They had moved approximately three carriage lengths down the street before Hugo leapt down again, having made it clear to Mr. Bisquet that, if she agreed, the lady was to become a duchess.

If she rejected him, he meant her no harm.

Now he just had to persuade the lady herself.

Chapter Four

Ophelia was humiliated to realize how long it took her breath to calm after leaving the ballroom. It was only, she assured herself, because she hadn’t been in society for some time.

A man hadn’t looked at her with interest in years. Peter had never looked at her like that.

The duke’s gaze made her feel overheated. Almost feverish, which was absurd. Thinking about her dear husband steadied her.

She and Peter had approached the bedchamber the way they had their entire life together: with a frank conversation and a generous ladling of respect. Over the years of their marriage, they had come together many times, not merely because they were determined to have children—and surprised by how long it took—but because they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

Ophelia took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, trying to focus on the book she was reading. The Life and Adventures of Mr. Francis Clive. It wasn’t a restful book; the poor housemaid who found herself part of Francis Clive’s “adventures” was now in the family way.

Any sensible woman could have told her that he was a rake from the first few pages of the book. As opposed to Peter, for example. Once again, the remembrance of Peter’s steady love and respect made Ophelia feel calmer.

Her late husband would have understood how shocking it had felt to come into contact with the duke, a man who had palpable power and erotic . . . well, erotic something.

Promise, maybe.

The duke looked at her with a promise in his eyes, and his promise had nothing to do with respect.

Undoubtedly, every woman encountered a man like that during her life: a bad man, her mother would have said. A rake, no doubt. One who made all sorts of promises he didn’t—

No.

The Duke of Lindow’s steady gaze came back to her. If he made promises, he would keep them.

She had the feeling he was offering her pleasure. Possibly a different kind of pleasure than the measured joy she and Peter had shared. Something altogether more overwhelming.

The door of her carriage swung open, followed by a blast of chilly air and the clean smell of fresh snow. Ophelia frowned, reaching toward the door. She adored the little carriage that she had helped design herself, but it wasn’t the sturdiest vehicle in the world. Bisquet hadn’t wished to take it this evening because of the weather, but she insisted.

Broad shoulders blocked the doorway as a man climbed into her carriage.