My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,28
His voice was mournful. “Friends? I don’t want to be your friend, Ophelia.”
That stung, but why would he want to be friends? She had been at risk, for just a moment, of forgetting the real reason he had singled her out: because she was a good mother. Because he had children whom he didn’t know, by the sound of it.
“I understand,” she said, keeping her expression absolutely even. She’d learned that trick during her marriage, because of Peter’s dislike of disapproval. She’d practiced in a glass until she knew the exact arrangement of her features that portrayed benign interest without judgment.
Without the flash of real anger that she felt inside. She was good enough to kiss and fondle, good enough to marry, but not good enough to be friends with?
“I didn’t say that correctly,” Hugo said.
“I think your point is an excellent one,” Ophelia said. “Men and women are rarely friends, as I understand it.”
“I am friends with my twin sister.”
“Marvelous,” Ophelia said, another stab of resentment going through her.
“What are you thinking?”
“I am wondering why a man who has so much has any need of a wife. You have all those children, and a sister to boot.” She colored and looked at the expression in his eyes. “Besides that, I mean.”
“I am lucky,” he offered.
“Yes.”
“I think it’s very interesting that you narrow my assets to my family.”
Ophelia forced a smile. This had been pleasurable, and startling, but now she wanted to be alone. A bone-deep melancholy was building up in her heart: a feeling of missing Peter. That was the problem with being widowed: Grief wasn’t something one got over with a year of mourning, or even two.
“I think perhaps we should sleep alone,” she said.
“Most women think that the duchy of Lindow is my greatest asset,” Hugo said, taking her right hand and bringing it to his lips. “Power equals money, after all. The holder of a dukedom is all-powerful in a society like ours.”
Ophelia tugged her hand free. “You seem to me an excellent representative of power and money.” She swung her legs over the bed, reached over, and picked up her dressing gown. She didn’t mind sitting in bed without clothing, but she wasn’t going to stand up naked. The light cotton brushed over her nipples, sending a thrill of feeling down her body.
“I’ve mucked it up, haven’t I?” Hugo said, moving off his side of the bed.
“There was nothing to muck up,” Ophelia replied. “I have much enjoyed our time together. I truly have.” She reached out and caught his hands in hers. “This has been a pleasure.”
“Ophelia,” the duke said.
She shook her head. “I do not wish to be a duchess, Your Grace.”
“May I stay tomorrow?”
“I think not.” She kept her voice even, without a hint of what was really in her mind. There was no reason to spend time together if they couldn’t even be friends.
“Please?”
“Your Grace.” She struck just the right tone. Her voice was firm, reproving but not overly proud.
He shook his head. “Phee, do you know how many people say no to me?”
“If you give your two-year-old a chance, I expect she will startle you in that respect,” Ophelia told him. “Good night, Your Grace.”
She left before he could answer.
Chapter Eight
Hugo fell back onto the bed, feeling as if he’d been struck—not for the first time that evening.
She’d said no.
Ophelia meant it too.
Marie had flirted with him, but from the moment they met, she’d been as interested as he. After that, it was a matter of mating. He’d flaunted his dukedom and his body, just the way Fitzy, the young peacock at Lindow Castle, spread his tail. Marie had pretended to run away, enjoying every moment of the game.
They had been young and beautiful. He had already inherited the title, feeling no true grief for the father he had barely known. She had been the treasured eldest child of a marquess, and had excelled at everything she chose to do—including marriage.
Marie had been amazingly precious to him, partly because she was so direct, so uncomplicated. She was a child of laughter and joy who loved him, and loved their children.
Ophelia was far more complex. She had grieved and was still mourning, unless he was wrong. She had faced life alone—in more than one way. She and her husband had been partners, but not soul mates. Not the way he and Marie had been.