Page 21 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Contrite Duke
For an instant, Lydia believed he was about to kiss her. He moved closer to her still, holding her arm close to him and tilting his head downward. Time seemed to move impossibly slowly as she waited. She was once again surprised at how quickly her feelings toward the duke had changed. The man she would have done anything to avoid hours earlier was now that man who looked to be about to kiss her. And even more surprisingly, Lydia was ready for him to do so.
Lydia's heart pounded wildly as she stood within the dimly lit room, the soft glow of candles illuminating the beautifully crafted antiques that surrounded her. Lord Strawbridge, tall and stately, moved closer, their breaths mingling in the warm air. The tension between them crackled like a fire on a winter's night.
He paused for a moment, his dark eyes searching hers, and she could see the indecision dancing in their depths. They were standing so close now that she could feel the heat of his body, a magnetic force drawing her in. Lydia thought that he was finally about to kiss her, and her pulse quickened in anticipation.
But just as their lips seemed destined to meet, Lord Strawbridge abruptly pulled away, his eyes darting to the floor. Lydia's face flushed with confusion and hurt, her heart aching with disappointment. She didn’t know how to process the way the moment had made her feel. All she knew was that she was terribly disappointed that it had ended. The duke muttered an awkward apology, and Lydia did her best to not show him how embarrassed she now felt.
Her chest tightened at his words, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She forced herself to not show how disappointed she was that he had chosen not to kiss her. She also tried to understand if she might have misread the situation. Maybe, he had never meant to kiss her. Perhaps, instead, he merely wished to say something to her. But why didn’t he speak if that had been his intention? And why did his eyes appear as though he was in a whirlwind of emotions, just like she herself was.
Feeling chastened, she led him to the collection room where the exquisite artifacts were displayed, her pulse still racing from their intimate encounter. She didn’t say anything more, even about the few artifacts they passed between the library and the collection room. She glanced at Lord Strawbridge, trying to discern his thoughts. He seemed distant and preoccupied, his emotions carefully concealed behind a stoic expression.
She thought the sudden silence between them might drive her mad. There had been a terrible shift in the air between them. And now, Lydia’s mind was running overtime. She was sure that she must have done something to make the duke change his mind about kissing her. Was it the fact that she was willing to do it, especially since she didn’t have a chaperone? Should she have been the one to rebuke his attempt?
As they entered the room, however, his eyes lit up, and he moved towards the collection with great interest. Lydia watched him curiously, noting how his gaze seemed to linger on one particular vase—an exquisite clay piece from ancient Greece. She wasn’t surprised it caught his attention, not after what he told her about his interest in that part of history. What did surprise her, however, was the way his whole demeanor changed. Again.
She watched him for a moment, unsure of what to do. She was still rattled from the encounter just before, and she didn’t want to say or do anything else that might continue altering things between them for the worst. But eventually, she couldn’t resist. She looked him in the eye and pointed to the cabinet at which he was staring.
“Would you like to hold it, my lord?” she offered, her curiosity piqued by his fascination.
He stared at the vase for another long moment, and Lydia began to wonder if he had heard her. But then, he looked at her, his eyes wide with an excitement that was almost infectious. He nodded, slowly but eagerly.
“Yes,” he said. “I would like that very much, Lady Lydia.”
With great care, she unlocked the cabinet, and retrieved the delicate vase. She realized that she should have gotten permission from her father beforehand. But she also guessed that her father wouldn’t mind if the duke touched a piece or two of his collection. Especially since the earl intended to marry her off to the duke. Surely, so long as nothing got broken, everything would be all right.
As she placed it into his hands, she was struck by his sudden, intense passion for the artifact. It was an enthusiasm she had never seen in him before, and she found it strangely disconcerting. There were many other pieces in her father’s collection that were more valuable, both monetary and in historical significance. So, why was he suddenly enthralled with one clay vase from ancient Greece?
Chapter Twelve
Time stopped the moment that Michael held the coveted vase in his hands. It was even more glorious than he had imagined, and he held his breath as he took it all in. The rim and base were ringed in solid gold, and it was done in red-figure frame, with the warriors and Zeus’s lightning bolts imprinted onto the vase in the original clay color, and the background was filled in with black slip. The details, even in the one cloud at the top of the vase, was immaculate, and it was easy for Michael to imagine that the images would leap right off the molded clay.
He turned it over, noticing a short Greek inscription. He studied it for a moment, reading it over and over before he could push aside his excitement long enough to make out what it said:
Δ?ξα τοις θεο?ς.
Michael thought it over for a moment. He was still having trouble concentrating because of the sheer joy making his heart beat wildly in his chest. But another moment later, he had it:
Doxa tois theois.
“Glory to the Divines,” he whispered to himself. He had forgotten about Lady Lydia, and even about where he was. All that existed in that moment was him and the vase he was holding. He shivered with delight as he carefully turned it over again. The depictions on the vase still appeared as clear and perfect as they would have been on the day it was created. He cradled it gently to him, staring at it with wonder and awe. Was such a magnificent piece truly soon to be his?
“Glory to the Divines, yes,” Lady Lydia said, bringing him back to the present. “Forgive me. I am just very impressed that you could figure that out so quickly.”
He looked up at her with the dreamiest grin on his face. But when he saw that she was giving him a strange, thoughtful expression, he looked away. Curses, he thought, quickly changing his face to look only mildly interested in the prized vase he held. How will I ever explain myself?
To give himself a chance to collect his thoughts, he put on a more serious expression and pretended to study the vase further. He could see her watching him from the corner of his eye, though, and her own expression only grew more bewildered. He knew he needed to say something, or else she would start asking questions. But what would he say?
“No, please, forgive me,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even and unaffected. “I have heard about this very piece. But I have only seen a few pictures. It is simply even more impressive than I had expected.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He had shelves of books that mentioned the vase, as well as pictures filling the drawers in the desk in his study. And he had spent time looking at pictures and paintings of the vase in his travels, as well as in the museums in London. He was sure that he was as familiar with the vase as the sculptor himself was. But he had to try to pretend not to be.
Lady Lydia nodded, but her brow furrowed.
“It is an impressive vase,” she said. “But today alone, you have seen pieces that are far older, from far more famous artists and historians. I would have thought those would draw your attention this much. Not this vase.”
Michael swallowed, giving her a tense smile.
“Oh, and I was,” he lied. “As I told you before, my particular interest is largely with ancient Greek artifacts and culture. Especially such pottery. This means a fair bit to me because I can imagine the potter who made it, thousands of years ago. It’s as if I am holding true history in my hands.” He smiled again, pleased with his explanation. While that was also not entirely true, he was sure that Lady Lydia would see it as such.
