Page 15

Outside, the sudden storm battered the carriage, and Ophelia knew that if he hadn’t been there, she would have felt rising anxiety, if not pure terror. How would she get home to Viola? What if the carriage overturned?

Instead she felt rosy, hot, and unsure after their kisses. Her stomach clenched, wanting more—more kisses, more caresses, more. That unusual sensation, put together with a wave of anxiety due to the quick-rising storm, made her uncertain and off balance.

The duke looked utterly calm. It was only when she met his eyes that she saw emotion there, and the expression in his gaze had nothing to do with storms. His eyes were fiery with desire held tightly leashed.

“We’re already well into Hyde Park and will arrive at your house in no time.” He sounded so sensible. He couldn’t be trembling, the way she was.

Then he reached out and caught one of her hands and brought it to his lips, and she caught another flare of desire in his eyes.

The storm didn’t unsettle him—but she did. That was a surprisingly satisfying thought.

“Thank you,” she said, forcing herself to relax. Her breath was catching in her chest, but she wasn’t sure whether it was due to the storm or his kisses.

“I might as well point out that there are advantages to having a husband,” His Grace said, his dimple making an appearance.

“Are you planning to clamber out and take the reins?” She didn’t take her hand away. His was comforting, a big male hand that looked capable of anything. “You have calluses on your fingers . . . from driving?”

He nodded, turning her hand over. “Whereas your hand is delicate and pink.”

“A useless hand,” Ophelia said, pulling it away.

But he hung on. “A hand needn’t be scarred to be useful.” His mouth twitched and then he said, “Marie rocked her babes every night. Her hands were not scarred, but they were not frail.”

Ophelia was caught between a sense of danger—he really was looking for a mother for all those children—and elation that he had understood. He wouldn’t scorn her if he knew she rocked Viola to sleep.

Just as that thought went through her mind, the carriage skewed across the road. The duke reached over and plucked her into his lap as easily as she might pick up Viola.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

He braced one large foot against the side of the carriage opposite them, and the other on the opposite seat. Ophelia craned her neck sideways to frown at him just as the carriage slipped again.

This time it slid clear across the road.

“We’re likely to lose a wheel,” the duke said in her ear, one arm across her chest like an iron band, the other holding on to the strap.

“A wheel?” she managed, but the crack of splitting wood drowned her voice.

His Grace said one short, brutal curse, not at all dukelike.

The carriage began to list to one side slowly, as if it were a boat on the verge of capsizing. Just when it was about to fall over, it rocked back in the other direction and she heard a crunch as the axle presumably hit the ground. They were tilted, but not upside down.

The door blew open, and, with a theatrical swirl, snow rushed into the carriage.

Ophelia hardly felt it. The duke’s massive body had taken the shock of the carriage rocking, and now he tucked her closer against himself, as if his arms could ward off the winter. The wind caught the door and slammed it shut again.

“We made it,” the duke said, sounding very satisfied. “Your carriage driver, Ophelia, is worth every shilling you pay him.”

“My—what happened?”

“We lost a wheel, but he managed to keep us from toppling on our heads,” His Grace said. “Much though I love the feeling of you in my lap, I’m going to clamber from this carriage so that I can get you out. I don’t like the idea that a fool might be bowling along in the dark and run straight into us before he can stop.”

Ophelia was breathless, terrified, oddly exhilarated at the same time. “I must get home to Viola.” She caught his sleeve as he snatched up his gloves and pulled them on. “I must go home.” It came out like a command, the way no duke was addressed, let alone by an insignificant widow.

He turned, put a hand along her cheek. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Ophelia sat back, her heart pounding. There was a horrid tension between her shoulders at the idea of being separated from Viola. At the same time, there was something so sweet in the duke’s eyes that she felt dizzy.

Her cloak had fallen to the floor. He tucked it around her, passed over her gloves, threw open the door, jumped down, and was gone.