She spun back around to him, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. “I won’t tell my father about our kiss, but I expect you to continue on your way first thing tomorrow morning.”
He grimaced, turning toward his room. He should have just kissed her. Or never kissed her. Chase couldn’t be certain but he stopped at the threshold. “Ophelia,” he called and she paused, looking back over her shoulder. “My given name is Chase. When you think of me, I’d like you to know my name. The name my parents used for me.”
* * *
The sadness in his voice and in the words nearly knocked her breath from her lungs. She noted the past tense of his statement first. His parents no longer used that name or his parents were gone? “Used?” she whispered, her feet pivoting back around. “What do they use now?”
She watched as his brows drew together, his face tightening in pain, his mouth pinching. “They died a long time ago. I’ve been the duke since I was sixteen.”
She gasped, then covered her mouth with her hands to hide her reaction. She remembered the pain of losing her mother. But she’d had her father and all her sisters from which to draw comfort. He’d told her he only had a single cousin. Who had helped him through the grief? She took two steps toward him, holding out her hand. Belatedly she realized her fingers trembled a bit. “What that must have been like for you. I can’t imagine. You poor—”
“Ophelia,” he said, his voice holding a note of desperation. “Don’t paint me to be the victim here in need of saving.”
She snapped her mouth shut. How had he figured her out so quickly? “I lost my mother. I know how it hurts.”
He drew in a long breath. “I didn’t tell you about my parents so that you would come back in my arms and kiss me out of sympathy. If you do kiss me again, it will be for lust.”
Those words made her stop. Clearly, she’d allowed her romantic musings to carry her away once again. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Then, before anything else could be said, she fled, her feet flying across the thick carpet all the way to the stairs and then down them to her room. But after she’d returned to the safety of her bed chamber, she could still hear him above her. First walking and then tossing and turning in his bed.
And worse still, his words echoed in her thoughts. He’d lost his parents, suffered alone, well that thought was hers. But still, she could hear the sadness beneath his words. And somehow, despite being extremely handsome and a duke, no less, he didn’t really value himself. She rolled over in bed, wondering if there was something she could do.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Ophelia decided that she needed to talk with him again. If she could control her attraction to him long enough to really listen, perhaps she could help him overcome his past and see his own value. He might not be the most moral man she’d ever met but he was redeemable. She could see real good in him. Finally deciding on a course of action, she fell asleep, just as the sky began to lighten.
She woke a few hours later to full sun pouring into her windows. What time was it? Hurrying out of bed, she fumbled about her room, attempting to wash her face and tame her hair. Sleep still weighed heavily on her mind but her maid was able to help her get ready and down to the breakfast room.
Just outside the door, she noted the sounds of her family talking, a good sign she wasn’t too late. But the moment she walked through the doorway, silence fell and every eye turned to her. She noted that while all her sisters were there, her father wasn’t present.
Sharp dread tightened her chest as they stared at her. She stopped, looking at several of them before she finally relaxed enough to ask. “What’s wrong?”
Cordelia cleared her throat. “He left.”
“Papa?” she asked, sliding into her seat near the head of the table. “He often starts work early in order to have the evenings with us.”
“We’re aware of our own father’s schedule,” Juliet huffed. “The subject we are less educated on is what happened between you and the duke that he left before seven this morning.”
Ophelia nibbled her lip, trying to decide what she shared and didn’t with her sisters. She loved her family dearly but there were very few secrets in this house. “Nothing happened. I—”
“Liar,” Adrianna pointed across the table. “You kissed him last night. I know you did.”
Heat infused her cheeks. “Adrianna, that’s absurd. I—”
She turned her finger up and wagged it. “Don’t deny it. It was completely obvious.”
Her other sisters fell silent as they stared at her. Not knowing what to say, she gazed down at her hands currently twisting in her lap.
“Are you going to marry him?” Bianca finally asked.
Her head snapped up as she started in surprise. “He’s gone. How could I marry him?”
“But…” This from Cordelia again. “He’s coming back.” She reached for one of her dark larks of hair and twisted it around her finger. “I thought perhaps he’d gone to get a marriage license.”
“Coming back,” she repeated, more to herself as she slumped down into her chair. Why would he be coming back? “He won’t be bringing a marriage license. He made it clear he didn’t want to marry. I’ve no idea why he would return.”
“But that makes no sense,” Bianca pinched her chin. “Father looked so happy the duke would be returning. One of you must be mistaken.”
Ophelia’s shoulders hunched. “It’s Papa. But still, I’m glad he’ll return. Even if he doesn’t want to marry me, he did divulge some of his past and the man needs help.”
Juliet groaned, loudly, drowning out any other noise in the room. “For heaven’s sake, Ophelia. Please tell me you’re not going to try and rescue a man who has made it clear he doesn’t want you.”
Ophelia straightened, bristling. “What does him wanting me have to do with helping him? We don’t help people to get something out of it. We do it out of the kindness of our hearts.”
Cordelia reached for her sister’s hand. “Agreed.” Then she glared at Juliet. “We should be thankful Ophelia gives with so little regard for herself. We all benefit from compassion.” Then she swept her around the table. “But as it stands, being kind to a duke could have great benefit to Ophelia. Even if he doesn’t marry her himself, he could help her to make a strong match. Which is why…” Now she glared at Adrianna. “We’re not going to tell Papa about the kiss.”
“Thank you,” Ophelia answered, reaching for Cordelia’s hand.
But Bianca shook her head. “Wouldn’t it be better to just tell Papa and have him force a match? Then you’d be married to a duke.”
Ophelia shook her head. “I don’t want a husband who has been forced.” She thought of all her dreams. How her match came to be was as important to her as the end result of marriage.
“Besides,” Juliet shrugged. “Papa isn’t even titled. He might fail to force a duke into anything and then Ophelia would be without a husband or a connection.”
“So it’s agreed,” Cordelia said. “We don’t tell Papa and we allow Ophelia to aid the duke.”
Ophelia frowned. “If he even comes back. At this point, I’m not certain he will.” And despite her determination in the wee hours of the night to help the man, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted him to. Even wounded, or maybe because of the wounds he bore, he had great potential to hurt her. Her stomach flipped. Perhaps instead of planning how to help him, she should pray he never came back.
Chapter Six
The wind whipped at the carriage, rattling the wood. Though the rain had passed, heavy gusts had clearly blown away the storm and most everything else. Chase had passed two barns that had collapsed in the high wind, and unease set in his stomach like a stone.
First, he couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t where he belonged, and he’d debated turning back a dozen or so times. Second, he had some vague worry about Ophelia and the wind, though he knew she was tucked safely inside her house built of stone, he felt like he should be next to her ev
en now, making sure she was safe.
One damned kiss and he was a mooning fool. But it was more than the kiss. He’d been mad for her after it, yes, but their conversation in the hall…it had shifted something inside him. He’d told her things he hadn’t spoken of in years.
He scrubbed his face. He needed to go back. Whatever had happened between himself and Ophelia, he needed to explore it. Then he let out a grunt as he dropped his hands. He could add Ophelia to the list of growing problems for which he had no answers.
But one certainty had become clear. Whatever information he sought, it was not at the Baron Balstead’s party. And just knowing that made him relax back in his seat.
“Yer Grace,” his driver called. “I think ye should see this.” The carriage squeaked to a halt.
Chase didn’t bother to wait for the door to be opened. He clicked the latch himself and swung out of the vehicle. They were perched above a decent cliff that descended down into a river. A bridge connected the land to the other side but several travelers stood before the entrance, not crossing to the other side.
He started for the men collected at the opening. A farmer sat on top of his wagon, another traveler stood nearby on foot and three finely dressed men sat on horseback. He narrowed his gaze. Why did they look familiar? He grimaced, trying to place them, as the three men approached.
“What’s happened?” He asked, still not sure where he knew them from.
The one closest to him swung down. “Bridge is out, damaged from the storm.” His tone was flat and his words clipped as he looked at Chase with his brow set low over his eyes.
Chase assessed the bridge. From what he could see it looked intact.
The second man removed his hat and swept a hand through his golden hair. He couldn’t have been more opposite from the other fellow. His blond hair glinted in the sun as his blue eyes flashed. “Looks all right from here but several of the boards washed out. Whole sections. It will take days to repair.”
The third one grunted, “We’re already late. At this rate, we’ll miss all of Balstead’s party.”
Chase gave them a sharp glare, his memory clicking into place. These men had been at the club with Balstead the night the man had invited him. “You’re heading to Balstead’s too.”
The last man swung down from his mount. “Viscount of Dashlane, at your service. Nice to see you again, Your Grace.”
“The Indecent Duke?” the blond crowed. “Here in Seabridge Gate. What an odd place to meet again but a welcome surprise. I am the Earl of Crestwood and this is my perfectly awful friend, the Baron of Craven. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Chase jerked his chin. “What brings you along this road to reach Balstead’s?”
“My country estate is just south of here. We made our way there to check on my holdings first and were delayed by a few issues.” Crestwood gave a shrug. “Now it appears we’ll be delayed again.”
“Shame,” Dashlane murmured. “There’s nothing but milkmaids and fishermen’s daughters in these parts. Nothing a man could sink his teeth into.”
Chase shifted on his feet. The man’s words rang vulgar to his ear and caused his stomach to sour. “How will you get to the party?”
Craven’s brow furrowed. “It’ll take days to find another river crossing. The only option is by boat but it will mean buying new horses on the other side.”
Crestwood shrugged. “That’s all right. It’ll be an adventure and well worth the trouble. We’ll head back down to Seabridge Gate and find someone to charter us north. Maybe.”
Bloody hell and feck, Chase swore softly under his breath. These men were going to head straight to Ophelia. “Why don’t I travel with you?” He had absolutely no intention of going to Balstead’s and even less inclination to get on a boat, but he’d see these men safely off to their party—and away from Ophelia.
And if any of them attempted to touch Ophelia…well, they were going to answer to him.
* * *
Ophelia made her way down the rocky path, breathing in the fresh air. The wind whipped her bonnet but at least it had dried most of the water so the mud had dried. Juliet picked a path behind her. “Slow down. Why are you in such a hurry?”
Ophelia didn’t quite know how to answer that. As the eldest woman in the family, she often performed the duties of mistress and one of them was going to the market to pick out their cuts of meat. “It’s a beautiful day and I feel like a good walk.”
Which was true. She enjoyed the exercise and fresh air as well as the relationships she had with many of the villagers. Seabridge Gate was located in an inlet, with lots of colorfully painted buildings dotting the shore. A main street led down to the docks where her father spent much of his time. The village itself was built around a square and it gave the town a lovely spot to congregate. At the very end, stood a large, steepled church. She stopped for a moment admiring her home. She loved it here. Always had.
Then why did she feel this driving urge to find…something else? Romance, love, marriage. Why couldn’t Seabridge Gate be enough?
From across the square, four men caught her attention. Something in the way one of them stood, legs apart, reminded her of the duke. But that couldn’t be. He’d gone, left for his house party, his return uncertain.
But thinking of him did remind her of the real reason she was in such a hurry to come down to the village. She’d wondered, would the village seem the same after her first brush with romance?
“Gads, Ophelia, you nearly sprinted here,” Juliet puffed, tucking a stray lock of her blonde hair back into her bonnet. “I’ll ask again. What is your hurry?”
But Ophelia was spared answering. Juliet caught sight of the four men and she straightened, staring across the square. “They’re new.”
“Indeed they are,” Ophelia answered, reaching for her sister’s hand. “Come. We’ll miss the butcher if we don’t hurry.”
Juliet harrumphed. “That’s hardly fair. You got to kiss a duke. Can’t we at least accidentally on purpose bump into them? You’re not the only Moorish who is getting on in years. At twenty, I need to find a husband soon.”
“We’ll accidentally on purpose bump into them after we go to the butcher. I can’t go home without meat.” But secretly she hoped they’d be gone by the time she finished shopping. It turned out the village felt even better for her brush with the duke. The interaction had left her vulnerable and the familiarity of this place was exactly the balm she needed, minus the strangers, of course.
Ophelia and Juliet started across the square, cutting an angle toward the butcher shop. Ophelia pulled her sister along, hoping to hurry before anyone saw them.
But just as they walked almost across, a voice rang out over the square. “Pardon me, ladies,” a deep male voice called. “But I wonder if you might help us.”
Drat. They’d been caught.
For a moment, she considered ignoring the caller. Could she pretend she hadn’t heard?
But Juliet stopped, digging her heels into the soft dirt. “Of course,” she called back. “How can we help?”
Ophelia shot her sister a glare but Juliet didn’t pay her attention as she waved to the approaching men. Ophelia followed her sister’s gaze and froze in place as Chase’s green eyes connected with hers. One of the men was indeed her duke. A lump formed in her throat. What was Chase doing here? Should she run? Or was this her chance to help heal her wounded duke?
Chapter Seven
Even with the bonnet partially obscuring her face, Chase could see the surprise that widened her eyes. While he’d have preferred to reunite back at her home, he’d not leave her alone with these men for all his land in England.
He didn’t trust Crestwood in particular. While Craven was quiet, which lent him an air of dangerous mystery, he’d not actually uttered much that was disrespectful either. And Dashlane was an exuberant fellow who liked fun. But Crestwood? His rakish streak ran deep. The man talked of little else besides chasing skirts—all skirts, older wo
men to young, rich to poor. He seemed to have a taste for truly beautiful ladies, which meant his interest would likely be in Ophelia.
He supposed he was making a rather uneducated judgment. He’d only known the men a few hours, other than their one other meeting, but they’d ridden in his carriage on the way back to Seabridge Gate and the filth that had dribbled from Crestwood’s mouth had made Chase’s teeth clench. Dashlane and Craven had only been a little better. He wasn’t sure when he’d become this man, disgusted with their loose morals.
Crestwood faltered in his step. “Christ,” he muttered. “That one on the left is stunning. I wonder what color her hair is under that bonnet.”
Chase clenched his hand, fisting his fingers into his palm. Crestwood referred to Ophelia. If the man said anything crass, Chase would punch him before the earl even knew it was coming.
“Their clothes are fine, they’re not milkmaids or fishermen’s daughters,” Dashlane grinned. “And they might be amenable to spending time with titled lords. They’ll be looking for husbands, but what they don’t know…”
Chase’s nostrils flared. Never mind that he’d done the exact same thing last night. No other man was touching Ophelia, that he was certain of. Remorse over his own behavior the night before weighed down his chest.
Crestwood stopped two feet in front of the ladies and gave a bow. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, ladies. I’m the Earl of Crestwood.”
Chase clenched his teeth as Ophelia’s sister giggled. He couldn’t remember her bloody name. He had to learn them.
Crestwood made the last of the introductions, even announcing Chase. Both Ophelia and the other one dropped into dutiful curtseys. “Your Grace,” Ophelia murmured, her voice dropping low on the last note which added a definite chill to the courtesy. Then she rose. “I am Miss Moorish, as is my sister. Apologies, gentlemen but we have an urgent errand to run. What might you need help with?”
When Only An Indecent Duke Will Do (Romancing The Rake Book 1) Page 4
