Why should she not, she sighed.
It surely was not so very sinful to dream of such delights? Soon enough she would be married to her beloved Thomas. He would hold her like this in his arms every evening.
Perhaps not with arms quite as large as those that enwrapped her in her dreams, she fuzzily conceded. Nor with fingers so cleverly experienced at untying the ribbons upon her nightrail. And unfortunately Thomas’s one brief kiss had revealed wet, uncertain lips, not the strong, hungry lips currently devouring a path down the length of her arched neck.
Thomas’s soft features fled as the hands became more impatient and the mouth lowered to the soft curve of her breast.
A new, rather startling heat seemed to be crystallizing in the very center of her being, a heat that poured through her body and made her bones feel as if they were melting.
It was a fierce, oddly fascinating sensation.
And at the same moment it sent a tingle of warning down her spine.
Although she was not one of those squeamish, high-strung maidens who feared the notion of the marriage bed, she could not deny a measure of unease. She had expected a sweet satisfaction when she at last gave herself to a man, a feeling of two souls melding to one, not this turbulent pleasure that set her heart racing and her body trembling with an unknown need.
The hands molded her ever closer and the seeking lips created havoc as they smoothly followed the line of her gaping bodice. She felt as if she were drowning in decadent delight, losing the control she so dearly treasured.
She faintly stiffened in wary confusion, but once again that dark, smoky voice was whispering in her ear.
It promised to cherish her, to worship her body and bring her pleasure beyond bearing.
Victoria discovered herself slowly relaxing as the tantalizing spell was woven about her. Then the voice suddenly groaned two husky words.
“Dearest Maria.”
Victoria was roughly jerked from her dreams. With an effort she wrenched open her eyes to discover a large, shadowed figure posed directly above her.
Dear lord, it was not a dream.
Some crazed madman had invaded her bed.
Shocked out of her wits, she opened her mouth and let forth a shrill scream of terror.
One
There were few things more ridiculous than a rotund vicar attired in a woefully snug coat, his few strands of gray hair standing upon end, attempting to tiptoe through the silent vicarage.
Vicar Humbly was not exactly frightened of his large, commanding housekeeper, he silently assured himself. She had been his devoted servant for near forty years. But he had no desire to wrangle with her so early in the morning.
He had already endured a fortnight of her grumblings at his determination to travel to Kent. She simply could not be made to understand his restless need to assure himself that Victoria was safely settled in her new life with Lord Claredon.
Humbly grimaced as he made his way down the stairs. In truth, he scarcely understood his odd behavior himself.
It had all begun weeks ago when he had received letters from Addy, Beatrice, and Victoria on the same morning. At the time it had seemed almost a sign from above.
How many nights had he devoted to worrying about their plight? Even though he had consented to officiate at each of their marriages over the past year, he had been plagued with doubts. Not one of the poor maidens had married for love, or even friendship.
His conscience had deeply troubled him, and when he received the letters he had known he must act. How could he happily retire to his small cottage when he was beset with worry over the happiness of the maidens?
And a good thing he had done so, he acknowledged with a faintly smug smile.
First he had traveled to London to help Addy in her marriage to Adam, then onto Derbyshire to give Beatrice and Gabriel a nudge. There was no doubt each had been in desperate straits when he arrived, and no doubt that he had managed to soothe troubled waters and ensure they could look into their hearts to discover the love waiting to be found.
Ah yes, he had been rather remarkable in his role as Cupid, he congratulated himself. Quite astonishing really.
Then his smile faltered.
Victoria was bound to be even more difficult than either Addy or Beatrice. Unlike the other two women, she had not thought to wed her husband. Indeed, she had been on the point of a secret elopement with a Mr. Stice when she had been trapped in a compromising position with Lord Claredon.
The marriage had been a hasty affair, as unwelcome as it was unexpected. And Humbly had stumbled through the vows with a prickling horror that the lovely bride might blacken the eye of her mocking bridegroom long before he could ever reach the “I do.”
No, it would not be an easy task, he told himself with a faint sigh. Not easy at all.
“And just where do you think you are going?”
On the point of entering the foyer, Humbly reluctantly halted and turned to face the large, gray-haired servant who stood with her hands upon her hips. “Oh, Mrs. Stalwart,” he murmured, feeling as guilty as a lad with his hand caught in a freshly baked pie.
Pie.
His large stomach grumbled, reminding him he had forsaken breakfast in the hopes of avoiding this encounter. A great sacrifice, indeed.
“I suppose you are determined to leave for Kent,” she accused in tones dripping with disapproval.
“Yes, I did think that I might.”
“’Tis unnatural, I tell you. Unnatural.” The woman was swiftly off on her familiar tirade. “A gentleman of your advanced years should know better. First it was London and then Derbyshire, from where, I do not quibble to tell you, you came home appearing distinctly out of curl, and now it is Kent.”
“I assure you that this shall be my last journey.” He attempted to soothe the ruffled woman. “When I return I shall retire to my lovely cottage and never stir again.”
The housekeeper gave an insulting snort. “So you keep promising.”
“A promise I firmly intend to keep.” The vicar was able to comfort her with all honesty.
Dissatisfied, the woman angled toward a new path. “What could possibly be so important in Kent?”
“I wish to ensure that Victoria, or I suppose I should say Lady Claredon, is well and happy in her marriage.”
As expected, the older woman’s countenance hardened. Although she possessed a kind heart, Mrs. Stalwart was not above indulging in the frivolous gossip that floated from London. It had been a deep disappointment when she learned Victoria had been embroiled in a sordid scandal. “A most ramshackle affair.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” the vicar murmured.
“I always knew that Lord Claredon would tumble into a bad end. He might be considered all that is handsome and charming, but he is a shameless rapscallion.”
“Mrs. Stalwart.”
“It is nothing but the truth,” she plodded on, clearly laying the entire blame of the unfortunate incident upon the shoulders of the rakish Lord Claredon. “Do not try and pretend that you have not heard the whispers of his doings in London. It is said that he has a mistress for every night of the week.”
Humbly attempted to appear shocked even as a renegade glimmer of amusement entered his sherry eyes. He had, of course, heard the endless gossip that swirled about Lord Claredon. He would have to be cloistered in the vicarage not to have. But possessing more than a hint of intelligence, he had dismissed most of the outrageous stories as envious chatter. No gentleman could be so virile, nor possess the vast amount of time required to seduce the hordes of women attributed to him.
“Really, Mrs. Stalwart, you know better than to listen to such rubbish.”
“’Tis not rubbish,” she determinedly argued, refusing to be swayed from her patent disapproval. “The man has gone to a good deal of effort to earn his reputation.”
“Well, he has perhaps been a favorite among the ladies,” Humbly reluctantly conceded.
“He is a reprehensible rake.”
>
“No longer. He is now a married gentleman.”
Mrs. Stalwart gave a sorrowful shake of her head, not at all reassured by the fact Lord Claredon had at least wed Victoria rather than leaving her a ruined woman.
“It near breaks my heart to think of my poor Victoria being taken in by his practiced charm,” the housekeeper mourned, not fully aware of the tangled events that had led to Victoria and Lord Claredon being discovered together in the posting inn. “I had always thought her so sensible. Why, the way she took care of her younger sister after her parents’ death and kept the household in order . . . I was never more shocked than when she tumbled into that nasty scandal.”
Humbly’s heart was struck by a sharp pang. Poor Victoria. After all she had sacrificed, she truly deserved happiness. A happiness he was far from certain could be found with Lord Claredon. Still, he was determined to do what was in his power to help her find a measure of contentment.
“Now, Mrs. Stalwart, we do not wish to stir old coals,” he said firmly. “They are wed, and it is my fervent prayer that they have found a measure of peace.”
The housekeeper gave a grudging nod of her head. “Aye. It is only that Victoria has always been a favorite of mine. She was so very brave during her parents’ tragedy and then ensuring her sister was given everything a young girl could desire. It could not have been easy.”
“No.”
The older woman abruptly narrowed her gaze as she realized that she had been effectively distracted from her chastisement. “But I still do not understand the reason why you are traveling to Kent. Has Victoria requested your presence?”
Humbly cleared his throat. “Actually, I have decided to surprise her with a visit.”
“Why?”
“To reassure myself that she is happy.”
“Ha.” Mrs. Stalwart wagged a finger in the direction of his overly innocent face. “You are going to meddle.”
Humbly gave an offended sniff. “Certainly not.”
“Do not think you can fool me. I have known you far too long.”
He gave a rueful grimace. “I might nudge matters, if need be.”
“Lord have mercy.” The woman shook her head as if he were a hopeless trial upon her nerves. “I thought you wiser than to attempt to interfere between a husband and wife. There is nothing more foolish.”
Humbly colored with defensive annoyance. “I will have you know that I have had no small measure of success at playing Cupid.”
“Foolishness.”
Knowing it was a futile argument, Humbly turned to gather his hat and gloves from the nearby table. “In any event, I hope to return by the end of the month.”
Mrs. Stalwart crossed her arms over her considerable bosom. “And those books you have promised to pack before the new vicar arrives?”
He flashed his particularly sweet smile. “They will no doubt be awaiting me when I return.”
“Foolishness,” the housekeeper muttered.
Two
Victoria was casually sketching the bloom of a rose in the conservatory when the young maid rushed in to inform her that a Mr. Humbly had come to call.
Dropping her pad and charcoal onto the bench she surged to her feet in startled disbelief. It had been over five months since she had last set eyes upon the sweet, endearingly absentminded vicar—not since the day he had irrevocably tied her to the gentleman who had ruined her life.
A flare of panic raced through her as she regarded the maid with a disbelieving gaze. “Are you certain he said Humbly?” she absurdly demanded.
“Yes, my lady. Shall I tell him you are not receiving visitors?”
“No.” Victoria sucked in a steadying breath. “Please show him into the front salon and inform him that I shall join him in a moment.”
“At once.”
With a curtsy, the servant hurried away, and Victoria left the comforting privacy of the conservatory.
She supposed that deep within her she was not entirely shocked by the sudden arrival of Vicar Humbly. He had not bothered to hide his distress when she had requested that he call the banns, nor when he had stood at the altar and proclaimed her wife to Lord Claredon. More than once he had sought to lure her aside and discuss her upcoming life with her husband. But Victoria had firmly avoided his kindly interference.
As much as she might love the gentle vicar, there was nothing he could say or do to make her lot more bearable—not unless he could undo that ghastly night that had forever altered her placid existence.
A small shiver shook her body as the memory of the moment she had opened her eyes to discover Lord Claredon in bed with her rose reluctantly to mind.
What horrid fate had occurred to bring the two of them together? If only Thomas had not become confused and gone to the wrong posting inn. If only she had not chosen to hide her identity by using the name of her distant cousin, Lady Westfield. If only Lord Claredon had not arrived and promptly presumed Lady Westfield would be anxious to enjoy a bit of seduction.
If only . . .
Squaring her shoulders, Victoria shifted her route and made her way toward the back of the house, where her husband was no doubt busy with the endless paperwork involved in running his estate.
She could not change the “if onlys,” but she could hopefully avoid the unwelcome pity that Mr. Humbly was bound to offer. Enduring the scandal of being found in the bed of England’s most notorious rogue was bad enough. She would not add fodder to the gossips by allowing others to know she was just as miserable as all had predicted when she became Lady Claredon.
Her hopes for the future might lie in tatters, but she did have her pride. For whatever that was worth.
Victoria halted before the closed door of the study, briefly experiencing a sense of unease.
It was not that she feared her husband, she acknowledged. Claredon was certainly never violent, nor did he possess a harsh tongue. But she had come to dread the taunting mockery that set her nerves upon edge and the restless brooding in his deep blue eyes. It was rather like living with a sleek tiger that pretended to be tamed, but who smoldered with a restrained power that might be unsheathed at any moment.
With an impatient shake of her head, Victoria thrust aside her absurd fancies. She had made a determined decision during the long journey to Kent: She would not allow herself to be intimidated by her sophisticated, worldly husband. Over the years, she had learned to be a strong, independent woman. She would use her skills to forge a place as Lady Claredon.
Not bothering to knock, she pushed open the door and stepped into the austere, distinctly masculine room dominated by a heavy Sheridan desk. The magnificent plasterwork on the ceiling was nicely revealed by the large windows that overlooked the terraced garden, and the walls were lined with heavy bookcases that held the large ledgers tracing the history of the estate for the past century.
It was a room that smelled of leather and purely masculine pursuits, more than a touch forbidding to a mere woman.
Swallowing heavily, she stepped forward at the same moment Claredon rose to his feet. Victoria stumbled to a nervous halt. Even after five months of marriage, she was still caught off guard by his sheer physical beauty. Gads, it was little wonder that he had been so sought after by women eager to join his collection of mistresses.
Standing well over six feet, he possessed a form that was a tailor’s dream. His shoulders were broad, his waist lean, and his long legs crafted to wear the form-fitting buff breeches. His raven dark hair was brushed casually toward a countenance that had been masterfully chiseled, and his deep blue eyes were thickly fringed. As if the angels had not been satisfied with his breathtaking perfection, they had added a pair of roguish dimples that could melt the hardest of hearts.
All except her own, she sternly reminded herself. She was thoroughly impervious to the irresistible Lord Claredon.
Thoroughly.
As if able to read her defiant thoughts, Claredon allowed his gaze to roam slowly over her simple buttercup gown that nicely
complimented her dark titian curls and pure green eyes.
“Good God,” he drawled in that hateful voice. “Has the sun toppled to the ground? Or perhaps the tenants have revolted?”
Her brows snapped together at his annoying tone. “I beg your pardon?”
He moved to lean negligently against the corner of the desk. “Well, after five months of marriage, this is the first occasion that you have deliberately sought me out. I presume only a disaster of scandalous proportions could have induced you.”
She refused to rise to the bait as her chin tilted upward. “Not precisely a disaster. Vicar Humbly has arrived.”
“Humbly?” It took a moment before he smiled with wry comprehension. “Ah, the cheerful, rather dim-witted fool who wed us.”
“He is not a fool,” she retorted in clipped tones.
He offered a mocking bow of his head. “No, you are correct, my dear, as always. I sensed more beneath his vague distraction than he cared to reveal.”
She resisted the urge to put a crook in that perfect masculine nose. Gads, but he annoyed her. And she did not doubt for a moment that it was entirely on purpose.
“He can be quite perceptive when he chooses,” she forced herself to say in even tones. “And he is not above interfering in matters that do not necessarily concern him.”
“A meddler?”
“Only in the most subtle manner. In truth you rarely realize he has even meddled until he has steered you in the direction he has desired.”
The blue eyes slowly narrowed. “So what is he doing in Kent?”
“I do not know.”
“Would it not be a simple matter to ask him?”
She gave a restless shrug. “I will.”
“But there is something troubling you?”
Now that it came to the moment, Victoria discovered herself faltering. The impulse to salvage her pride had been much simpler when not confronting her unpredictable husband. “I would prefer that he not realize . . .”
“Yes?” he prompted.
She squared her shoulders. “That our marriage is a fraud.”
“A fraud?” His raven brows lifted as he flicked a glance over her stiff form. “Dear heavens. Do you know, I possess a distinct memory of standing before the vicar as we said our vows. How very odd. Of course, the fact that our marriage is a fraud would explain the strange lack of a bride in my bed.”
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