by Gayle Callen
Something deep inside her eased, and she smiled at him. “I would enjoy that.”
Though the hour was still early, there were many men, and a few women, exercising their horses along Rotten Row. He guided her through the paths beneath the trees, giving her occasional instructions. It was a peaceful moment she cherished.
Someone called his name from behind, and he wheeled his horse about. Victoria concentrated on steadying her mount, and it was a moment before she felt confident enough to look up. A couple had ridden up to them, and Victoria admired the woman’s grace and ease in the saddle.
“Thurlow, how good to see you about,” the man said, tipping his hat. “Lately I only see you in the chambers. Are you defending the factory bill today?”
David nodded. “I’m certain my speech would bore you, Your Grace.”
Victoria looked between them with interest. The other woman—his duchess?—watched the men, but sent Victoria an occasional curious glance. Victoria kept waiting for David to introduce her, but once again he seemed to have forgotten.
“Thurlow, you never bore me. I keep telling my wife that you would make an interesting dinner guest.”
The woman smiled. “And I keep inviting him, Your Grace, but he continues to refuse to attend.”
Victoria knew that it wasn’t good for David, who would one day be in the House of Lords, to ignore socializing with a duke.
David pulled back on Apollo’s reins to bring him in line with her. “Forgive me, Your Grace, for not introducing my wife, Victoria, Lady Thurlow. My lady, this is the Duke and Duchess of Sutterly.”
The duchess smiled. “Lady Thurlow, perhaps you can convince your husband to attend our ball.”
Victoria didn’t know what to say. How could she explain that her husband didn’t consult her on his social engagements?
“We have a previous engagement, Your Grace,” David said.
The men spoke for several minutes on the bill before Parliament, leaving Victoria to feel concerned rather than angry. She’d tried to talk to her husband about his evasion of the ton, but he’d made it clear he wasn’t going to discuss it. Was he holding his peers at bay out of guilt over his railway business? Or was he angry that he’d been included under the umbrella of his father’s scandals? She was ignorant of so much that had happened to him. He should want to prove that his father’s sins weren’t his own. Surely there was a way to make him see that he couldn’t make a problem go away by ignoring it.
She was finished hoping he’d confide in her. It was obvious he’d been ignoring his emotions for a long time. She would take matters into her own hands.
She would be the kind of wife he needed, and create the marriage they both deserved, giving him back the eagerness with which he’d once approached life. She would help him be at ease in any society and find the boy inside the man.
As they approached the Banstead stables, David looked over his shoulder at her. “Victoria, I’ve been thinking about our dinner party.”
“You don’t need to worry, David. I’ve discussed everything with your steward. It’s only a day away and the preparations are almost finished.”
He helped her down from the horse. “I wasn’t worried about that. Things are going so smoothly in our talks with the railway companies we want to buy. This last meeting at our house is almost a formality, a celebration. So perhaps we should have dancing after dinner.”
He was consulting her just as she had wanted. So why did her stomach tighten? “Dancing?”
“Yes. Do you think that would be a good idea?”
“Of course. I’m certain the women would appreciate it.” She waited until the groom had led their horses away. “Do you like to dance?”
“It’s not my favorite activity, but I was trained from a young age.” He frowned at her. “If I remember correctly…”
She sighed. “I can’t dance.”
“That’s not a worry,” he said, putting out his hand.
She stared at it. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll teach you to dance.”
Excitement rose up inside her as she stared up at him. He looked amused, interested in such a simple thing as dancing.
“If I remember correctly,” he said dryly, “you used to write that you stepped on men’s toes.”
She smiled with pleasure. “Oh yes. My mother despaired of me, and finally gave up.”
“I’ll wear my riding boots for protection.”
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her back through the garden and into the house. “We’ll go up to the blue drawing room. That’s where we used to dance.”
“But there’s no music,” she said.
“We don’t need music.”
No, surely she didn’t, for there was a whole orchestra playing in her heart. As they walked up through the house, arm in arm, Victoria told herself that she mustn’t make so much of this. David did not want her to embarrass him, so he would teach her to dance.
But when they swept into the large drawing room, beneath the multitude of chandeliers, her heart was beating so fast, she could swear her chest vibrated.
“We’ll start with a waltz,” he said, positioning her in his arms.
She felt his hand high on her back, the other hand warm in hers.
“You know the basic steps?” he asked.
She nodded. “But I was never very good.”
Then he started to count and whirled her away, and she forgot everything as she stared up into his face. It was the stuff of dreams, of magic, of moments that come only once in a lifetime, dancing alone with her handsome husband staring so intently down at her. The room might have been lit by the sun streaming through the tall windows, rather than bathed in candlelight, but that did not take away the romance of the moment, the way her heart swelled with hope that everything could work out between them.
David smiled. “I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”
As if the spell was broken by speech, she stumbled and stepped on his toe. He laughed, a deep rich sound, and caught her in his arms. The air was suddenly full of a crackling tension that had nothing to do with dance, and everything to do with a man and woman locked close together.
“Let’s try it again,” he said, stepping back. “This time don’t think about it. Trust me to lead you.”
He wanted her trust, but she despaired whether he would ever give it in return.
Chapter 14
At luncheon Victoria told Mrs. Wayneflete and her mother about David speaking before the House of Commons that afternoon.
Her mother sighed. “You’ve married a very important man, Victoria.”
“I know, Mama. I want to help him in every way I can, but it’s hard when he has such a separate life from mine.”
“You can always show an interest, my lady,” Mrs. Wayneflete said. “You can watch him speak. The ladies have their own gallery above the main floor of the Commons. It’s not too late since the speeches never begin until four in the afternoon.”
Victoria smiled. “Your knowledge always continues to amaze me, Mrs. Wayneflete.”
The housekeeper shrugged, obviously pleased with herself. “The steward keeps me informed. So will you go to Parliament, then?”
“Are you sure everything is ready for the dinner party? Perhaps you need me here.”
“We can go over our final plans right now, my lady, and then you’ll be free this afternoon.”
Victoria thought of her new resolve where David was concerned. She wanted to understand everything that was important to him. “Then I’ll go to Parliament.”
That afternoon, Victoria set off with Anna, her lady’s maid, in the Banstead carriage. When they arrived at the palace yard, Victoria discovered that they needed passes to enter the ladies’ gallery. She was not giving up so easily.
She looked up at the policeman with wide eyes. “But, Officer, my name is Lady Thurlow, and I just found out that my husband, Lord Thurlow, was speaking today. We are newly married, and it w
ould mean so much to me if you’d let us in.”
Lines of people backed up behind them, and Victoria found herself jostled. She gave the officer a helpless, pleading look, and to her relief he let them pass. She found the long staircase that led up to the ladies’ gallery, and soon she and Anna were seated in the front row, looking down at the long, tall room with green benches crowded on steep angles on both sides. Hundreds of men congregated to talk. She couldn’t see David until after the factory bill had been read, and the debate began. From his seat he was recognized, and he began to speak in a calm, forceful manner, without all the arm waving and shouting so many of the other men seemed to employ. His voice rang through the room, interrupted by occasional cheers or boos, as he spoke about the plight of women and children in the cotton mills. Victoria stared at him in shock, never having heard about sixteen-hour workdays and young children who were drugged to make their care easier.
She leaned on the balustrade, enraptured by her husband’s conviction, shocked that anyone would argue, even in the name of too much government interference. As David responded to the opposition with keen intelligence, he glanced about the room, and she knew when he saw her. He did not lose his train of thought; he didn’t look angry with her. His gaze returned to her occasionally, and she could not look away.
Here was something else he was passionate about, something he believed in. He wanted to do good for people in worse conditions than their own, and she felt humbled that she’d narrowly escaped such a state with his help. In some ways, she had been another project he took on.
Now he would be her project.
She and Anna left hours later, but long before the debates were finished. She knew not to expect him for dinner.
After her bath, David knocked on her door. She didn’t jump with nervousness, but with anticipation.
Since she was trying to find the boy she remembered, she deliberately left their tattered childhood journal out where he could see it. Would he ever write in it again, maybe sharing things he couldn’t speak?
“Come in,” she called.
When she saw David, she was disappointed that he was wearing a dressing gown again over his bare chest. He didn’t see the journal where she’d left it. But that was all right, there was time.
He walked across the room toward her, and she held her ground, her heart pumping quickly, her breathing much too fast. If she let him touch her, they’d never have a conversation. And she so wanted to understand him again.
“I saw you at the Commons,” he said. “You should have told me you wanted to come. I would have arranged everything.”
The deep voice that had held hundreds of men under its spell this afternoon could also work its magic on her.
“I didn’t know about the gallery until Mrs. Wayneflete told me.” She smiled up at him. “I thought you saw me. When I heard the duke mention your speech, I wanted to hear it.”
“I’m sorry it was so dull. Were you trapped there for very long?”
“Dull? I found it fascinating. You were very good defending the bill.”
“It has a long way to go before it’s acceptable to a majority.”
She softened her voice and chose her words carefully. “There must be many meetings outside the Commons, to learn about such things.”
“There are.”
He frowned, and she knew he didn’t understand where she was leading.
“Do the members discuss such things at social events, like you do with the railway directors?” she asked.
“I’m sure discussion goes on anywhere men congregate,” he said. “That’s why I occasionally attend my club.”
Oh well, she’d tried to be subtle and it hadn’t worked. “We received an invitation to a dinner today being given by Mr. Dalton, the man who read your factory bill. I thought you might like to attend, since you enjoy politics so much.”
He smiled. “It’s not necessary, Victoria. I’m having luncheon with him tomorrow.”
Darn.
She accepted his response—for tonight. She would try again the next day—and the next—until he understood how important it was for him not to ignore part of his life.
“Is there anything else?” he asked softly, taking a step nearer.
Her breathing quickened at the smoldering look in his eyes.
“Anything else?” she echoed, rather dazed.
“If you have any questions—”
“No, no questions.”
And then his hands were loosening her sash and undoing the clasp and pushing her dressing gown off her shoulders. The languid feeling of passion was sweeping over her again, making everything else fade away but the need to be touched by him. How would it feel to touch in return? Every evening it seemed more difficult to let him go.
When he spoke, she was startled, and her gaze lifted to his.
“When we were dancing today, I noticed what a delicate waist you have.”
She gave a breathless laugh. “Surely it was because of my corset.”
“I’ll have to find out for myself.”
He put his hands on the front of her stomach, then oh so slowly slid them around her waist. His thumbs feathered along her ribs, light touches repeated over and over just beneath her breasts. They were heavy with an ache she’d only begun to be aware of the last several days.
He leaned over her, the width of him blocking out the dim candlelight. His chin stirred the hair above her ear.
He whispered, “Your nightdress is so sheer that I can almost see through it.”
She held her breath, her focus concentrated on the nearness of him, the need inside her to lean against him.
“Do you want to know what I can see?” he asked.
She hesitated so long, but he waited. “Yes.”
His head lowered; his breath was hot against her neck, and she knew he was looking down her body.
“Your nipples are hard against the silk.”
She couldn’t control the shudder that swept through her. His hands continued to play at her waist, teasing higher, but never touching what he was looking at. She felt an urgent need to touch him as well, to take part in this strange dance they did every night.
She lifted her hand, and he stilled. Was he holding his breath as she had? Hadn’t he touched and been touched by women before? Or was it different because she was his wife?
She put her hand on his left wrist and felt his bare skin, and the scattering of hair. Trembling, she let her fingers slide up his arm slowly over his dressing gown. There was a hardness to him that she lacked, a curve of muscle that she had seen for herself just the night before. With her gaze she followed her hand up his arm until she reached his shoulder. She was looking up at him, and he was still leaning over her, their heads so close. She couldn’t read his expression, only knew that he was intent upon her.
To David’s surprise, tonight had proved that the touch of a virgin could be more intoxicating than that of an experienced woman. Or was it only because it was Victoria who touched him, Victoria who was proving that she wanted this marriage.
Maybe as much as he did. But his were purely practical reasons.
He said, “A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have wanted to touch me.”
She tilted her head to look up at him, and her hair tumbled freely past her shoulder. “I felt that you should not be the only one to make…an effort.”
He smiled. “‘An effort’ sounds like a difficult thing to do. Was it such an effort, then, to touch my arm?”
“No,” she whispered. Her eyes grew determined. “I can be bold sometimes. Did you see the journal I left on the table there?”
He frowned.
“Don’t you recognize it?” she asked.
“Yes.” She was watching him carefully now, and it made him uneasy. Why did the sight of that journal disturb him?
“I kept it all this time.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“You once offered to marry me.”
“I did?”
“You said you wanted to marry me because I was the least like a girl of any girl you knew.”
He kept his voice light. “I was full of compliments, even then.”
She smiled. “It was a compliment—from a twelve-year-old boy. I wrote back that my father would choose my husband, but in truth, I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew my father would not choose a cook’s son. How things have changed—your father wouldn’t have chosen me.”
He felt…uncertain, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Is that why you never married—you were waiting for me?”
“Of course not. I’d rather spend a quiet evening with my music than socialize. You surely know by now that I have never been comfortable with men. I never can think of the right things to say.”
“You don’t seem to have trouble speaking to me.”
With a rueful smile, she said, “Trust me, it comes with much practice. I don’t have your gift for easy speech. You have a natural confidence that makes being with people effortless.”
He spoke without thinking. “That’s not true. Sometimes I can put on a performance when necessary.”
She narrowed her eyes in concentration. “When are you putting on a performance?”
She looked at him with far too much perception. It made him feel…vulnerable, as if she could see things inside him that he didn’t want known. She was still watching him solemnly when he turned away.
He saw the journal and, unbidden, memories he wanted to forget welled up, memories of a boy who made up another life because he was tired of being afraid and sad all the time. He’d concentrated on his adventures, told her about catching frogs and planning great journeys by the globe in the library. He’d wanted to escape back then, and it had taken him years to realize he never could. Over time, he had become very good at acting.
“Good night, Victoria.”
This time she silently let him go.
Chapter 15
After their morning ride, David left for the day, promising to return well before their guests that evening. Victoria felt nervous about hosting her own party, but Mrs. Wayneflete had the whole household organized. Victoria wandered from the kitchen to the dining room to the drawing rooms, overseeing the placement of the flower arrangements, because everything else was ready.
