Page 18 of The Duke's Tempting Widow
It was a strange thing to hear. Normally, she thought that men such as him were only rakish up until a certain age. “You do not wish for an heir to your title?”
“It is expected of me, of course. But, well. Let’s just say that I have impossibly high standards.” the duke said, staring off ahead of him wistfully.
“Oh? And what sort of standards should those be?”
He laughed humorlessly. “In so much as I compare every woman that I have encountered over the last years to a woman that shall never have another measure up to her. A woman who most days seems like a ghost or a figment of my imagination. Alas, she shall only ever live in my memory.”
“Some long-lost love? What happened to her?”
Why did she feel so painfully jealous all of a sudden? What a silly thing to feel!
“I have no idea.” The duke glanced at her almost sheepishly. Was that a blush that she spotted on his cheeks? “The closest thing that I have ever felt to what I believe to be love, was at a masquerade ball a great many years ago. Of course that seems silly, as I only knew her for a single evening, but it was more than enough. No matter how many women I have been with since then, none of them would have been a suitable wife. I think I have been chasing after an unobtainable spark ever since then.”
Something in Lydia’s gut twisted painfully. It sounded so much like her own story. But it was wholly impossible—was it not?
“Regardless, I have not loved any of the women that I spent time with. Nor have they been in love with me. I just keep hoping that someday the woman from my memories will find me miraculously and we will be gifted with the chance to make up for so much lost time.” The duke sounded so forlorn; it was hard not to feel sympathy for him.
It was too similar.
Almost as if he had reached inside of her own mind and pulled out the memory to play for her. Was he the maskedman? Air was getting tighter. It was an impossibility. Wholly and utterly unfathomable. Was it not?
“This woman, you truly have no idea who she might be… or where she could have gone to?” Lydia spoke, hoping to keep the tremble of nerves out of her voice.
The duke shook his head. “No, all that I have is an embroidered handkerchief that she dropped that night - like Cinderella’s shoe.” He laughed. “It is the only thing that I have to prove that I did not imagine the whole thing.”
Lydia’s skin went cold with shock. She stopped walking. It was impossible.
The Duke of Somerfield was her masked man?
Chapter 10
It was all too perfect. All of the pieces were exactly aligned with one another. Even the mention of the handkerchief was enough to trigger a vivid recollection of it in her mind. She could still picture the pink stitching. Lydia had thought that she had lost it, but she had always wondered if she had left it there or not.
“A handkerchief?” Lydia echoed, her steps faltering as she moved toward the house.
The duke nodded absently, not looking at her as he spoke next. “Yes, just two little initials on the bo—”
“What were they?”
The duke laughed, not wholly grasping how shocked the woman beside him had become. “Try as I might, I never could seem to find another woman with the initials L.R but I -”
Lydia could not take another step. “That was mine.”
The duke turned, blinking at her incredulously.
“My maiden name is Russell; my surname was naturally changed when I got married.” Lydia’s voice was almost a whisper. She took a step forward boldly, her hands lifting as she rose herself up onto her toes as high as she possibly could and hovered her hands over the upper half of his face.
Her head tilted, attempting to match up the current image with the one that lived inside of her memory so vibrantly. Here, the same image that had been at the forefront of every dream that she had had since that year.
Softly, Weston’s hands closed around her wrists, lowering her hands from his face. His chest was so still that it did not appear that he was breathing. Could he feel it too? When she looked up into his eyes once more, she almost felt her eyes welling with tears. She had no hope that she would ever truly run into him again. She never thought that she would look into his eyes or be near enough for him to touch her.
His thumbs brushed over the insides of her wrists, studying her face as if he were seeing her for the first time.
“Come with me,” he said, pulling her toward the nearby gardens. It felt surreal to be repeating the same sorts of events that she could remember so vividly. Lydia’s hand twisted, pushing her fingers through the duke’s boldly, linking their hands more properly until they were well ensconced in the garden where they might have a moment of privacy.
As soon as he was certain they were alone, the duke hovered his hand over the side of her face as if needing to commit this new version of her to memory. It was satisfying to know that the spark that she had felt while arguing with him before was not unfounded.
“This does not feel real.” Lydia whispered with a soft smile. “I have thought about you nearly every night for the last nine years.”
