Page 27 of Love, the Duke
He brushed off her concerns with a smile and light chuckle. “I give you permission to always use my first name. You called me Drake for more than a year. No need for you to change now.”
“Your kindness is appreciated, but I will do what is right and call you Your Grace. It’s just that it has been so many years since I’ve seen you and old habits are difficult to break. It’s remarkable how you haven’t changed.” She smiled again. “You’ve grown quite taller, of course, but you are as handsome as ever. I realize I’ve still been imagining you as the slender boy who taught Winston how to run and jump over our fences rather than use the gate.”
“Which I had accomplished numerous times without mishap.” The duke chuckled. “But I believe that gleam in your eyes means, Mrs. Stowe, you are remembering the time the leg of my breeches got caught at the ankle on the post when I went over the fence but didn’t clear it.”
It was easy for Ophelia to imagine what happened as Roberta and the duke laughed. She envisioned him dangling upside down and calling for help. She tried to hide her snicker but knew she hadn’t when the duke glanced at her.
She turned away, pretending to give her attention to the inkpot and quill on the secretary while rippling her fingers on her wounded elbow. The conk on her head was beginning to give her a headache too. Or maybe the way the duke made her feel when she was so close to him was the cause for that.
“My face landed on the dirt and my head on a rock,” the duke reminded her mother.
“I remember it well. We were so worried about you for days. There was a big gash on your forehead, and we didn’t think it would ever heal properly.”
“The scar is still there.”
“I see it is,” her mother said. “Thankfully not as prominent as I remember.”
Ophelia whirled to look, but the duke’s hair had already fallen over his forehead again. A scar? She hadn’t noticed one, but his hair was long in front and always swept to the right side of his forehead. She was curious and now wanted to see it. Was that why he wore his hair so long in front and swept to one side? She wanted to know, but that really wasn’t the kind of thing she could ask a duke or anyone else.
The voices of her mother and the duke faded into the back of her mind. It was best not to doubt him when he said he would burn the clothing. In fact, it was probably a good idea not to doubt the duke concerning anything. He seemed quite fervent about most everything he said. But not in an infuriating way. Most of the time it was more as if he was trying to make her understand what he thought was best for her. Maybe he was right about that, but it didn’t matter. She had to do what was right for her brother.
In the meantime, she would forget about the interaction she had with the appealing man concerning the chest, if possible, and the near kiss that probably would have happened if her mother hadn’t chosen that moment to come into the room. Ophelia needed to concentrate on the two things she learned from the duke coming over today: Mrs. Turner’s recollection of the crest was accurate to a degree and encouraging, and the duke was related to a man who’d signed the church’s registry. Bothwere her first good leads in her efforts to find the chalice since coming to London.
For the first time, she felt as if she was making progress and it wouldn’t be long before she would close in on the thief.
