My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,5
could no more leave Viola than she could cut off her own arm.
“There are more children than those four, because if I remember correctly, he had four or five with his first wife as well, though they must be nearly grown. If we don’t hurry, he’ll move away from the door and I’ll miss my chance.”
“More children than four?” Ophelia kept her fan up as they arrowed through the crowd. “How old is he?”
“Not as old as you’d think. Late thirties, I believe.”
They weren’t the only ones heading in the Duke of Lindow’s direction. There was an unmistakable drift in the room, as if the tide were coming in, and he was the shore.
“The three or four from his first wife,” Maddie said over her shoulder, “are all boys.”
“Slow down,” Ophelia hissed, tugging back. “You’re making a spectacle out of us.”
They were close enough now that she could see the duke’s eyes were dark green. His face was all hard planes and angles. He was standing with one leg bent in front of him, a silver-hilted sword on his left hip.
She felt heat rising in her cheeks just from glancing at his stance. His thigh was pure muscle, and anyone could tell that his calves were not enhanced by horsehair pads. His was an aggressive leg, not a graceful one. She’d put a pretty chunk of her jointure on a bet that he didn’t care to dance.
That sword? It wasn’t just for show.
He wasn’t the sort of man who would ever interest her. “I truly must leave,” she said, with sudden resolution. “You may stop and talk to His Grace, but I am going home to Viola.”
“All right,” her cousin said, not listening.
Ophelia thought about pointing out that a man intent on courting a mother for his children was unlikely to conduct a highly visible affaire with a married woman, but she dismissed it. Maddie would soon discover whether His Grace was interested or not.
Even as a child, Maddie had always bluntly demanded whatever she wanted. Ophelia wouldn’t be surprised if Maddie strode right up to the man and suggested a tryst.
They were almost at the door, so Ophelia glanced at the duke again.
He was looking at her.
Not at Maddie.
At her.
Blood rushed into her cheeks, and she barely caught herself before she tripped again. She was a widow, the relict of Sir Peter Astley. A mother. Not the sort of woman who welcomed a man’s eyes raking over her in a ballroom, as if she were no better than a streetwalker.
She narrowed her eyes.
He blinked as if he was surprised, and then a slow smile crooked one corner of his mouth.
“The duke is looking at you!” Maddie said from somewhere to her right. “Phee, that will never do.” Her cousin actually sounded alarmed. “He’s far too much for you. Nothing like sweet Peter.”
That shook Ophelia out of a haze caused by the duke’s attention. She turned her head and smiled at her cousin. “Don’t be silly, Maddie. He’s probably mistaken me for someone else, that’s all. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“It could be that he’s walking toward me,” her cousin said breathlessly. “He could be glancing at you as a decoy.” She gripped Ophelia’s forearm hard enough to leave a bruise. “How do you think he’d respond if I lured him into a side room and tied him up?”
Ophelia ducked behind her fan and hissed, “What on earth are you talking about? You don’t tie up Penshallow, do you?”
“The duke’s so large,” Maddie said, giggling madly. “Of course, I don’t . . . It was just a silly thought.”
“He doesn’t look like the sort of a man who would wish to be tied up for any reason.” Not that she knew any man who had that sort of propensity, for all the ladies whispered about it in drawing rooms over tea.
She dropped her fan just enough to steal another glance over it.
The duke’s eyes were still fixed not on Maddie but on her. He was walking directly toward them, ignoring any number of women throwing themselves into his path.
“Perhaps he knew your husband,” her cousin said, sounding perplexed. “He really does appear to be looking at you, Phee.”
Ophelia shared her confusion. She wasn’t the kind of woman whom a man lost his head over. She had a pointed nose, a temper, a pile of red hair, and an overly generous bosom, even more so after being enhanced by motherhood. The thought of Viola brought her back to herself.