The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray Page B

of your mind?” She had to shout over her shoulder, over the howl of the wind.
    â€œIt’s the closest place where we can be private!”
    â€œI don’t want to be private with you!”
    He dragged her around the corner of the deckhouse under the shelter of his arm. The starboard door was just a few yards away. “I’m afraid I must insist!”
    Of all the privileges that accrued to the title and position of the Duke of Olympia, the occupation of the coveted Stateroom A—one of only four on the topmost deck of the SS
Majestic
, boasting sitting room and bathroom en suite, to say nothing of the magnificent views of the surrounding ocean—had to rank among the highest. At this particular wet moment, even more so. He hurried Penelope inside before any straggling matron could stumble upon them and turned on the electric lamp in the sitting room.
    â€œHere we are. Take off your coat at once, before you catch a chill.”
    She obeyed, and he handed her a blanket, which she flung around her shoulders. He shrugged off his own overcoat and found a dressing gown from the wardrobe.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, don’t ring for tea,” she said, huddled inside the blanket, looking up at him with a wan and wide-eyed expression that plowed straight through his breastbone and the cartilage between his ribs to slip inside the left ventricle of his heart, which had not been occupied by an adult female in thirty years. He took a single step back, a stagger. The muscles jumped in shock, and then steadied into a hard and regular beat that sounded in his ears.
    Why her? Of all the women. Beautiful ones, witty ones, charming ones, clever ones. Hundreds of desirable women, and not one of them had ducked beneath his breastbone. Not one of them had shared with him an instant of connection, communicated by a clear-eyed American gaze that met his without awe or fear. Why her?
    And then: Because it fits. Because
she
fits, that’s all. That chamber in his heart, the unoccupied left ventricle, pumping away faithfully all those years, had the shape of Mrs. Penelope Schuyler.
    Of all the women in the world.
    â€œWhy not ring for tea?” he said.
    â€œBecause they talk. The stewards will talk.” Her lips were a little blue. He wanted to kiss them warm again.
    â€œI don’t happen to give a damn about that.”
    â€œOf course not. You’re the Duke of Olympia. I, however, am a woman without fortune or position, and I am forced to give a damn about what people say. So you’d better be quick, because I’m going to walk out of this door in two minutes, before Miss Morrison sends out to ask why I haven’t returned to my cabin.”
    Olympia took off his wet hat and ran a hand through the hair beneath, which was still thick and silver-white, thank God. He was conscious suddenly of his age, which hadn’t bothered him before, and how old he must seem to her. He didn’t feel old. He still felt a young man’s urge to kiss this woman, to lay some sort of claim to her, to know her.
    â€œI will be brief, then,” he said. “These papers you’re carrying, the ones you had Miss Morrison place in the ship’s safe—”
    She stood up. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
    â€œThere’s no point in denying it. I am, as you perceive, too old to waste time in a lengthy pas de deux that will only result in the same outcome. You have some sort of connection with my old friend Madame de Sauveterre, I expect, and I deduce that she’s given you a little package to deliver to someone on our arrival. A package which, I believe, you have sensibly consigned to the honorable custody of the
Majestic
ship’s safe.”
    Penelope pressed her lips together.
    â€œVery well,” he went on. “I don’t expect you to confirm it. Only listen to me. I have, I’m afraid, been tasked with intercepting this communication. Your friend de Sauveterre, you