Justine thrust both fists in the air. “Yes! Ophelia! You are incredible. I knew you could do it! Karl, be a love and order us some champagne!”
“Don’t get—nothing young!” Prudence called after him, but when he didn’t turn around, she stood. “I’ll go help him order.”
Soon they were all toasting to her, and Ophelia felt so warm and loved that she forgot to be embarrassed by the attention.
Later, after the wine glasses were emptied, and eyes were drooping, and even the Parisians were going home, they stood and shuffled about, donning coats and hats and gloves. They sky was beautiful and dark, while the light of the city glowed above the buildings. Ophelia felt giddy and warm and free, like she had everything in the world.
Her arms were linked with Justine and Eleanor, but she glanced over her shoulder at Julian. Dear Julian. Handsome, broad-shouldered, capable Julian who would choose her. She made her most daring decision yet—and it had nothing to do with the Matterhorn.
*
Julian wasn’t nearlyas drunk as he ought to be after so much wine. It was as if his feet didn’t touch the carpet as they entered the plush lobby of Le Pavillon de la Reine. The hotel was far more luxurious than anything he would have sought for himself, but he was willing to spend the money if it meant being near Ophelia.
A smile grew on his face of its own volition. It was because of Ophelia. The companionship of these other men was nice, especially that of Karl Vogel, a man who had travelled widely and climbed nearly as many mountains as Julian had. But as he picked up his room key from the front desk, he surveyed the other seven members of their party. The three couples, newly married and still very much in love, all draped over one another, roaming hands giving no uncertain ideas of what they would be doing behind their closed doors.
The clock in the lobby struck three, and Tristan laughed. “I won’t be seeing any of you before noon tomorrow, no offense meant.”
“Let’s make no plans for the morning. I don’t want to have to make an effort to break them.” Mrs. Vogel said as her husband picked up the key from the desk.
Ophelia took her own key. Just as Julian had taken his own key. Did she feel as if she were floating? Had the champagne made her giddy as it had made him? She looked up and smiled at him, and his breath caught. She was so lovely. So perfect. So smart and witty... he needed to stop and get a grip on himself.
It hadn’t helped that Mrs. Vogel spoke lavishly of Ophelia’s talents as well, as if she were half in love with her. But then, the level of quiet trust Ophelia placed in Mrs. Vogel made it clear that the regard was reciprocated.
“Tomorrow, then, at some hour,” Julian said, doffing his cap to them. He needed to leave before he began to salivate after Ophelia like some disgusting old wretch.
“We’ll slip a note under the door should we make plans before dinner time,” Mrs. Bridewell said, giggling as her husband pulled her close.
Julian trudged up the stairs, which were infinitely harder now than they had been pre-dinner. Once in his room, he tossed his cap on the dressing table, not bothering to brush it. He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat and splashed water on his face. His body felt impossibly light and at ease. He pushed the braces off his shoulders and sat down to take off his shoes. Too bad Nicholas wasn’t around to take care of the mud on those, either. It was damned handy to have a valet, that was certain.
He chuckled to himself. Was he becoming a soft Englishman, now that he’d spent close to a year in London? He still missed the bright colors of the flowers and the fruits he’d encountered across the ocean, but spending time with Lady Rascomb and Ophelia and Tristan had helped ease the transition. Not to mention his overwhelming and unexpected success in the RGS. That helped too. He’d forgotten his pride while alone on mountaintops.
There was a light scratching at the door. He frowned. Had he imagined it? Perhaps a laundry service, or a valet service for his hat and shoes? These fancy hotels had all manner of amenities.
He padded over, his feet bare, his socks in a pile in the corner. If it was a valet service, hopefully they’d forgive his sloven bachelor ways. He pulled open the heavy polished brass door handle.
But it was Ophelia. Her shining golden hair cascaded around her shoulders and her neck. She wore her evening gown but had taken off her jewelry and unpinned her hair. He swallowed hard.
“May I come in?” she asked.
“Why?” It was a stupid thing to say. But there was no reason for her to be standing here. A beautiful young woman like her had no earthly reason to appear on his doorstep.
Her blue eyes shone, and she repeated her request. He opened the door wider and made space for her. She walked by and he inhaled a scent of vanilla and citrus and jasmine. He could die a happy man with that aroma in his mind.
“Your room is the mirror of my own,” she said, smoothing one hand across the busy print of the bedspread.
“Is it?” he asked, which only showcased how incessantly idiotic he was. Did he really have nothing to say to a woman who came to his room in the wee hours of the morning? He knew what this was. He knew it. But he couldn’t believe it could be true.
“Do you know why I’m here?” she asked, as if she could read his mind.
“I doubt it’s to go over maps,” he quipped, and then felt cruel. “You’ve been drinking, Ophelia. It isn’t right for me to take advantage.”
She raised a golden eyebrow, but the smirk on her face told him that she wasn’t offended, thank goodness. “I stopped drinking long before anyone else. Too much gives me a headache.”
“But you thought to come here?” His heart sped up. He’d tried not to think about this. It wasn’t right. He was a friend of her father’s.
“I’ve been thinking about it for many weeks. And I don’t make decisions lightly.”
“I know.” He kept his distance from her, circling around to the opposite side of the room. He pulled up his braces, giving him some sense of being dressed, being without his coat and waistcoat with bare feet. It was the only defense he could give. If he was honest, he’d wanted this so badly. His attraction to her was not because she had reminded him of his juvenile tendre for her mother. It was her own wit and charm, her sense of wonder. The way she made him feel like he was important. That she understood and spoke of his endeavors with respect and excitement. That they were, as one might say, two peas in a pod.
