Page 45 of Love, the Duke
Hurst rubbed the back of his neck again. It seemed everything he was saying was the wrong thing. He knew how important this was to her. “But the truth is you don’t know where it is,” he insisted. “Maybe the runner won’t need to go to Wickenhamden. Maybe he knows what questions to ask without making anyone curious. You wanted my help, Ophelia. I’m trying to do that.”
“Yes, help,” she argued. “Not that you would take over and do everything the way you want instead of what I want.”
“Your way isn’t working,” he insisted.
She gasped.
He realized how harsh his words sounded before he saw the depth of hurt in her eyes. Their color changed from bright to a dark stormy blue. Regret and anger at himself pierced him sharp as the tip of a blade. She knew she wasn’t getting anywhere. It hadn’t been necessary for him to say it out loud.
Ophelia’s whole body seemed to lift in indignation. “I’m not doing this to gain some type of curious pleasurefor myself but because I must. I will not promise to submit to your will concerning my quest, so therefore I cannot marry you, but I do thank you for the Debrett’s book and your offer of marriage.”
Without looking at him again, she reached down, picked up the book, and hurried around the corner of the house. Moments later, he heard the door shut.
For a second, he thought to follow her inside, but he caught himself and didn’t. She needed time to think. So did he.
He hadn’t won her over. Fine, but he wouldn’t let her lofty rejection stand. A man was supposed to enjoy the hunt of pursuing the lady he wanted. He’d always understood that, but the truth was now that he’d decided he wanted Ophelia, he didn’t want to wait. He had already hunted and found. All he had to do was capture her.
