He caught her full upper lip between his teeth. She sighed and the kiss deepened, his tongue slipping inside to tease hers. He smelled like rich shaving soap. She locked her arms around his neck, leaning into his hard frame. It didn’t seem fair that he could weaken her resolve with a few kind words and a kiss, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Pembroke tore his lips from hers. “I don’t want you to leave, Victoria,” he murmured.
“I didn’t want you to leave either,” she reminded him, her voice breathless. “But you did.”
“I’m here now.” He gave her another slow, maddening kiss, his tongue dipping into her mouth and then retreating when she longed for more. “Come, let’s go for a walk and enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
She accepted the arm he proffered, and they began a leisurely stroll. It occurred to her that he was leading her farther away from the main house, out of sight of prying eyes. Pembroke hadn’t walked with her like this since the days of their courtship, and it sent a wave of bittersweet nostalgia over her.
She cast him a sidelong glance. “I haven’t been on a stroll about the gardens with a man in quite some time.”
“I daresay.” He cleared his throat, looking pensive. “I must thank you for the work you’ve done here in my absence, Victoria. I understand you’ve done a great deal more than just oversee the gardens. I’m afraid I’ve often been remiss in all my duties, not just one.”
She had, and she was quite stunned he would even bother himself to find out what she’d done at Carrington House over the last few months. She nodded to stanch the flow of pleasure surging through her. He could tempt her with persuasive kisses and with flattery both, but five months of abandonment hardened a woman’s resolve as few other things could.
“Thank you, my lord. My mother saw to it that I had a fair head for running a smooth household. Keeping ledgers has always been an odd hobby of mine anyway.”
“Nevertheless, you needn’t have. I didn’t expect it of you.”
His gratitude left her bemused. She’d expected to encounter the brazen seducer or the arrogant lord. But he was ever a man of many faces. She didn’t know what to do with a Pembroke who wasn’t disappearing and causing scandal. A Pembroke who was admiring and appreciative. A Pembroke who somehow wanted to win her back. Heavens, was that even possible? She couldn’t think it. Wouldn’t think it. The warmth of the sun had invaded her mind.
“I am your wife,” she said simply. “It was my duty.”
“Ah, but I did not do my duty to you.”
She stopped and relinquished his arm, facing him again. Victoria had suffered far too much at his hands to pretend she hadn’t. “No,” she agreed quietly, “you did not.”
His expression turned wry. “I have been thinking of how I can make amends.”
“I suppose it wasn’t entirely your fault,” she said, taking pity on him a bit. “You didn’t want a wife.”
“It is true that my father forced my hand, but I begin to find I rather like having a wife.” He caressed her cheek. “Don’t go to London. Stay here with me. Carrington House needs you.”
Carrington House, he’d said, but not him. The omission was glaring. “I’ve drafted a list of changes that need to be made here. It’s with the estate ledgers. You may feel free to use it.”
“I don’t want a list,” he murmured, his tone low and intimate, sending warmth through her. “I want you. Tell me, what can be on this list of yours?”
She fought to keep her composure. “I recommend a raise for loyal retainers. It’s difficult indeed to keep good servants these days.”
He lowered his head, his lips exceedingly near to hers. “What else?”
She wanted him to kiss her but she forced herself to think. “The roof in the east wing has been leaking for some time. Funds need to be allocated for its repair, for if you don’t act soon, I fear the roof will be in danger of collapse. I understand the east wing is the original manor house, dating back several centuries. It ought to be saved.”
“Indeed?” His mouth remained distractingly close.
Her passion had become the historic, imposing, and awe-inspiring Carrington House. She’d made it her business to learn all of its shortcomings, all of its failures and weaknesses, all of its scars and wounds in need of mending. She was good at mending, figuratively speaking. In her family, she was the peacekeeper amongst her sisters.
“It is your family’s history, my lord, not mine,” she said, trying not to notice the proximity of his mouth to hers. “Were I you, I’d make more of an effort to preserve it. I realize there’s an expense, but surely we can find the means.”
“Surely.”
“I do think you’ve stopped listening to me.” She frowned.
“Of course I’m listening, darling. Do go on. What other ideas have you?” His tongue swept over her lower lip, tasting her as if she were a sugary treat. Something to be savored.
Dear heavens. Her mind went suddenly blank save for the need to feel his mouth upon hers.
“I can’t recall,” she admitted on a whisper.
“You see?” He grinned and gave her a quick kiss. “You must stay. What if I’ve questions about your list? What if you think of more changes to add to it? What if I want to ravish you again in the music room?”
His wicked question sent heat traveling through her, an answering pulse between her thighs. He was very good at destroying her defenses. Very good indeed. She hesitated, knowing that if she gave in to him it could well prove her undoing. But when she tried to muster the bitterness that had so long been her steadfast companion, she found it oddly absent.
I have been thinking of how I can make amends.
Could she trust him, this beautiful man before her who still remained so much a mystery? Dare she trust that he meant what he said? His words yesterday had revealed a part of her to herself that mystified and mortified her at the same time. She had remained at Carrington House not just out of duty but because it meant something to her. Because he meant something to her.
“I need you,” he said finally. “Please stay.”
Those three words tipped the scales inside her. “I shall stay,” she relented. “For a few days.”
“You won’t regret it, my dear.” He drew her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss, his stare searing her.
She fervently hoped he was right.
After turning about the gardens with Pembroke, Victoria returned to her rooms to announce her change of plans to her lady’s maid, Keats, only to find that her husband had already called off her trip without her knowledge. He was very sure of her, she thought to herself. Perhaps too sure of her. It was a niggling concern in her mind as she joined him for dinner that evening as had become their routine.
“You are utterly beautiful,” he murmured to her as he escorted her to dinner.
She’d chosen one of her best Worth gowns to wear that evening, a silk, satin, and velvet evening gown of dark green and ivory. The bodice hugged her curves and emphasized her bosom. It was complete with a skirt of shot cream silk and a drape of handmade French lace. The gown was from her trousseau, very different from the demure pastel gowns her mother had chosen for her before her marriage. Mother had never possessed an eye for fashion, and as a result, Victoria had faced her society debut with a wardrobe rife with ill-suiting frocks. She’d never had an occasion to wear a truly beautiful dress. Until now.
“You are very handsome yourself,” she said, admiring the way his formal black trousers and coat hugged his impossibly tall and strong form.
He covered her hand with his for a moment and winked at her, the charming flirt once more. She supposed he was accustomed to hearing compliments from the fairer sex, but his words of praise were rare for her to hear, trapped away as she’d been in the country. Even before her marriage, however, she’d always considered herself plain. There were many women with far greater beauty than she possessed, women who commanded the interest of men like Pembroke. The thought curdled the war
m glow of appreciation that had suffused her.
He seated her and lingered at her elbow, his spicy scent toying with her senses. He hadn’t come to her chamber since the night he’d returned, and the knot of longing within her continued to grow, particularly after their tableau in the music room. She didn’t want that knot. Indeed, she tried with all her might to undo it.
She treaded dangerous ground now. Victoria focused her gaze on the spray of English daisies and roses upon the table as she thanked Pembroke for his escort.
“You are most welcome,” he said, his voice a low, velvety timbre in her ear.
Unless she was mistaken, he hesitated just long enough to deliver a quick nibble to her earlobe before straightening and rounding the table. His expression remained impassive as he sat. Had she imagined the delicious tug of his teeth upon her? The peculiar sensation of restlessness skittering through her suggested that she had not.
Awkward silence descended as the first course, a lovely smelling turtle soup, was laid before them. Pembroke abruptly directed the servants to leave them alone, startling her. She looked at him askance, trying not to notice how rakishly handsome he appeared with his too-long mahogany locks brushing the collar of his coat, his lively eyes sparkling in that too-handsome face, his mobile mouth always quirked with a hint of naughtiness.
“Everywhere I look, it seems I find another change wrought by the fair hand of my wife. You’ve done away with the powdered wigs,” he noted when the door had closed, leaving them completely alone.
When she’d arrived at Carrington House, everything had been outmoded and dilapidated. She knew from experience that these days, country houses rarely required footmen to wear the wigs so preferred by previous generations unless it was the most formal of occasions. She was once again at a loss. He had always seemed far too busy being a devil-may-care to pay attention to the dress of his servants.
“Almost no one requires it any longer,” she offered. “Scratchy, dreadfully uncomfortable things, I’m told, though still preferable to powder.”
“Indeed?” He raised a brow. “Do you make it a habit of inquiring after the welfare of all our footmen?”
“Most certainly not.” She flushed, having difficulty concentrating with his gaze pinned upon her. “I asked my lady’s maid when I contemplated the change. It seemed so silly to continue the practice unless we actually had guests in residence. Do you object, my lord?”
“Pray call me Will, my dear. We are on decidedly intimate terms now, are we not? As it happens, I don’t mind the absence of the wigs. Always looked as if they were about to slide off anyhow.” He tasted his soup. “Delightful. I shall have to pass my compliments to Mrs. Rufton.”
She hadn’t known much of Pembroke as the master of his estate. But from what she’d gleaned from belowstairs gossip related to her by her lady’s maid, he hadn’t been the sort to notice anything in his household unless it affected his own pleasures. Yet it appeared he had gone to great length to take note of even the tiniest changes she’d made.
She wasn’t certain if it was because he’d taken an interest in her, or if it was because he disliked her taking up the reins. “I waited quite some time to begin making my mark here at Carrington House,” she offered, feeling as if she ought to explain. “You never answered my correspondence, and so I suppose I took your silence as acceptance.”
“Of course you would.” He flashed her a smile that she couldn’t quite decipher. “May I ask you something, my dear?”
“You may.” She stilled in the act of sampling Mrs. Rufton’s rich soup. “But I cannot promise an answer.”
His smile deepened, and it served to only enhance the startling effect of his good looks. “Everyone, from the new housekeeper to Mrs. Rufton to the very proper Wilton, has been raving about how wonderful a mistress you are. I can see much has changed, and yet when I arrived, there was an inordinate amount of dust in my chamber. Why?”
She felt her cheeks go warm. Oh dear. It seemed her husband’s newfound skills of observation extended to all matters. She was embarrassed that he’d caught her childish act of defiance. “You were not mistaken.” She paused. “I directed Mrs. Morton to tell the housemaids not to touch your chamber.”
“Indeed?”
“I had no reason to think you’d be returning any time soon,” she added hastily. “But I must admit that I was also hoping that should you return you’d suffer a very unpleasant welcome.”
He laughed at her admission. At least, she reasoned, he wasn’t angry with her for allowing the dust to grow in his chamber. Lord knew it had given her endless amounts of satisfaction to imagine him sneezing away in it during the months of his absence.
“I daresay you won that battle, my dear. I’m sure I was sneezing my wits out all evening when I first arrived.”
She shared his smile, aware she was ever falling more under his potent spell. “You deserved it, my lord.”
“Will,” he reminded her.
“Will,” she said, trying his Christian name on her tongue. Will seemed fitting. Pembroke had been the rogue husband who’d abandoned her. It was as if Will was the charming, perceptive man who’d taken his place. Except Will and Pembroke were one and the same, knave and charmer in one gloriously handsome form. There was the rub.
His expression sobered. “I confess I do like hearing my name on your lovely lips.”
She forced herself to recall the awful months he’d left her to cavort with other women in London, lest she throw herself at him there in the dining room. “You deserved it, Will,” she said pointedly before returning her attention to her soup.
“Touché.” He raised his wine goblet to her in mock salute. “But I still enjoy hearing you say my name.”
She looked back up at him. “I’m sure you’ve grown accustomed to hearing it on the lips of many other ladies.” The emphasis she put upon the word left no doubt that she did not think any of them had been ladies at all.
“Am I to be forever reminded of my past misdeeds?”
“I’m not one to quibble over definitions, but I do seem to recall that only a fortnight ago, you were engaging in misdeeds at the Belgravia house with a Signora Rosignoli. That hardly seems so far away as to be deemed past.” It was her turn to raise a brow. “Until you’ve proven you’ve changed for good, I remind myself as much as I remind you.” For her own self-preservation, she added silently.
“I’ve told you before that I never wanted to hurt you, Victoria.” He put down his spoon. “My battle is with my father, not you, and I regret that you were caught up in the crossfire.”
The acknowledgment seemed genuine, but so had his interest in her during their courtship. Even if he was being honest now, she didn’t know if it was enough. “Thank you,” she offered simply. “I am gratified you’ve realized that much, at least.”
“You are most welcome.” He studied her intently. “Now, I find I’ve tired of the soup course. Have you?”
Her turtle soup had long gone cold. She nodded, watching warily as he rose from the table and stalked toward her. He stopped when he was at her side, leaning his hip negligently against the table. He framed her face with his large hands.
“We both know I never wanted to be a husband when I married you,” he said at last, his tone grave.
His acknowledgment had an air of deep candor to it, far more than his effortless flirtation and charming grins did. She searched his bright gaze, wondering if she could trust him. Wondering if she should. It occurred to her that what had happened in the past did not hold as much power over her life as what could happen in the future.
“And what of now?” she asked. “What do you want now?” It was the question that seemed to matter the most.
His gaze grew shuttered. “I have a duty to do by you.”
She frowned, trying to understand him. His hands were still a warm, tempting touch on her face. “Duty is not a want.”
“Sometimes it becomes a want,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to crush hers.
>
The hunger of his kiss took her completely by surprise. He slid his palms down over her arms and hauled her to her feet. Her chair toppled over behind her. She clutched at his shoulders, opening to his questing tongue. His words swirled through her mind, confusing her all the more. Was he saying he wanted her? Or that he still considered her a duty?
She couldn’t be sure, but all she did know for certain was that he was undoing the hidden jet buttons at the back of her bodice. He dragged the lace-capped sleeves down over her arms, drawing her gown, chemise, and corset cover to her waist. The creamy tops of her breasts were exposed above her satin corset.
He tore his mouth from hers to gaze upon the flesh he’d revealed. His eyes were hot, glittering with lust and, unless she was mistaken, appreciation.
“Scarlet?”
Flushing again, she looked at the extravagant red corset she’d had commissioned in Paris before her nuptials. “It’s my favorite color,” she said, slightly embarrassed by her whim.
“I adore it.” He dropped a kiss upon each of her breasts, cupping them through the fabric and stiff whalebone that helped her curves to attain the proper shape. “I’d adore it even more if it was on the floor.”
She gasped, reality returning to her at his bold pronouncement. “We mustn’t. Not during dinner. What would the servants say?”
He looked up at her, a wicked expression on his face. “I expect they’d say that I’ve gone mad, and I’m afraid they wouldn’t be too far off the mark.”
“I must say I prefer mad Will over sane Pembroke any day,” she confessed.
The old Pembroke certainly wouldn’t have all but made love to her over dinner. Goodness, what was she thinking, allowing him to cajole her into such scandalous behavior? Bad enough he had her at sixes and sevens. Now, she was en dishabille during the soup course.
“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed and began straightening her desperately askew bodice. “It wouldn’t do to ruin the servants’ proper opinion of us. But I’m afraid I cannot wait much longer for you, my dear, else I’ll go mad in truth.”
Her Errant Earl (Wicked Husbands Book 1) Page 6
