Читать книгу Wintersmoon онлайн

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Janet meanwhile had little time for observation. At the sight of the Duke, so square and sturdy, so aristocratic and at the same time so romantic with his square-cut white beard, piratical to-night as though this shining floor were the deck of his vessel and these all his captives, wearing his decorations with an air and yet also with an adorable absent-mindedness—she felt love for him flood her heart. The loneliness that all day had been so heavily oppressing her fled at sight of him. He drew her arm through his, nodding to Wildherne over his shoulder.

"I must capture her for five minutes: maybe we'll never return!"

She pressed her arm against his side and liked to feel his heart beating steadily through the stuff of his clothes.

Her love for him was growing apace. It was extraordinary how sheltered and protected he made her feel.

"Nervous?" he asked her as they passed out of the room.

"Not a bit. But where are you taking me?"

They had paused for a moment in a dimly lit alcove.

"First for this." He drew her to him, put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. "I've longed to have a daughter—all my life—and now when at last I've got one I make the most of it. It had been almost too late, you know!"