Page 72 of Love, the Duke
“I know for a fact that when you were in my arms last night you were not thinking about the chalice or the thief. The only thing you had on your mind was me, you and us together.”
“I can’t do that right now.”
“I only want to hold you close like this. We don’t have to talk, or kiss or caress. Just rest.”
His suggestion brought a tease of laughter from her throat. “May I remind you, that anytime you say you just want to hold me close, nothing else, the ‘nothing’ becomes something that fully distracts me from whatever it was I was in a conundrum from.”
Hurst merely curved a corner of his mouth in response. No words needed.
Ophelia was tempted to take him up on his respite, but just as she was forming her reply, her mother walked into the vestibule.
Exertion blushed a red stain on Maman’s cheeks, and her breathless words came out in a rush. “Forgive me for interrupting. I don’t mean to intrude.”
Ophelia and Hurst stepped away from each other, not that she thought there was anything amiss about a husband and wife in a loving embrace, but her mother would not appreciate seeing it. If Maman was uncomfortable, she didn’t display it. Ophelia could see her somber expression meant she had news of the utmost importance.
“You didn’t intrude, Maman. Are you all right?”
“I was reading and thought I heard you come inside, but you never made it into the drawing room,” she replied, looking neither of them in the eye. “I decided to see if you were indeed back from the fair.” She pulled something from underneath her cuffed sleeve. “I wanted to give you this. It came while you were gone, and when I saw it on the letter tray, I picked it up for safekeeping. I didn’t wantanything to happen to it. It’s from the Dowager Duchess of Stonerick.”
Ophelia’s breath quickened. “Why didn’t you say so?” With haste, she reached for the letter, but her mother pulled it back.
“I’m sorry, dear. It’s addressed to the duke.”
“Yes. Of course,” she answered, rubbing her hands together, realizing just how anxious she’d become. “I wasn’t thinking properly.”
Hurst took the parchment, broke open the seal, looked down, and almost instantly back up to Ophelia again.
“What does she say?”
“She just wrote the name Lord Gagingcliffe.”
“The baron?” Ophelia asked, confusion working its way into her thoughts.
“There is no other lord by that name,” Hurst replied, reviewing the note again.
“His name isn’t in the registry. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t remember seeing it either,” Hurst said thoughtfully. “He must have used an alias.”
“Or perhaps he somehow managed to slip by whoever was at the door and not sign the registry at all,” Ophelia suggested. “If he is the thief, this is quite shocking. He doesn’t seem to be a man who would take things that don’t belong to him.” Ophelia’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “I played several hands of whist with him at the garden party. Hurst, Georgina’s father wants her to marry the baron.”
“I’ve known him for years, Ophelia. He’s always been an upstanding man.” The firmly set tone in Hurst’s voice brooked no arguments. “He’s a quiet, mild-mannered fellow who seems to be too scared of his shadow to do anything as risky as stealing a sacrament. I don’t think he would take something from a church, and if he had,why would he play cards with you so easily when he knew your brother was the vicar at the church he stole from?”
A chill shook Ophelia.
“I met the man at the card party as well,” Maman said. “I agree with both assessments of him. He was a pleasant person to talk to and I noted nothing out of the ordinary in his mannerisms or what he said.”
“I didn’t say anything to make him think we were suspicious,” Ophelia added. “And remember no one knows it’s missing. He has reason to feel safe saying anything he wants.” Venting an exasperated huff, Ophelia pursed her lips before saying, “His name is the one the dowager wrote. I think it must be him.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Hurst shook his head. “All we know is that the woman from the Insightful Ladies group divulged he collects religious objects.”
“Objects?”In a strong statement, she restated his response. Ophelia knew Hurst was hedging in hopes to pacify her. “Religiousartifactsis what she actually said.”
Hurst continued to carry on the conversation by adding, “We have to realize we are hearing this from a lady who studies superstitions, believes the alignment of the stars predicts the future, and thinks a lady with red hair and green eyes like Edwina can read your mind.”
“That’s preposterous,” Ophelia scoffed, an unpleasant taste of denial in her words.
“My point,” Hurst insisted. “We don’t know that we can trust her. We don’t know what she believes, which includes why she thinks Lord Gagingcliffe collects—” Hurst paused. “Things, objects, or artifacts.”
