Page 16 of Love, the Duke (Say I Do #3)

C HAPTER 16

MAN’S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO APPREHENDING A THIEF

SIR BENTLY ASHTON ULLINGSWICK

A pleasant distraction may cause a thief to surrender.

Hurst walked out his back door and looked out over the well-tended garden. He thought he was supposed to be nervous on his wedding day and have a spot or two of brandy to get him through the pageantry of it all. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the least anxious and he hadn’t had a drop to drink. He was eager to wed Ophelia and begin his life with her. Truth be told, he would have married her the day she came to his house as Mr. Warcliff if there hadn’t been a waiting period on getting the special license to wed.

He’d wanted sons and daughters and the opportunity to be the kind of father his father never was. It had taken him time to admit to himself she was the one for him and he’d almost let her slip through his hands, but fate stepped in and sent her to his door.

After she’d rejected his first proposal, if she hadn’t come to him, he would have been back to her door again and again until she said yes. She was passionate and curious about life and what happened in the marriage bed. There had been no doubt about that when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her. Her response was every thing a man could expect from a lady’s first experience with sensual feelings. The excitement between them had been fervent and earnest. He couldn’t wait to be alone with her.

Sunshine glared brightly in his eyes. The blue sky appeared to be popping white cotton ball clouds across the expanse. The tepid air felt more like midsummer heat than mid-spring chill. Birds chirped, bees buzzed around, and a couple of butterflies fluttered nearby, sipping from the blooms on the extra pots of flowers brought into the garden for the wedding. From the far end of the lawn a pianist, cellist, and violinist played softly.

The few guests he’d invited had assembled and were chatting. As if they’d been watching for him, Wyatt and Rick excused themselves from their wives and headed his way. Hurst had no doubt what they wanted to talk about before his bride arrived. In truth, he had no problem indulging them a little.

“You’ve been avoiding us,” Wyatt said as he stopped and propped a foot on the bottom step where Hurst stood.

“Is it any wonder?” he replied with a bit of humor in his voice.

Rick snorted a laugh. “Not at all. I would have been avoiding you too if I had been caught in your position. That was a hell of a sparring match you and Miss Stowe were putting on when last we saw you.”

“With good reason,” Hurst didn’t mind saying.

“No doubt about that, but I want to know,” Rick said with a quirk of his head, “did you win or lose?”

Hurst grinned. “As for the argument between the two of us, it’s anyone’s guess, but I won her hand and that’s what I wanted.”

“After all these years you have looked for the right lady, are you sure she’s the one you’ve been waiting for?” Wyatt asked, all teasing and amusement gone from his tone and features.

“Completely,” he answered with no wavering. “After all she and I have been through since we met, I can’t wait to make her mine.”

“Did you know she was the one for you the first time you saw her as you always suspected you would?” Wyatt continued his probe.

“Yes, and no,” he admitted honestly as he caught Rick’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Stonerick, smiling at him. He gave her a nod.

“And that doesn’t bring up any doubts that she might not be the one for you?”

Hurst inhaled a deep breath and looked at the colorful flower-and-vine-covered arbor he had erected. He knew and understood why his friends were tackling him with questions. By no means would he tell them everything, but perhaps they deserved a few more details given their long-held friendship.

Looking from one to the other, he acknowledged without qualm, “She was dressed the way you two saw her the first time we met. The situation we found ourselves in at that time didn’t lend itself to be one of thinking along the lines of romance, marriage, or even fate.”

“And are you all right with that? And her dressing as a man?” Rick asked.

“No,” Hurst said with a shake of his head. “I’ll explain it all one day. Today’s not the time.”

The friends looked at each other with what could have been mild concern. Wyatt was the first to speak. “I don’t mind admitting that I’m dying of curiosity the reason she was dressed as a man when we saw her.”

Rick rubbed the back of his neck. “And I find myself lying awake at night wondering what the devil she was doing in a chest tied with a bow and why she had cause to slap you when she came out of it.”

The three men looked at one another and all started laughing. That would cause one to scratch his head looking for a reasonable answer to something that wasn’t reasonable. Hurst wasn’t going to try to explain that.

“Keep wondering and lying awake at night, my friends. I can’t tell you everything I do or that has happened, but I have no doubts she is the lady for me.”

“Then she has our blessings,” Wyatt conceded.

Rick agreed with a smile, a nod, and a shrug.

On to more important things, Hurst asked, “Have either of you been able to find out any information about a man who collects religious vessels?”

“Sorry, Hurst. I haven’t remembered to ask,” Rick confessed.

“Really?” Hurst grumbled. “It didn’t cross your mind not even once?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wyatt was quick to answer with a single shake of his head and a dismissive wave of his hand. “We know most of the same people. I’ve discreetly inquired as you asked and haven’t learned anything useful about such a man unless you want to accuse the prince himself. Everyone agrees he collects more rare, historical objects than anyone else in England or any other part of the world. Religious or otherwise. Should I try to get an audience with him?”

Hurst scoffed at Wyatt’s remark as he heard the back door open. Turning, he saw Ophelia’s mother step through the doorway. She moved quickly down the steps and onto the lawn to join the others standing near the decorated arbor. The music, chatter, and even the sounds of the garden went silent when Ophelia stepped out onto the stone landing.

His friends were forgotten as Hurst looked at his bride. His chest and stomach tightened at the sight of her. Wearing a simple ivory dress with a darker beige velvet spencer, she was stunning. She wore a small satin-covered hat with sheer netting that came down to rest slightly below her chin. In her hands she carried a small nosegay of delicate blue flowers.

Hurst jaunted up the steps to greet her. The veil was so sheer it was easy to see her startling blue eyes, the tempting shape of her inviting lips and smooth, delicate-looking complexion. She was so enticing he wanted to reach up and caress her cheek with his fingers. He wanted to kiss her now. In the bright sunlight with everyone watching, gaping at his audacity to do so before the vows were said.

Instead, he said huskily, “You are beautiful, Ophelia. No matter the day, the time, or the occasion.”

She lowered her lashes for a slow blink and tilted her chin demurely high. Her shoulders lifted confidently. Neither could stop the prickle of sexual awareness that rushed through them.

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are most handsomely dressed for the occasion as well.”

He wanted to take hold of her hands, squeeze them lightly, and reassure her, but with the flowers she clutched so tightly that was impossible and would shock some of the guests if he dared to touch her before they were pronounced man and wife.

“You’ve met Wyatt and Rick. After the ceremony you will meet their wives, Fredericka and Edwina, and Rick’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Stonerick. You will have to be on guard with her. She is a charmer, but all will adore you and your mother.”

“I’ll look forward to that.” She smiled sweetly and looked at the few people gathered near the arbor. “I’m glad but surprised your two friends from the sporting club would ever want to see me again, let alone introduce me to their wives considering the situation as it was when they met me.”

“They both appreciate a lady who knows her own mind and isn’t afraid to go after what she wants no matter how she is dressed.”

“That is encouraging.” She hesitated as if she didn’t know what to say, but she unexpectedly asked, “Did you speak to the vicar?”

A stab of annoyance nicked Hurst and surprisingly a little hurt too. Her feelings were honest, which he couldn’t fault, but he didn’t know why she doubted him. It was true, he never made it back to see her brother as he indicated in his letter, but other than that, he’d never given her reason to think she couldn’t trust him to keep his word. That reminded him that his father had never kept his word to Hurst or anyone else. Time and again he promised no more gambling, drinking, or spending his allowance on frivolous baubles for his mistress, but he never stopped.

Hurst reminded himself he didn’t like to think about his father anymore. Certainly not today.

With remembrance of his past buried again, Hurst continued to stare into Ophelia’s eyes. He didn’t know how to accept her lack of trust in him.

Why couldn’t she just accept that he would keep his word as her husband? Did trust always have to be earned? Couldn’t it be accepted on faith alone at first?

“Are you not willing to trust me on our wedding day?” he asked with concern.

“I worry. We don’t have much time before—”

“Ophelia,” he broke into her sentence and stopped her. “It’s handled.”

The simple truthful answer pierced him. Her goal was the most important thing in her life. He had always understood that from the first night they met.

“I’ve already arranged for you to tour two homes later this week under the guise that you will probably want to look into renovations on our current house in London and will be eager to get started.”

She smiled and nodded once. “Thank you. I am eager.”

He smiled at her too. “I’ll get more invitations for you.” He placed his hand on her arm and they walked down the steps and over to the arbor where the vicar stood and faced him.

The minister started with, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God…”

Shortly after the man started, movement out of the corner of his eye caught Hurst’s attention. He turned his head slightly and looked at Ophelia. She was still and attentive. There it was again. He looked closer at her.

Hell, and damnation, there was a bee crawling around the underside of her veil! Near her ear. How did that get there? She hadn’t even been in the garden very long.

What was he going to do? If he told her about it, she would probably panic and get stung. Possibly more than once. If he didn’t tell her, it might fly onto her cheek. A natural reaction would be to brush it away. That would surely cause a sting because the bee had no way to get out. Neither of them could simply shoo it away.

How would she react to a sting? He usually had a red bump of swelling appear almost immediately and last for a couple of days. He imagined one on her beauti ful cheek. And then he imagined several. No. Not if he could help it.

Only one thing to do. Hurst was going to have to slip his hand under her veil and see what he could do before the bee realized it was trapped and decided to fly. And he had to do it without alerting his beautiful bride.

The vicar cleared his throat and prompted, “You are supposed to say, ‘I will,’ Your Grace.”

“I will,” he answered hastily without taking his eyes off the bee.

He whispered, “Don’t move.”

He felt her go rigid and she cut her eyes over to him after obviously hearing something to be alarmed about in his voice.

“Is there a grass snake at my feet?”

“No. Be still.”

From her profile he saw her eyes widen. “A spider on my shoulder? What is it?”

“Trust me,” he whispered, trying to will her to listen to him for once in her life.

Assuming everyone’s eyes were on the vicar, Hurst slowly eased his hand up, and gently slid his hand under the bottom of the veil.

Slowly and steadily, Hurst moved his hand beneath the fabric until, in a flash, he swept the bee into the palm of his hand and loosely closed his fingers around it. He swallowed a grunt. Damn, the sting pinged him good as the bee buzzed and frantically fluttered about as if enclosed in a glass jar. The vicar started coughing. Ophelia watched Hurst open his fist and the bee flew away. Gasps sounded around the guests as they witnessed what was happening.

The vicar mumbled apologies for coughing and the disrupting of the insect, and continued with, “in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will,” she answered.

“You need to take her hand in yours, Your Grace, and repeat after me.”

Hurst stretched out his hand to her. They both saw the budding red welt in the center of his palm. She glanced back into his eyes and whispered, “I trust you, Your Grace.”

He smiled and took hold of her hand.

After the ceremony, congratulations circulated among the guests while the staff served chilled champagne on silver trays. Hurst and Ophelia received good wishes and blessings for a long and fruitful marriage as everyone gathered around them at once. Thankfully no one commented on the muddled words of the vows but much was said about the bee.

Mere weeks ago, Hurst couldn’t have imagined his wedding to a lady he’d rejected in a terse missive to an old friend. And yet here she was standing at his side, having absolved him of his lack of judgment in not coming to meet her or to see her brother. But truth be told, her forgiveness came at a price. She needed his help to do something he loathed to do. He knew all about houses being searched and looked through and things being taken away. Yet, he would honor her request until her pursuit ended.

Taking her arm and linking it through his, Hurst led them through the guests and made introductions where necessary as quickly as possible and moved on. Ophelia’s mother seemed quite content, having engaged herself in conversation with Rick’s mother in the shade of a tree.

Determination to be a gentleman on this day fell by the wayside when, without preamble, Hurst steered Ophelia through a set of open double doors and into the house. And on the way, taking a glass of champagne from a tray. Sunshine slanted across the polished floor as if it were a pathway that led them to a quiet nook.

“Here, Ophelia.” He pressed the glass into her gloved hand. “Have a sip.”

Looking at him through lowered lashes, then directly into his eyes, she noted, “The last time I held a glass of liquor, you took it away from me. And with censure.”

Under a soft chuckle, he admitted, “Yes, I did. But today is different. We are celebrating.”

Hurst reveled in the mischievous smile she gifted him as she took a taste, then rubbed the underside of her nose with her gloved fingers before taking another then giving him the glass back. “If I am going to present myself worthy to bear the name Duchess and to bear your heir to the title, I best not indulge more until later in the evening.”

Her innocent beauty took his breath. And his heart. With a furrow of his brows, he refused to recognize he may just have fallen in love with her, right here and now.

As he had her to himself, warmth heated his skin. He didn’t want to escort her back to the reception just yet. He set the champagne aside. The quick kiss after he had attended to her veil, making sure he secured the delicate netting away from her face, wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy his hunger for her. He was eager for more kisses, and there was a long afternoon of celebration ahead of them.

“Thank you for what you did during the ceremony.” Her eyes shimmered with gratitude. “Had I known there was a bee inside my veil, I would have tried to flee its vengeful sting, and I’d be standing in front of you with my hat and my pride in shambles.”

“I wouldn’t allow an insect to sting my bride.”

Her blue eyes swept across his face. “I’m glad you didn’t damage its wings, and it was able to fly away.”

The familiar tug of arousal tightened Hurst’s lower body again. Her sensual mouth beckoned. He wanted to pick her up in his arms and twirl her around so she would know how happy he was that she was his. But he caught himself in time. She needed to be wooed, not rushed.

He smiled. “I’m sure the little insect lived to sting again.”

Gently, he slid his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. She fit snugly and perfectly against him and gave no resistance to his maneuvers to get closer to her. A deep swell of anticipation melded into his mouth with a moan as the full swells of her breasts burned a satisfying imprint on his chest. Hurst drank in Ophelia’s innocent smile.

“I will always stand in harm’s way for you, Ophelia. You have my word.” He then lowered his lips to hers.

Ophelia closed her eyes and parted her lips as he touched hers. They felt almost like silk, yet firm, full, and enticing. They yielded warmth. She allowed his tongue to slip inside her mouth and he probed the depths. Champagne and Ophelia quickly created a combustion of fiery heat inside him, and he wanted to take her away from everyone. With the simple kiss, he only meant to hold her tightly against him a moment or two and make it a brief satisfying embrace to hold him until they were alone in his chambers.

But sometimes things didn’t go as planned. Slender hands came round his neck, and she clung to him. Unexpectedly, he knew she didn’t want to resist him. Her arms wound further, and she pressed her body tightly to his, kissing him with fervor equal to his.

Her innocent move made his heart pound. It wasn’t the quick or prim kind of kiss a husband should give a bride of less than ten minutes. It was long, generous, and glorious. At times they managed short, gaspy breaths and others were long, contented sighs. He was on fire with wanting to be consumed by his wife.

Feeling her curves beneath his hands made him want to explore more than he knew they had time for and feelings that he wasn’t sure she was ready to talk or even think about.

But their little interlude came to a halt far too soon with a recognizable male voice.

“Hurst, are you in here?”

The ill-timed call caused him to reluctantly break away from his bride with deliberate slowness. In a ragged breath, Hurst said, “Unfortunately, we are needed outside.”

“And just in time, I think,” she answered and reached up to straighten her veil.

Wyatt and Rick approached with their wives and Rick’s mother by their sides as Hurst and Ophelia walked back onto the patio.

Wyatt addressed Ophelia directly with a nod and a smile. “Many happy years to you both.”

“Hear, hear,” Rick and the others signaled their approval with the lift of their glasses.

Pleasantries were exchanged for a few moments before Rick’s mother looked at Ophelia and said, “Your Grace, I understand you are looking for a man who is attracted to religious artifacts.”

Mrs. Stowe made an audible gasp, which she quickly recovered from by pulling her handkerchief out from under her sleeve and politely and gently coughed to cover her gasp.

Ophelia gave Hurst a startled look and he immediately gave her a slight shake of his head. He knew nothing about this. Of course, he expected Wyatt and Rick to tell their wives about Ophelia’s search, but telling his mother hadn’t been expected.

“I mentioned it to the dowager,” Edwina said quickly, looking at Ophelia with caution in her expression. “I hope I wasn’t out of line in doing so. She knows so many people in Polite Society and is the epitome of discretion I assure you. I thought perhaps she might have heard of someone who might be of help to you. I hope I didn’t speak out of turn.”

“No, no. It’s quite all right,” Ophelia replied, giving her a forgiving smile. “If anyone can aid me in my search, we’d be delighted. Right, Maman?”

“Most definitely, my dear,” she answered softly. “I find the weariness of our search burdens me more each day.”

“That was my thought,” Edwina explained.

“And if it’s any comfort,” Fredericka added with a genuine smile, “she sought my opinion, and I agreed. We both know what it’s like to want something that seems out of reach or appears there is no answer for it. So, if you are going to be upset with Edwina, you’ll have to include me.”

“Oh, please understand I am happy for any help,” Ophelia said with eagerness. “I thank you both for being interested enough to care. And you too, Duchess,” she said to the dowager. “I find that my coffers of ideas are running low and my time to settle this affair is short. All assistance is appreciated.”

Hurst was pleased with the way Ophelia settled Edwina’s concern that she might have gone too far. And that she finally realized she needed help from wherever it came.

“Yes, of course.” Rick’s mother smiled with a bit of ar rogance that always looked attractive on her and sounded like a sweet compliment no matter who she was talking to. “I want to oblige if I can. I’m a member of a group called the Insightful Ladies of London Society.”

“Your Grace,” Rick said in an annoyed tone to his mother. “You led me to believe you gave up that group after Edwina and I married.”

“Yes, I did for a while,” she answered innocently. “And I don’t attend their weekly meetings anymore, but I do like to keep in touch with them and see what they are up to and what they are reading. I still want to know about their discussions on various subjects. It’s—well, enlightening.” She lifted her brows as if to challenge him to say more.

Rightfully so, her son didn’t take the bait she threw out, but Edwina came to her mother-in-law’s aid anyway. “While I’ve never attended a meeting, I know they are a diverse group who study and read about superstitions, phenomena, the heavens, and many such subjects, so I’m not surprised that religious artifacts are one of them.”

“And it just so happens,” the dowager said with her light-blue eyes sparkling with confidence, and her voice as soft as a pluck of cotton, “one of the ladies in the group knows a gentleman who collects religious artifacts, though he doesn’t make it known to many.”