Chapter Nine
Julian didn’t knowwhat to do with his hands. Dinner was awkward, but Mrs. Vogel fussed over Ophelia so much that Julian wondered if she knew about their indiscretion. Would Ophelia tell anyone?
The conflicting sides of the argument warred as he passed a bread basket down the table. The walk earlier with Tristan and his wife had garnered no accidental insights, but rather reenforced how much Julian enjoyed the entire clan. He fit well with them, as if there had been a dark puzzle piece off in the corner, waiting for him to appear and press into place with a satisfying click.
The party ordered more wine and Julian capitalized Karl Vogel so he wouldn’t have to speak with Ophelia. Or look at her. Or remember what she looked like when she said she’d never felt like this before. The softness of her thighs, the sighing from her lovely mouth, the golden tresses he’d fisted as he’d come, wanting so badly to spill into her, but pulling out because the consequences were too great.
He shook his head to focus, clearly not thinking well. Perhaps he should leave Paris early, claim to have a lecture to attend. Anything to get out of here and not think of how horribly he’d sabotaged the only relationships of value in his life. Yes, bow out gracefully. Be gone. Let Ophelia be Ophelia, and have her carry on as she always had. Marry Lord Fairport, climb whichever mountains she could manage. It really was of no concern to him. He had no claim on her.
Julian mechanically ate his meal, not registering the taste or the texture. The restaurant was filled with diners, and the air was stifling with all the windows and doors shut against the winter chill. Finally they adjourned and walked out into the fresh night air.
Ophelia hung back in the group, as he did, and it made him wonder if she was going to speak to him. He wasn’t sure he could manage it. He was eleven years her elder, and he wasn’t emotionally capable of going toe-to-toe here.
“May we talk?” Ophelia said in a low voice.
“Of course,” he said, slowing his pace.
“Last night was...” she trailed off.
He wanted to supply her with words, but they were words that described his experience. Words like,incredible, decadent, transcendent, beautiful, life-altering,all came to mind. But those were his ideas, not hers, and his heart thudded with cold dread.
She cleared her throat, and Julian couldn’t help but notice she was looking at the ground. He already felt terrible enough about the ramifications, but he couldn’t say that he would change anything. Being with her had been more than he’d ever hoped for. He knew that he would pine for her for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t be able to watch her marry Lord Fairport. In fact, he’d already written to the RGS requesting another posting. Anything that would take him out of England and Europe at large.
“Last night was better than I imagined,” she finally said, wringing her hands and making her plush leather gloves squeak.
That was something, but it didn’t alleviate his guilt. How could he feel guilt but not remorse? Because he was not at all sorry for what they’d done, only that the rest of the world would condemn then for it. And that his friend would have condemned him for doing this with his daughter.
“But I’d still very much like it if we could ascend the Matterhorn together.”
That was not what he thought she would say next. But then, Ophelia was always surprising him. “But—”
“It wasn’t right of me to ask about your past, I see that now. It was childish of me.” Now she looked at him, her blue eyes staring up at him. “I sincerely hope you might forgive me for that intrusion, but also understand the impulse of my curiosity.”
He was mesmerized. There was no question he could forgive her anything. He nodded, his mouth slack, unable to come up with any words to convey how relieved he felt. However, it was probably uncouth to ask her if she would come to his bed again tonight. “I absolutely forgive you, Ophelia. It is natural to be curious.”
She smiled at him, and his heart could burst from relief.
“And will you forgive me for being obstinate?” he asked, his body surging with a fervor for her that bordered on zealotry. He must control himself. “For not remembering what it was like to be the one asking questions?”
The comment about remembering visibly needled her, but she swallowed the discomfort. “Yes, of course.”
He offered his arm, but she ignored it, or didn’t see it. Still, this was what he’d hoped for, a reconciliation, even if something felt wrong.
“Will you...” He pitched his voice low, so the others wouldn’t hear. He was a weak man. The idea of her in his bed again was making him feel drunken.
But she shook her head, a tight, polite smile on her face. “No, it’s not a good idea.”
“You are right, naturally. Forgive me.” He hated not that she had declined him, but the way she had. That impersonal smile created a distance that yawned between them.
She made a high-pitched noise in her throat that she’d never made before. She’d had his contrition. Was it not enough? Perhaps his relief at their reconciliation was not as apparent? Did she require more dramatics from him?
“Perhaps you might meet me down early to break our fast before the others?” That felt at least proper. It was public and easily explained. Perhaps he could get her accustomed to his presence again, and he could find a way to not stare after her like a lovesick puppy.
“Yes, that I can do.” She still didn’t take his arm, but Julian still considered it a victory.
*
They arrived backat the hotel and everyone dispersed up the stairs. Ophelia felt drained, and was glad she didn’t have a maid with her to fuss about her clothes and hair. It was a bother to be without one, but still manageable.
