Page 67 of Regency in Color

The duke glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smirked. “That isn’t altogether a bad idea. My building would feature a library, I think. The grandest in all of London.”

Thalia gave him a quizzical look as they paused in the center of the room. Westerfield faced her, hands folded behind his back.

“Have I shocked you?” he asked.

“No … yes. I do know of your love for books, of course, but—”

“You thought a place constructed in my honor ought to be filled with tributes to my own greatness.”

“It seems the dukely thing to do.”

“Dukely?” he mused, stroking his jaw. “Is that even a word?”

“I am not certain, but it ought to be.”

With one hand hovering at her back, he steered her toward a collection of busts and objects d’art. “I think, Miss Ramsey, that you will find I am not very dukely.”

She fell silent then, uncertain of how to respond. He might not think himself much like the other peers, and Thalia could at least acknowledge that he didn’t look like any of them. But there, the differences ended as far as she was concerned. He had been born of the bluest blood in both England and India, and was as near to royalty as anyone she would ever encounter. He was far too dukely for her.

They perused the prince’s monument in comfortable silence before Westerfield led her back to the Grand Walk. He stopped a passing waiter to procure champagne for them both, and Thalia slowly sipped hers as they walked along a colonnade with pillars draped with climbing ivy and blooming summer flowers. Their perfume wafted up her nostrils, sweet and pleasant.

As they cleared the colonnade, Westerfield paused and pointed upward. “Ah, yes. A performance not to be missed.”

Thalia craned her neck to follow his gaze and gasped. Above them, a woman seemed to walk upon the air. Upon closer inspection, Thalia realized that what she witnessed was tightrope-walker. Her lips parted in wonder as she watched the woman balance on one foot, arms raised as she executed a graceful pirouette.

“Isn’t she magnificent?”

Thalia flinched at the warm current of air against her ear, Westerfield’s deep voice sending a jolt of heated electricity through her veins. She turned to find him standing close—far too close—his head lowered toward hers. Her bosom heaved with labored breath as their eyes met and the musky scent of sandalwood permeated her senses.

God, the man was beautiful … and far too charming for his own good. It was a wonder women weren’t swooning along the path with every step he took.

“Yes,” she whispered, finally finding her voice. “Magnificent.”

He turned his head to gaze up again, as if unaffected by what had just happened. “Her name is Madame Saqui. She rose to fame in France first, but has become quite popular since her Covent Garden Theatre performance last year. Her grand finale will occur when the fireworks are launched—it is quite a feat.”

They stood there for a long while, watching Madame Saqui dance upon the precarious tightrope. She procured small spheres from a pocket in her gown and juggled them while walking backwards. She pivoted without a moment’s hesitation and increased her pace while balancing a feather on her head—sending gasps rippling through the crowd below.

“What do you suppose it is like to be so extraordinarily gifted?” Thalia wondered aloud.

She hadn’t intended to voice the thought, but it had slipped off her tongue.

“Hmm,” Westerfield murmured at her side. “That is quite the question. Perhaps we might seek the lady out after her finale and ask. But, in my experience, extraordinary people rarely think themselves extraordinary. Do you think that is what makes them so special?”

Thalia inclined her head, riveted by the sight of Madame Saqui going up on the toes of one foot, while extending her opposite leg out behind her and bending at the waist until she resembled a bird at flight.

“Or,” the duke went on. “It could be a simple matter of us all being quite ordinary on the surface, with hidden depths of the exceptional inside of us. The difference between we mere mortals and those who seem to walk on air, is untapped potential.”

Thalia stared at his profile until he turned to meet her gaze.

“Too philosophical?” he asked with a wince.

She smiled. “No. It was very well said.”

The duke offered his arm again, and they continued on their way with him insisting that they’d never see it all if they didn’t keep moving. Thalia rested her hand on his sleeve and gave herself over to his guidance and expertise.

A daunting thought occurred to her as he led her to the next attraction, and it made her chest ache.

She had been infatuated with Westerfield from the start, but the chance to be alone with him in such an intimate setting left room for only one eventuality.