Page 78 of Love, the Duke
“That is news to me.” Steepling his fingertips over his breastbone, the baron hemmed and hawed, starting a sentence, then stopping to redirect his words to another thought as if he warred between being boastful or silent.
In the end, his pedigree of arrogance prevailed, and he formed his words deliberately as if he’d spoke them in a confessional. “Some of my most prized possessions are cleverly hidden in plain sight. The eye follows but where you look isn’t what you see.”
Keeping his pulse from jumping, Hurst projected deliberate firmness, showing no sign of relenting. “You’ve intrigued me. I must see this for myself.”
With a shake of his head, the baron dismissed his request. “It’s not possible today, Your Grace.”
Hurst struggled to stay seated, but he couldn’t run and search for all the hidden pieces of art in the book room with the baron pulling at the tail of his coat. Now he knew why Ophelia always thought snooping was the better plan. “Another time then,” he said.
The baron’s next words were enthusiastic as he spoke. “But while you’re here, you must see this impressive piece I recently acquired—a bejeweled Anglican cross. Indulge me while I go upstairs to my bedchamber to retrieve it.”
“Yes, if you insist.” Hurst couldn’t believe his good luck. The man was going to actually leave him alone in the house. Perhaps he thought a duke was above snooping. And until now, Hurst was.
Lord Gagingcliffe strode toward the doorway, then scampered off like an excited boy. There was no way Hurst was going to chase another man into his bedchamber where, if he indeed had the chalice, it might be. Instead, he stayed but for a short count, his mind considering all possibilities and thinking ahead to his next move.
Hurst couldn’t wait long. Not when he had the opportunity, no matter how small a window to accomplish his quest or how distasteful it was for him to do. It was time for him to conquer his ghosts from the past and drive them out of his mind for good. No matter he vowed to never do such a thing. He swallowed it all and bolted out of the drawing room.
As he rounded the newel post, the front door knocker rapped with staccato beats. But Hurst pressed on, not listening for the butler’s foot treads trailing into the vestibule to answer the caller.
The Duke of Hurstbourne had one mission in mind: get to the book room and search it fast.
He now found himself engaging in the criminal act he had forbidden his wife to do. That he swore to himself long ago he’d never do. Invading someone’s privacy—taking something from them, even if it was for a good reason—was still wrong. But he loved Ophelia, and now believed her suspicions about Lord Gagingcliffe could be true. And he was damned determined to prove she was right.
