“Insanity,” Ophelia muttered. Definitely she was right not to marry him, if only on the basis of crimes of nomenclature.

“I have to admit that Boadicea has threatened to eviscerate anyone who calls her by her given name, so we call her Betsy.”

“Are your second four as naughty as the first round?” Ophelia asked.

“Very naughty, especially Joan.” His brows drew together. “She’s the reason I came to London to find a wife, actually.”

“How old is she?”

“Two years old. She likes nothing better than to throw crockery to the ground and listen to it shatter.”

“Exactly the same age as my Viola!” Ophelia beamed at him. “Viola is not naughty in the least, though.”

“Viola is not a warrior’s name,” the duke murmured. He leaned over and brushed a kiss on her lips.

Oddly enough, their conversation felt more intimate than their kisses, though Ophelia didn’t shape that thought until she came back to herself enough to realize that Hugo was now lying partially on top of her. He’d returned to her breasts and was lavishing them with attention.

“You—you look as if you might never stop,” she whispered.

“I could die here at your breasts, and I’d be happy,” he said, raising his head.

“That’s a very odd thing to say. A very odd thing to think.”

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t want to die anywhere if Viola wasn’t near me, if I couldn’t say goodbye to her.”

Hugo dropped a last affectionate kiss on the curve of Ophelia’s breast and moved to sit beside her again. “You are a marvelous mother.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Why you followed me, because you want a mother for your children, for Joan in particular.”

“No.”

She gave him a faint smile. “All evidence, including your own statements, is against you. But I don’t want to mother anyone other than Viola. I am not the wife for you.”

The duke nodded, and something in Ophelia eased. He accepted her decision.

“I might have an affaire with you,” she said. “But only if you understand that there is but one outcome, when we separate and return to our lives. Since you need to find a mother—and I agree that a two-year-old girl is a good reason—we should part now. Or at least, in the morning.”

“I gather that the strongest relationship you’ve had in your life is with Viola?”

Ophelia pushed herself up against the headboard. “Viola means more to me than anything or anyone on earth. In general, I believe a mother’s love is commonly referred to as the strongest attachment a person can feel.”

He was silent a moment. “Not having been a mother, I cannot dispute your feeling. My strongest bond has been with Marie. She was mine, and I was hers.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment.”