Page 73 of Love, the Duke
Defying him, Ophelia challenged her husband and stated, “Hurst, you’re being obstinate for no good reason. She gave us a name and I’m going to confront the baron.”
Throwing his hands up, he argued, “Butwedon’t know yet ifwecan believe anything she says.”
“I should excuse myself,” Ophelia’s mother said, wringing her hands. “I’ve caused you both distress. Dear me, if there is any way I can help, I’m willing to stay.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “This is as important to me as to you, Ophelia. If not more.”
“I’m sorry, Maman. We don’t know what any of us can do right now.” A dull headache had been forming at the back of her neck since she’d lunged for the fake chalice. Nothing could be done at this exact moment because she didn’t have a plan concerning how she could get into the baron’s house to look at his bookshelves. Lowering her voice a little softer, she said, “I think I’m going to take Hurst’s advice and go up to my chambers to think for a little while. You don’t mind, do you, Maman?”
“Of course not.” Her mother smiled and affectionately touched Ophelia’s shoulder. “That’s a good idea. I’m sure you’ll figure out something we can do. You always do. I’ll be in the drawing room if you need me.”
“I’ll join you, Ophelia, in our chambers,” Hurst said curtly after her mother departed.
Ophelia didn’t wait for him but started up the stairs, wondering how she was going to get into Lord Gagingcliffe’s house. The duke’s footsteps sounded behind her all the way, and until he scooted ahead of her and opened the door that led into his bedchamber. She stepped inside and turned to face him while he shut the door.
With just the two of them, the masculine room with its dark furnishings, heavily carved hearth, and the large bed with hunter’s green bedding made Ophelia feel warm and protected for a few moments. She wished she had all this upheaval settled so she could enjoy the feeling longer. Forever, if possible.
Crossing over to his dressing chest, Hurst took the stopper out of a decanter and poured a dram of brandy into two glasses. He handed one to her.
“What’s this?”
“Brandy.”
Her brow rose suspiciously. “If you’ll remember, I didn’t have a good experience the last time I tried it.”
“That’s because you were trying to drink it like the seasoned sporting men you were conversing with that evening. Take small sips,” he said patiently, and then proceeded to take a swallow like the seasoned sporting men he mentioned.
Ophelia followed his instructions and barely let the liquid touch her tongue. It went down much easier that way.
“Take another,” he encouraged in a strained tone with his eyes pinched tightly. “It will help settle you as we finish the discussion we started with your mother.”
“Gladly,” she answered as tightly as he’d spoken, trying to slow her ragged breathing. “When I played cards with the baron at the party, I quizzed him and Mr. Sawyer about anyone in their family who might be a collector.”
Concern edged his features. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“You sound as if you think there was something wrong with that. Did you think I was going to parties and balls just to enjoy myself? I was looking for anyone who could help me.”
“I don’t know how I’d forgotten, Ophelia.” He nodded, sarcasm tainting his reply. “From the night we met, you never led me to believe you were in London for anything other than your mission.”
“What I said to Mr. Sawyer and the baron made for easy conversation while trying to concentrate on the cardsin my hand. I started it quite inconspicuously by mentioning the signet ring Mr. Sawyer was wearing. Both gentlemen said they didn’t know of anyone in their families who collected things. This means Lord Gagingcliffe wasn’t truthful. Perhaps Mr. Sawyer too. I have doubt about both being men of honor right now.”
“It means nothing yet,” he urged, stern resolve in his every word as he placed the empty glass on a table. “You could be condemning innocent men.”
“I am not condemning,” she answered pertly, taking umbrage at his words. “I’m considering possibilities that need to be considered. Let’s go see him and find out what kind of man he is.”
“And say what? ‘Lord Gagingcliffe, since my wife is certain you have the chalice, will you give it back? Please,’” Hurst pretended to pose a question to the allegedly guilty man.
Ophelia’s temper rose, but she managed to hold it inside. She landed her glass beside his. If this was what he had to say, she didn’t want to settle down. “Stop mocking me.”
“I wasn’t criticizing you.”
A rapid display of emotions crossed her face. “It sounded as if you were.”
“Of course not,” he insisted again. “It might have seemed to you, but I was being rational.”
“Just because you say you are rational, Hurst, doesn’t mean you always are. And I want to be successful. I know we couldn’t be so brazen as to accuse him. We can go on the pretext of a business of some kind you want to discuss. While you distract him, I will do the searching.”
“What are you saying? No.” Hurst ground out the word as if he were crushing it under his boot. “I’ve told you Iwon’t be a party to that kind of searching. There are other ways.”
“You won’t be doing anything you feel isn’t right. Looking around a person’s home isn’t necessarily a terrible thing to do. Especially if they invite you to do so.”
