My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,26
drew together. “She’s the reason I came to London to find a wife, actually.”
“How old is she?”
“Two years old. She likes nothing better than to throw crockery to the ground and listen to it shatter.”
“Exactly the same age as my Viola!” Ophelia beamed at him. “Viola is not naughty in the least, though.”
“Viola is not a warrior’s name,” the duke murmured. He leaned over and brushed a kiss on her lips.
Oddly enough, their conversation felt more intimate than their kisses, though Ophelia didn’t shape that thought until she came back to herself enough to realize that Hugo was now lying partially on top of her. He’d returned to her breasts and was lavishing them with attention.
“You—you look as if you might never stop,” she whispered.
“I could die here at your breasts, and I’d be happy,” he said, raising his head.
“That’s a very odd thing to say. A very odd thing to think.”
“Why?”
“I wouldn’t want to die anywhere if Viola wasn’t near me, if I couldn’t say goodbye to her.”
Hugo dropped a last affectionate kiss on the curve of Ophelia’s breast and moved to sit beside her again. “You are a marvelous mother.”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Why you followed me, because you want a mother for your children, for Joan in particular.”
“No.”
She gave him a faint smile. “All evidence, including your own statements, is against you. But I don’t want to mother anyone other than Viola. I am not the wife for you.”
The duke nodded, and something in Ophelia eased. He accepted her decision.
“I might have an affaire with you,” she said. “But only if you understand that there is but one outcome, when we separate and return to our lives. Since you need to find a mother—and I agree that a two-year-old girl is a good reason—we should part now. Or at least, in the morning.”
“I gather that the strongest relationship you’ve had in your life is with Viola?”
Ophelia pushed herself up against the headboard. “Viola means more to me than anything or anyone on earth. In general, I believe a mother’s love is commonly referred to as the strongest attachment a person can feel.”
He was silent a moment. “Not having been a mother, I cannot dispute your feeling. My strongest bond has been with Marie. She was mine, and I was hers.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t a sentiment. It was a rock-hard fact that was the most important thing in the world to me while she lived. In some ways, it still is.”
Another good reason not to become his duchess. Ophelia barely stopped herself from patting his hand. “I’m happy that you had such a passionate bond with your wife, your first wife.”
“I was very lucky. I walked into a room and saw Marie; I instantly knew that I would love her for the rest of my life.”
Ophelia leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Does anyone know what a romantic spirit lurks behind the Duke of Lindow’s aristocratic countenance?”
“I don’t give a damn if they do.” He said it simply, without shame.
Many men would have been mortified to admit to feeling so strongly. Certainly Peter would have been startled and annoyed had he been struck by such a ferocious emotion.
“I felt exactly that way when I saw Viola,” Ophelia said, pulling up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. “She was wrinkled and her head had the oddest shape. I thought she might be deformed for life. And yet I loved her so much that my heart didn’t seem to have enough space for the emotion.”
“When you have another child, your heart will magically find room. Horatius is a pompous boy, and yet I cannot stop myself from adoring him. Alaric is wild and curious; North is a philosopher at heart and a devil-may-care horseman; Parth is determined to be the richest man in England. The boys tease him for his mercenary goal, but he doesn’t give a damn.”
“And your other children?”
“I don’t know them as well yet,” Hugo said. “We fathers aren’t encouraged to spend time with very young children. Marie spent a great deal of time in the nursery, so I would go there to find her.” He frowned. “I know the boys much better than Yvette’s children, because she didn’t believe in nursery visits. She thought it disrupted children’s routine and might confuse them.”
“A man doesn’t need permission from his wife to visit his own children,” Ophelia said, her tone rather tart.