Page 46 of Love, the Duke
CHAPTER13
MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF
SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK
When one plan goes awry, make another.
Once inside, Ophelia shut the back door and leaned against it, shaking as she clutched the book about catching a thief, the book Hurst gave her, the shawl, and the note Maman’s friend sent. Closing her eyes to catch her breath, the first thing she wanted to do was relive the precious moments in the duke’s arms.
Her skin had pebbled with delicious, shivery bumps just thinking about Hurst’s kisses skimmed all the way down to the hollow of her throat. The feeling was so extraordinary and like nothing she’d ever felt before. His touch, taste, and the sounds of his labored breathing were heady. She felt as if their bodies were melting into one. It was so thrilling she had no comparison to the experience.
For the first time in her life, she had known what it was like to desire a man and for him to desire her. It was exhilarating and she wanted to put it to memory for fear she’d never experience it again, though her body already ached for more.
There were too many things to think about all at once. Not only the ethereal feeling. The duke wantedher to marry him. Give him a son. That wasn’t too much to ask of a lady. It was expected of her. Her problem was trusting Hurst that once they married, he wouldn’t try to force her to stop looking for the chalice. It was a wife’s duty to obey her husband and she wasn’t sure she could do that. Right now, she couldn’t put anything above making sure Winston’s legacy wasn’t tainted. A new vicar could be on his way to Wickenhamden by tomorrow or the next day. So yes, she would look in Lord Swillingwill’s house and every other house she could get inside.
The duke was right; they were attracted to each other. How could she not be torn about her adamant decision? Was refusing the duke the right thing to do, or was she being foolish? There was passion between them that the kiss confirmed. It had been difficult to say no, but there couldn’t be any other answer for her.
What was wrong with Hurst? Why did he think it was so wrong to simply look around someone’s book room? Especially when you weren’t trying to steal anything. Well, only if there was something there that had already been stolen and all you wanted to do was return it to the rightful owner. It wasn’t like she wanted to go into someone’s bedchamber and look through their personal belongings. Just a room of books. Mostly books. Why did he think that was so horrible?
She’d never pretended to understand Hurst. And this idea of marrying him made it doubly so. Like most young ladies, she’d always believed she’d marry one day, but not a duke. A desirous and handsome one at that. At times, she felt shaky and somewhat out of control when she was talking to him. The feelings he evoked were always immediate, demanding, and confusing.
Ophelia closed her eyes tightly and huffed. Why were things like that even entering her mind? Kisses, marriage, and the duke. Her feelings or wants didn’t matter. Only what was right for Winston and her mother. Her brother didn’t deserve to be labeled a thief, and her mother didn’t deserve to bear the shame of it for the rest of her life.
Hurst agreed that once she married, she was duly bound to submit to her husband’s will, and she wasn’t prepared to do that. Though she didn’t know what to do about how he made her feel. The feelings were there inside her, whether he was with her or she was alone.
A smile briefly touched her lips. She liked hearing him say her name. Saying his. There were many things to recommend to him other than the desirous attraction connecting them. He was a good man who wanted her to do the proper things—even when she couldn’t.
“Is that you, Ophelia?” her mother called from the drawing room.
“Yes, Maman.” She’d had enough thinking about starry-eyed romantic notions. All they were good for was keeping her from her goal. Those thoughts and considerations could be dealt with later. There were more important things to do now. “I’ll be right there.”
She headed toward the dining room to put the books on the table and almost ran into the footman coming out.
“Begging your pardon, miss.” He stepped aside to allow her entry.
“Here, Mr. Mallord, take these for me,” she said, barely slowing down as she stuffed the books and shawl into his arms, but making sure to hold on to the letter from her mother’s friend in Wickenhamden. “Place them onthe dining table. Light all the lamps bright and push the draperies aside wide. Find Mrs. Turner and ask her to come to the dining room. I’ll join her there shortly. I’ll also need paper, ink, and quill.”
“Yes, miss.”
Ophelia rushed into the drawing room but stopped short when she saw her mother sitting in a chair by the window holding a cup and saucer.
“I’m glad you came inside,” she said without looking at her daughter. “I think rain is on the way again.”
“I do too.” Ophelia hadn’t noticed the sky had darkened and the wind had kicked up while she was with the duke. When he was around, her attention was only on him. “Are you feeling better now that you’ve had a little rest and warmth from the fire?”
“Oh, yes. I’m fine.”
Roberta smiled, but she didn’t look or sound fine. Her voice had a slight tremble, and her face seemed pale and drawn. Ophelia decided she would go to an apothecary tomorrow to see about purchasing a tonic to invigorate her mother’s health.
“This letter from your friend—would you like for me to put it with the others for you?”
“Would you, dearest? I don’t need to read it again. I’ll never forget what it says but I think will wait until morning to answer and thank her for continuing to keep us updated.”
Ophelia walked over to the secretary, opened the drawer she’d put the sketches in, took them out, and then tucked the letter away in its appropriate place. “Yes, it’s kind of her to take the time.”
Her mother whispered a tired laugh. “It is, but she loves the gossip of it all, and you know that. But I don’tmind. It helps us, and you are trying so hard, I know you are going be successful before a new vicar arrives.”
Ophelia’s heart squeezed. Yes, she believed that too. She had to, but she knew time was slipping by quickly. Was a runner from Bow Street the answer or would he, as she’d suspected, only stir up questions about what Ophelia had been able to keep hidden so far?
