He waited while she rearranged her skirts, taking her time because her fingers were trembling and she needed to regain control.

“Your Grace,” she said at last, raising her face to his. “I am not of your world, and I don’t wish to be. I do not reference your divorce,” she said swiftly, when he opened his mouth. “’Tis an infamous thing, but I understand that your wife left under—she left with . . .” Tangled in words, she stopped.

“The second part of this particular private act is the only one that matters,” he said. “The act dissolved our marriage and specifically enabled ‘the said Duke to marry again.’ I would not have petitioned for divorce if it hadn’t been for our—” He caught himself. “For my children.”

“I see,” Ophelia said, feeling desperately sorry for him.

“In case you are wondering, I did not refuse to allow the children to go with their mother. I’m not sure what I would have said, had Yvette asked for them, but she did not. She left a letter explaining that our marriage was a mistake and that she felt English children should stay on English soil.”

Ophelia’s gaze fell to the duke’s hand, clenched on the carriage seat.

“She spelled Joan’s name wrong,” he said.

A soft noise came from Ophelia’s mouth, unbidden.

“Joan is my baby,” the duke said. “She’s only two.” His mouth twisted. “Her mother apparently believed we had baptized her Joanna.”

Before she could stop herself, Ophelia reached out and curled her fingers around his fist. “I’m sorry.”

“They are better off with me, although I don’t know how I will explain to them, when they are grown up, that their mother didn’t want them.”

“I don’t know that you’ll have to,” Ophelia said. “Children are very accepting, as long as someone loves them. My daughter, Viola, has no idea that a father is missing from her life. At some point she will understand that she never knew him, but I hope it won’t be a grievous loss to her.”

“Sir Peter didn’t choose to leave his daughter,” the duke said, sounding tired all of a sudden.

Ophelia withdrew her hand, clearing her throat. “I don’t—”

His Grace bent toward her, his eyes even darker green in the soft light of the carriage than they had seemed in the ballroom. Ophelia froze, her heart hammering in her throat. Carefully, delicately, he cupped his hands on either side of her face, bent his head, and brushed her mouth with his.

Ophelia’s mind stuttered and fell silent. The duke’s eyes were fringed with thick black lashes. They didn’t curl up, the way hers did. Instead she had the feeling they hid his eyes from the world—but not at the moment.

His eyes were shining with an emotion she didn’t recognize.

She swallowed hard. “This is madness.”