Page 50 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“The Duke is an interesting man. A man of the people, and yet he is able to stand above them with the fortitude of a ruler. He is a serious fellow, more so than anyone I know, and yet his wit is sublime, and he is so quick with a joke that it has been known to loosen wigs.”
“He sounds fascinating.”
“He is, but that serious part of which I spoke has asserted itself recently in regards to my being his heir. I love to live life to the fullest. I am an explorer by nature. I explore the pleasures of the soul and the flesh alike, and I make no bones about it.”
Madeline stiffened as a thrill began in her, which she quickly stifled.
“Father wants that I should settle down with a lady. He seems to think that by doing so I shall be made respectable, as if such a thing were possible through some strange alchemy effected by betrothal.”
“You don’t think love can change a man?” she said.
“I believe love to be the perfect companion to a man whose spirit already drinks up the happiness of life itself. It’s rather like the complement of fine wine to a fine meal.”
“Forgive me, Lord Peter, but you astound me. To speak of love as if it were merely anaccoutrement.”
“If I gave that impression, it was unintentional. Perhaps I am not theorateurI imagine myself to be. You see, I can employ French words as well to make my point!”
They shared a laugh at this.
“My dear,” he said, his face altering in the moonlight, “I am heartily convinced that before I saw you, life had little meaning beyond searching for the next pleasure, the next moment of happiness. I did not realise that happiness could be as a ray of light, continuous and unending. There can be no more moments for me. There can only be a continued exploration of life’s pleasures with my companion. I only thought the way I did because my father led me to believe that one marries for position and love follows. I couldn’t abide that. And I cannot. Oh, I have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“I think I know what you’re trying to say.”
“Do you?” he said. “I love you. Does that explain it succinctly enough?”
She froze, feeling as though she wanted to recoil from him. She recalled the panther in her dream and was suddenly frightened.
“I’ve made you turn away from me,” he said, sounding dismayed.
“No,” she said. “It’s not that. You see, before my abduction, I was engaged to be married.”
His face fell. “I see.”
“Can you see?” she said. “Because I am incredibly at war within myself at this very moment. You should see that. I hope that you do.”
“At war?”
“I think I love you too,” she said. “Oh, I thought I knew what love was. I used words likepassionandfire. The love I feel for you, ever since I first laid eyes on you, Peter, is the love that came like the brush of a falling leaf at the onset of autumn. Fire is destructive. Autumn is beautiful, tragic, meaningful, and a time to find warmth. I am led to you, Peter. I do not burn.”
By the light of the moon, she thought she saw a silver sparkle in the corner of his eye, like a frozen tear.
He placed his hand through the small opening and left it there. She placed hers on top of it. It was chilled from the night.
“Your hand is warm,” he said with a soft smile.
She withdrew it as soon as he said it.
“Do you know what I believe?” he said next. “I believe the truest love is that which I find for myself—”
“And not what others want for you,” she finished.
“Yes.”
They spoke on into the night. He told her of summers on the Rhone, of hunting pheasants with a bow and arrow, and of the colour of a Scottish glen just before twilight. She told him of small things like how the sound of rain when she was feeling low brightened her with its company.
Soon, a cock crowed somewhere in the distance. It was a melancholy sound indeed, for it meant their departure. But, she thought, can two souls so expertly intertwined ever truly depart? She asked as much of him, and he answered by blowing her a kiss through the window.
The sky grew crimson as she watched him amble into the woods. Her heart delighted when she thought she heard the galloping of a steed.
