” She struck just the right tone. Her voice was firm, reproving but not overly proud.
He shook his head. “Phee, do you know how many people say no to me?”
“If you give your two-year-old a chance, I expect she will startle you in that respect,” Ophelia told him. “Good night, YourGrace.”
She left before he could answer.
Chapter Eight
Hugo