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Ophelia gave him a lopsided smile. “I was not far behind you.”

“But the reality of it is so much more. You’re the best lover I’ve ever had. Marie was sweet, but she was a girl. With you, it’s all different . . . Making love to a woman is—”

“Not just any woman,” Ophelia said, grinning at him.

“You are gorgeous,” Hugo said instantly. Her lips, for instance, were perfectly shaped, and but for the presence of a small child—which acted as an instinctive dampener—he’d be rolling on top of her this moment, tucking her warm body beneath his, and nipping that generous bottom lip.

“I appreciate it, given that I must look like one of Shakespeare’s witches. My hair is long past rumpled.”

“A beautiful witch,” Hugo said, his breath catching at the look in Ophelia’s eyes. How could a woman so gorgeous have even a hint of insecurity? And yet his Ophelia wasn’t certain she was beautiful.

He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, making love to you isn’t so good just because you are extraordinarily beautiful. It’s because you’re you, and in case you’re wondering, I know that makes me sound like a complete git.”

“Git?”

“Idiot.”

“You’re no idiot.” Bright eyes held his.

“Could we perhaps return your sleeping child to the nursery?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

She shook her head. “If I move, she’ll wake up, and then she’ll be fussy by eleven in the morning. Her nursemaid will come along in a half hour or so and take her away for a bath.”

He groaned soundlessly.

Ophelia’s eyes had a mischievous gleam. “I realized last night that I announced our marriage without giving you the chance to propose.”

“You wish me to propose now?”

She nodded. “Why not?”

Hugo could think of many reasons, most of which had to do with thirsty kisses that couldn’t be shared over the body of a sleeping child. But he nodded, swung his legs soundlessly over the bed, and padded over to his breeches.

When he came back, he paused for a moment, just to make certain that he wasn’t in a dream. Tangled silky red hair spread around Ophelia’s pillow and spilled over her shoulder. Her pretty mouth was curved in a wicked smile, one that acknowledged the fact that he was lusting for her.

“I suppose that with you as a mother, the children will never be confined to a nursery, will they?”

“At night, they will,” she said. “But otherwise, no. Why have children if you don’t want to spend time with them?” She looked down at Viola, peacefully sleeping, and stroked a finger down her plump cheek. “I want more children, Hugo.”

“After last night, you may well have at least one,” he said ruefully. “I’ll send my secretary around to Doctors’ Commons for a special license as soon as I get home.” He put a knee on the bed as carefully as he could so that he didn’t wake Viola.

“Will you marry me, Ophelia? I can promise a large amount of the world’s goods, but you have no use for those. I have a title, and you don’t want that either. I have too many children, and by the way, they are planning to give you a pet rat as a wedding present.”

“I don’t know,” Ophelia said teasingly. “The pet rat might sway the balance the other way . . . unless there’s something else you can offer?”

“My love,” he said, meaning it. “I will love you my entire life and to my last breath. I hope I can give you the children you want; certainly, I’d love to share those that I already have. But most of all, I hope that we can have years together. I’d like to grow and change and learn from you. My life next to you will be entirely different from a life without you.” He hesitated. “I don’t mean to sound as if the decision is just mine. I will try to give you everything you want, Ophelia.”

She smiled at him. “That would be you, Hugo.” The words settled into a silence broken only by a child’s peaceful breathing. “If I have you, and the children we already have, I’ll be one of the happiest women on earth. So yes, yes, I will marry you.”

He had to swallow hard and then he opened his hand. “My family has a tradition of giving this ring from one duchess to another,” he said. “In different circumstances, my mother would have given it to you. She would have loved you so much.”

The ring was made of emeralds and pearls; it was exquisite and it fit perfectly on Ophelia’s finger.

“My last duchess,” Hugo said. He leaned over and kissed her.

“My first and last duke,” Ophelia whispered back.

Epilogue