She hadn’t looked at him in the theater. She had been seated opposite him, in the front of the Penshallow box, laughing and talking as if he didn’t exist. It was appalling to recognize what happened to him during the five acts of the bloody play—none of which he remembered.

He had entered the theater a calm, mature man. The moment Ophelia walked into the box opposite his, arm around her pregnant cousin, not even glancing in his direction . . .

It all changed. He changed.

By the intermission, a raging river had taken over his blood. She was his, and he loved her, and if she didn’t want him, he would wait forever.

Bloody forever.

The mere idea of Edith, Duchess of Lindow, was anathema.

“Steady,” his sister said, low in his ear.

He turned to her, unable to say a word.

She smiled at him with the kind of exuberant, effortless joy with which she had warmed both their lives. “You lucky bastard,” she whispered.

“I am, aren’t I?”

“You still have to win her.”

She walked away, going to look at the miniatures. Hugo stood stock-still, letting the truth sink into his bones.

Deep down, with a ferociousness that came from loving a woman to her core, he believed that Phee could learn to love him—and that a life with love was better than the most exquisite house in all London.

He already loved her, because that was simply the way it was for him.

In fact, he had a firm belief that it was better to be loved in a messy, huge castle than be unloved in the prettiest house in the world.

He thought he was doing a pretty good job of appearing unemotional . . . until he met the dancing eyes of Ophelia’s cousin, Maddie Penshallow.

“Good evening,” she said. “I collect that you have come to a conclusion, Your Grace.”

“I have.”

“If you don’t mind the impertinence, I agree with your sister; you are a very lucky man.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned in the general direction of the rest of the guests. “Oh, no,” she cried. “’Tis the fault of the child I carry, but I forgot my handkerchief in my pelisse. Ophelia, dearest, won’t you fetch it for me?”

“I can send a—” Lady Fernby began.

“Never!” Maddie cut her off with a shudder. “I cannot allow a stranger to touch such an intimate possession. Please forgive me, my lady.”

“I completely understand,” Hugo’s sister chimed in. “Duke, please accompany Lady Astley to the entry. She may lose her way.”

She may lose her way?

Hugo didn’t snort, but it was a near thing.

After the way Ophelia managed not to see him at the theater, he would have expected her to refuse, but instead she gave him a small smile. “I would be most grateful for your company, Your Grace.”