My Last Duchess, стр. 37
He had entered the theater a calm, mature man. The moment Ophelia walked into the box opposite his, arm around her pregnantcousin, not even glancing in his direction . . .
It all changed. He changed.
By the intermission, a raging river had taken over his blood. She was his, and he loved her, and if she didn’t want him, hewould wait forever.
Bloody forever.
The mere idea of Edith, Duchess of Lindow, was anathema.
“Steady,” his sister said, low in his ear.
He turned to her, unable to say a word.
She smiled at him with the kind of exuberant, effortless joy with which she had warmed both their lives. “You lucky bastard,”she whispered.
“I am, aren’t I?”
“You still have to win her.”
She walked away, going to look at the miniatures. Hugo stood stock-still, letting the truth sink into his bones.
Deep down, with a ferociousness that came from loving a woman to her core, he believed that Phee could learn to love him—andthat a life with love was better than the most exquisite house in all London.
He already loved her, because that was simply the way it was for him.
In fact, he had a firm belief that it was better to be loved in a messy, huge castle than be unloved in the prettiest housein the world.
He thought he was doing a pretty good job of appearing unemotional . . . until he met the dancing eyes of Ophelia’s cousin,Maddie Penshallow.
“Good evening,” she said. “I collect that you have come to a conclusion, Your Grace.”
“I have.”
“If you don’t mind the impertinence, I agree with your sister; you are a very lucky man.” Without waiting for an answer, sheturned in the general direction of the rest of the guests. “Oh, no,” she cried. “’Tis the fault of the child I carry, butI forgot my handkerchief in my pelisse. Ophelia, dearest, won’t you fetch it for me?”
“I can send a—” Lady Fernby began.
“Never!” Maddie cut her off with a shudder. “I cannot allow a stranger to touch such an intimate possession. Please forgiveme, my lady.”
“I completely understand,” Hugo’s sister chimed in. “Duke, please accompany Lady Astley to the entry. She may lose her way.”
She may lose her way?
Hugo didn’t snort, but it was a near thing.
After the way Ophelia managed not to see him at the theater, he would have expected her to refuse, but instead she gave hima small smile. “I would be most grateful for your company, Your Grace.”
“It isn’t very far,” Lady Fernby said, clearly uncertain whether the structure of her house, or possibly her household, wasbeing insulted. “This drawing room is in the back of the house, but . . .”
“I have a terrible sense of direction,” Ophelia said. “His Grace and I shall return with your handkerchief in a minute ortwo, Maddie.”
As they walked toward the door, Hugo heard Maddie ask Lady Woolhastings if she’d met his “horde of children.”
Before Lady Woolhastings could respond, she added in a horror-laden voice, “I understand there are ten or eleven of them.”
“Lady Penshallow is your cousin, Phee,” Hugo said, once they left the chamber. “It seems she wants you to be a duchess. Infact, it could be that my sister and your cousin will unite to warn off Lady Woolhastings.”
Ophelia stopped short. “What?” She looked stupefied.
“Did you mind?” Hugo asked, catching her hands in his. “You refused me, after all.”
“Of course, I mind!” she said tartly. “No lady likes to think that she can be replaced in a gentleman’s affections withina matter of hours.” She gave him a wry look. “It is a blow to one’s self-esteem.”
Ophelia’s red hair gleamed through the light powder she wore. She was perfect, from her deep lower lip to her pointed chin.“Do you know what I realized at the Frost Fair?” Hugo asked. “I remembered you as so beautiful that I thought perhaps I hadimagined it; you couldn’t have been as lovely as I believed. But you were.”
She looked up at him, utter shock on her face. “I’m not beautiful! I’m nice enough looking. Maddie is beautiful.”
Hugo shook his head. They were standing in a corridor that led to the front of the house. They couldn’t stay here; the butlerwould appear in a moment with refreshments.
He pushed open the door directly across the corridor and discovered a small morning room, probably Lady Fernby’s private refuge,given the basket of knitting and the gossip sheets lying to the side of a comfortable chair.
“My lady?” he said, walking inside and holding the door open.
Ophelia bit her lip.
He smiled at her, letting the deep joy he felt show on his face. His mind was racing. Kisses wouldn’t be enough to convinceOphelia to marry him. He had to woo her. Court her, the way a future duchess deserved.
But on the other hand, he . . .
She walked inside and turned about to face him. To him, she was already a duchess: utterly composed even in moments of deepimpropriety, as now.
“May I kiss you?” Hugo asked, shutting the door and putting on the latch as well.
She looked rather amused. “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” she observed. “You accompanied another woman to this supper, Hugo.One whom you have asked to marry you.”
At least she was calling him Hugo.
“I can’t marry Lady Woolhastings,” he said flatly. “And by the way, I never proposed to her; she seems to have misunderstood.I considered it, and then I saw you in the theater and realized that if I can’t have you, I’d rather be alone.”
A soundless breath came from her mouth. “Truly?”
He nodded, his throat tight. “Truly.”
“But I’m not beautiful, not that kind of beauty, the kind that would inspire a man to—to turn down marriage if he can’t haveme. I’m . . . I’m ordinary.”
“You are not at all ordinary.” He said it with the confidence of a man who had always trusted his own opinion above that ofothers. “I’m not the only one to think so, but in any case, I’m