Page 56 of Love, the Duke
On to more important things, Hurst asked, “Have either of you been able to find out any information about a man who collects religious vessels?”
“Sorry, Hurst. I haven’t remembered to ask,” Rick confessed.
“Really?” Hurst grumbled. “It didn’t cross your mind not even once?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wyatt was quick to answer with a single shake of his head and a dismissive wave of his hand. “We know most of the same people. I’ve discreetly inquired as you asked and haven’t learned anything useful about such a man unless you want to accuse the prince himself. Everyone agrees he collects more rare, historical objects than anyone else in England or any other part of the world. Religious or otherwise. Should I try to get an audience with him?”
Hurst scoffed at Wyatt’s remark as he heard the back door open. Turning, he saw Ophelia’s mother step through the doorway. She moved quickly down the steps and onto the lawn to join the others standing near the decorated arbor. The music, chatter, and even the sounds of the garden went silent when Ophelia stepped out onto the stone landing.
His friends were forgotten as Hurst looked at his bride. His chest and stomach tightened at the sight of her. Wearing a simple ivory dress with a darker beige velvet spencer, she was stunning. She wore a small satin-covered hat with sheer netting that came down to rest slightly below her chin. In her hands she carried a small nosegay of delicate blue flowers.
Hurst jaunted up the steps to greet her. The veil was so sheer it was easy to see her startling blue eyes, the tempting shape of her inviting lips and smooth, delicate-looking complexion. She was so enticing he wanted to reach up and caress her cheek with his fingers. He wanted to kiss her now. In the bright sunlight with everyone watching, gaping at his audacity to do so before the vows were said.
Instead, he said huskily, “You are beautiful, Ophelia. No matter the day, the time, or the occasion.”
She lowered her lashes for a slow blink and tilted her chin demurely high. Her shoulders lifted confidently. Neither could stop the prickle of sexual awareness that rushed through them.
“Thank you, Your Grace. You are most handsomely dressed for the occasion as well.”
He wanted to take hold of her hands, squeeze them lightly, and reassure her, but with the flowers she clutched so tightly that was impossible and would shock some of the guests if he dared to touch her before they were pronounced man and wife.
“You’ve met Wyatt and Rick. After the ceremony you will meet their wives, Fredericka and Edwina, and Rick’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Stonerick. You will have to be on guard with her. She is a charmer, but all will adore you and your mother.”
“I’ll look forward to that.” She smiled sweetly and looked at the few people gathered near the arbor. “I’m glad but surprised your two friends from the sporting club would ever want to see me again, let alone introduce me to their wives considering the situation as it was when they met me.”
“They both appreciate a lady who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to go after what she wants no matter how she is dressed.”
“That is encouraging.” She hesitated as if she didn’t know what to say, but she unexpectedly asked, “Did you speak to the vicar?”
A stab of annoyance nicked Hurst and surprisingly a little hurt too. Her feelings were honest, which he couldn’t fault, but he didn’t know why she doubted him. It was true, he never made it back to see her brother as he indicated in his letter, but other than that, he’d never given her reason to think she couldn’t trust him to keep his word. That reminded him that his father had never kept his word to Hurst or anyone else. Time and again he promised no more gambling, drinking, or spending his allowance on frivolous baubles for his mistress, but he never stopped.
Hurst reminded himself he didn’t like to think about his father anymore. Certainly not today.
With remembrance of his past buried again, Hurst continued to stare into Ophelia’s eyes. He didn’t know how to accept her lack of trust in him.
Why couldn’t she just accept that he would keep his word as her husband? Did trust always have to be earned? Couldn’t it be accepted on faith alone at first?
“Are you not willing to trust me on our wedding day?” he asked with concern.
“I worry. We don’t have much time before—”
“Ophelia,” he broke into her sentence and stopped her. “It’s handled.”
The simple truthful answer pierced him. Her goal was the most important thing in her life. He had always understood that from the first night they met.
“I’ve already arranged for you to tour two homes later this week under the guise that you will probably want to look into renovations on our current house in London and will be eager to get started.”
She smiled and nodded once. “Thank you. I am eager.”
He smiled at her too. “I’ll get more invitations for you.” He placed his hand on her arm and they walked down the steps and over to the arbor where the vicar stood and faced him.
The minister started with, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God…”
Shortly after the man started, movement out of the corner of his eye caught Hurst’s attention. He turned his head slightly and looked at Ophelia. She was still and attentive. There it was again. He looked closer at her.
Hell, and damnation, there was a bee crawling around the underside of her veil! Near her ear. How did that get there? She hadn’t even been in the garden very long.
What was he going to do? If he told her about it, she would probably panic and get stung. Possibly more than once. If he didn’t tell her, it might fly onto her cheek. A natural reaction would be to brush it away. That would surely cause a sting because the bee had no way to get out. Neither of them could simply shoo it away.
