Good Dukes Wear Black (18 page)

Recognizing the truth of his words, Ophelia felt herself deflate a little. “That makes sense,” she said with a frown. “I had so hoped this would be the break we were looking for.”

“And it might still be,” Trent said soothingly. “We now know of two other people who have been in the care of Dr. Hayes. And as such they might have heard, while they were in his clinic, about the location of another, more secret place where recalcitrant patients were kept. Patients like Maggie.”

Though she knew he was right, Ophelia couldn't stop the wave of frustration that she'd felt on realizing that this wasn't the clue they'd needed to find her friend. Even so, it was better than nothing, and she was glad to know that they were a bit closer.

As they spun across the floor, Ophelia glanced up at Trent and found his blue eyes were watching her intently. “May I ask you something?” he said, his hand warm at her hip.

Not sure she liked the intensity in his gaze, she nodded.

“Is your mother always so unwilling to take your wishes into account when it comes to suitors?” he asked, a frown line between his brows.

Ophelia wasn't sure what she'd expected him to ask but it wasn't that. “I … that is to say … Mama is very … determined,” she finally managed to say.

“In what way?” Trent asked, clearly intent on her words.

She sighed. Wondering what the best way would be to explain her mother's reasons for wanting to see both her girls settled down happily with a man of good fortune.

“Now that my sister is betrothed to Kinston,” Ophelia said carefully, “she has turned her attention to me. And that means she will do her utmost to ensure that Lord Goring, who is the son of her dearest friend, comes up to scratch.”

“And yet, you clearly have no liking for the man,” he said, his mouth tight.

“Well,” she admitted carefully, “I am three and twenty and as yet unmarried, so she is afraid time is running out. Though I'm not even altogether sure that I wish to marry.”

“But doesn't every lady wish to marry?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. “I should think you would not wish to live with your family forever.”

“Well, the two do not necessarily relate to one another,” she said wryly. “As it happens I would like to have a household of my own. But I'm not sure I would like to take on the infringement of freedoms that marriage would entail, however.”

“It had never occurred to me until recently that a lady might not view marriage as a boon,” he admitted. “Not until Freddy brought Mainwaring and myself into your circle, that is. I have learned a great deal about the plight of women since I met you and Leonora and Hermione.”

“Only consider the number of men who never achieve such an understanding,” Ophelia said. “I believe we'll make an enlightened male out of you yet, your grace.”

Rather than take offense, Trent laughed. Ophelia wasn't sure she'd ever seen him look so carefree in his amusement. She was quite pleased with herself.

Since it was the supper dance, when the dance ended they sought out Freddy and Leonora, Mainwaring and Hermione, and found a table.

As soon as Trent and the other two men were gone to fetch plates for them, Leonora and Hermione began peppering Ophelia with questions.

“You looked to be in serious conversation during that waltz,” Leonora said, her eyes wide. “What were you talking about? Surely not your investigation the whole time because I'm quite sure I saw Trent laugh more than once.”

“And I saw him smile,” Hermione added with a grin. “Do you know how rare it is to see him drop that somber countenance and actually enjoy himself?”

Though Ophelia had noticed the same things, she wasn't quite ready to discuss them with her friends. No matter how much she might love them.

“You're both incorrigible,” she said with a shake of her head. “We were merely talking. As you do during a waltz. It's not as if we are both mutes who suddenly found our voices, after all. And a great deal of it was about my missing friend.”

“She's holding something back from us, Nora,” Hermione said with mock shock. “I cannot believe our dear Ophelia is refusing to share every last detail of her interaction with a handsome man. Is that not some sort of breach of the code of friendship?”

“At the very least.” Leonora nodded. “I think we'll have to bring you up on sanctions, Miss Dauntry. It is regrettable, but you leave us no choice.”

“About what?” Freddy asked as he took the empty seat beside his wife and presented her with a plate piled high with delicacies. “I got you extra crab cakes, my dear,” he said. “Just as the babe requested.”

“You're the dearest man,” Leonora said, patting him on the hand as she picked up a fork. “The child is quite grateful.”

Fortunately, Mainwaring and Trent also arrived then and presented Hermione and Ophelia with plates of their own.

The group was silent for a few moments as everyone began to eat.

Then, unfortunately, Freddy remembered what he'd overheard before he arrived with the food. “So what were you chastising poor Ophelia about?”

Ophelia exchanged a look with Leonora and Hermione.

“Nothing you gentlemen should concern yourselves with,” Leonora assured him. “We ladies must keep some secrets, my dear. You know that.”

“Sounds suspicious to me,” Mainwaring said with a wink at his wife. “I believe you ladies just tell us that when you're discussing us.”

“We are a fascinating topic of conversation, Mainwaring,” said Freddy. “Do you not agree, Trent?”

But the duke shrugged. “Never having conversed about myself, I wouldn't know.”

Determined to get the conversation back into safer waters, Ophelia spoke up. “I'm sorry Mama's interruption meant we missed the opportunity to speak with your cousin, Leonora. Do you suppose Daisy might be willing to chat once supper is finished?”

Leonora shook her head. “I'm afraid she's already left. She doesn't like staying at these things for very long. I think something about the crowd overwhelms her. But I feel sure we'll be able to set up something tomorrow or the next day. I'll invite you both to tea.”

“I'd be grateful for it,” Ophelia said, glad that her friends were so determined to help her any way they could to find her friend. “Tonight will be Maggie's second night in the care of whoever has taken her.”

“We'll find her, Ophelia,” Trent said quietly. “We'll unravel Dr. Hayes's lies and find her. Have no fear on that score.”

But that was just it. “I do believe we'll find her,” she admitted as, to her mortification, tears threatened. “But in what state? I can't help but recall what Leonora said her cousin endured at Dr. Hayes's hands. If that was in the main clinic where visitors were allowed, then what sort of horrors must Maggie be subjected to in the secret one?”

Unable to hold back her emotions any longer, she quickly excused herself and hurried from the crowded supper room.

*   *   *

“Oh dear,” Leonora said, looking in the direction where Ophelia had fled. “This must have been a hard couple of days for her.”

“Poor girl,” Freddy said, patting his wife's hand.

“I'll go check on her,” Hermione said, placing her napkin beside her plate.

But Trent was already on his feet, and ignoring his friends' curious stares, he threaded his way through the tables in search of where Ophelia had gone.

Even as he headed into the hallway leading to the public rooms of the Kinston town house, his conscience was demanding answers to his motive in searching for Ophelia when she'd certainly wanted only privacy in which to unleash her emotions.

Leonora had been right, it had been a hard couple of days for Ophelia, and he'd been insensitive not to pay closer attention to just how difficult they'd been. Not only had she endured an attack upon her own person, but she'd watched helplessly as two strange men absconded with her dear friend. And no one seemed to know where to look for her. Then on top of all that, her own mother was trying to force her into a loveless marriage with a man she clearly had little respect, let alone affection, for.

After walking in on an embracing couple in one small firelit chamber, and apologizing before beating a quick retreat, he finally discovered Ophelia alone in a room a few doors down. It must be some sort of music room, he reflected on seeing a pianoforte and a harp positioned on either side of the lit fireplace.

Ophelia herself was seated on the bench before the pianoforte, her shoulders bent as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“There you are,” he said, wanting to alert her to his presence before he approached her.

From this angle, he could see the elegant curve of her slender neck, tendrils of her glossy dark hair kissing the porcelain of her skin.

At the sound of his voice, she stiffened, but did not turn around. “One moment, please,” she said in a teary voice. “I'll only be a moment.”

But he couldn't just leave her there to suffer on her own. She was so strong. So composed most of the time. But there were occasions when it was necessary to unleash the emotions one kept at bay. And if she needed a shoulder to lean on, could he not be the one to provide it?

Cautiously, he stepped closer and wordlessly took the seat beside her.

When she looked up, her eyes were bright with the sheen of tears. “You needn't have come after me,” she said in a low voice. “I only needed some time alone.”

“But you don't have to be alone,” he said, giving in to temptation and reaching out to stroke a tear from her cheek. “Your friends are all there to listen when you need to talk about your worries.”

She leaned into his hand, almost unconsciously, like a cat accepting a caress.

“And what of you?” she asked, boldly meeting his gaze. “Are you my friend?”

He felt something spark between them. The same pull that had made him kiss her yesterday—could it only have been the day before? It felt as if they'd been creeping toward this moment for months, years, decades, centuries.

“I'm afraid not,” he said carefully, noting the flare of disappointment, before adding, “At least, not only your friend, I hope.”

Her brows drew together. “What else?”

But he could no longer rely on words to explain things.

Stroking his thumb over her lower lip, he leaned in and kissed her.

 

Thirteen

Ophelia had read a great deal about kisses. In the Minerva Press novels she read, they were copious, but annoyingly vague about what happened beyond the actual touching of lips. There had been that quick one yesterday in Trent's curricle, but it had hardly lasted more than a moment. This, she knew, was a proper kiss.

And when Trent bent his head to hers, she realized that the vague descriptions in novels might owe to the fact that so many thoughts and feelings occurred when one was being kissed that it was impossible to catalogue them.

She closed her eyes and was reminded again of how surprisingly soft his lips were, and was assailed by so many sensations she could never name them all. The only thing she knew for certain was that he smelled like sandalwood and man and when he shifted closer to wrap her in his arms, she would rather have died than pull away.

And when he nipped lightly on her lower lip, she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue against hers, eager for more of this intimacy she'd imagined but never experienced. A fleeting worry that she might not be doing it right disappeared in the maelstrom of sensation. His mouth was gentle but firm, and when he made a small moan she realized that untutored as she might be, he was just as swept up in the moment as she was.

Every part of her was aching to be closer. And it was more, much more than just their lips that touched.

Her breasts, pressed against his hard chest, ached to be touched. And as she slid her hands up and around his neck, she felt his own hands trace up her sides and pull her closer.

Then she gasped as his hand covered her breast, and his kiss grew more demanding, more urgent. And she met him stroke for stroke, kiss for kiss. Heady with the need to have him touch her, the need to touch him, everywhere. Arched her neck so that he could kiss his way down her throat to that spot on her collarbone where she suddenly knew his mouth belonged.

So caught up were they in the moment, neither of them heard the door of the music room open.

But there was no ignoring the angry gasp of Mrs. Dauntry a moment later.

“Ophelia!” she hissed. “What on earth is this?”

At her mother's words, Ophelia felt a jolt of alarm run through her and she immediately pushed away from Trent.

Trent gave a low curse and stood just behind her. He did not, however, let go of her completely. Rather he slipped his hand over her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

Only then did Ophelia notice that Lord Goring was also there, standing just behind her mother. Was the man actually raising his quizzing glass to see them better? Well, she thought, on the verge of hysteria, let him look. This might finally prove to Lord Goring that she had no interest in marrying him.

“I might have expected such a thing of some other men, your grace,” Ophelia's mother snapped, moving closer to the pianoforte, “but I thought you were at least a gentleman.”

Watching helplessly as Mrs. Dauntry moved away from him, Lord Goring lowered his eyeglass and began to back away. “I'll just leave the three of you to—”

But Mrs. Dauntry turned, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him back into the room. Then shut the door behind him.

“You stay here, Lord Goring,” she said with an implacability that Ophelia knew all too well. “Do you not wish to fight for your bride?”

Goring blanched. “We are not … that is to say, Mrs. Dauntry, Miss Dauntry and I haven't yet…” He ran a finger beneath his suddenly too-tight cravat. “There is no…”