by Gayle Callen
He walked toward her, and gradually his features sharpened. He was watching her, his pale eyes full of—mischief?
“Do you have another evening gown?”
She was confused. “The bulk of my new wardrobe won’t arrive for several more weeks, but you did purchase me several gowns. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember.”
His voice went intimately deeper, and she caught her breath.
“Then you know the next one will have an equally revealing neckline,” she warned him. “Madame Dupuy took liberties.”
“I’ll put up with it.”
“You will? Why? Are we attending the opera?” she asked with rising excitement.
“We’re attending the duke’s ball tonight.”
She knew she gaped at him, and he actually seemed to enjoy her reaction.
“We are?”
“We are.” He tilted his head. “Is this not what you wanted?”
“Yes, but…why did you change your mind?”
He looked embarrassed. “Because it was the right thing to do.”
That was the only reason?
She couldn’t expect declarations of undying love—not yet, anyway. But a girl could hope.
Victoria had several quiet minutes to spare before Anna returned to help her into her ball gown. She went to her desk, and to her surprise, she noticed that the household journal had been returned to her. Cautiously, she opened it to the last page, and found a man’s straight, heavy handwriting.
She gave a little sigh of pleasure and read:
I enjoyed our dance the other night. I’ll claim a waltz tonight.
She traced the words with her fingertip, and then opened their childhood journal to compare how his penmanship had changed. He had a bolder hand now, full of confidence. Hers had changed as well, becoming more precise, more careful, rather than hurried and exuberant. They could never go back to the children they were, but she considered this marriage a fresh beginning, and it finally seemed to be that for him as well.
He’d written to her! She put the household journal on the table near his room, hesitated, and then laid out the childhood journal as well. Maybe now he’d want to read and remember.
In her personal journal, she began to write about wanting to make him proud at the ball. With a frown, she sat back and looked at her words. She was so dependent on recording her every thought, as if something might disappear if she didn’t write it.
She couldn’t take a journal to the ball. She would make no lists of conversation topics, write down no one’s name.
Her palms began to perspire, and she wiped them on her dressing gown. She could do this. He needed her to be with him, not to be dependent on a book she couldn’t look at.
Very carefully, she opened the drawer and put the personal journal away. Anna soon arrived, and they were busy dressing her hair and stitching her into her gown, but Victoria found herself glancing often at the drawer, as if the journal called to her.
It was a book, not a crutch.
When she finally descended to the last staircase above the entrance hall, David and her mother were waiting below. He was dressed in black coat and tails, with white cravat and gloves. He was so very elegant, the Perfect Husband, who looked at her with admiration, who’d compromised when he hadn’t wanted to. Was she really the Perfect Wife of her childhood imagination?
He stared up at her, and in his eyes she saw her future. And she could make it become everything she ever wanted, everything she ever dreamed. On her wedding day she had not dared to hope for so much. She had only thought to be content with a place to live, with the possibility of children.
But now she wanted all of it—she wanted his love. She would make sure he never doubted for the rest of his life that she loved him.
Slowly Victoria walked down each stair, reveling in his smoldering gaze. She felt as if she came out of a trance as she remembered they were not alone.
Her mother stared between them with a look of pride and wonder on her face that Victoria had not seen in a long time. She kissed her mother’s soft cheek, then noticed the earl down in the shadows at the far end of the corridor, watching. Victoria waved to him, and he nodded his head.
When she turned, David was looking at his father with an unreadable expression. Victoria quickly took his arm.
“Is the carriage ready?” she asked.
He nodded, and Smith opened the front door for them. She smiled at him, and the butler gave her the most serene, small smile in return.
When their carriage eventually pulled into line behind dozens of others, Victoria peered out the glass window. Down the streets, she saw a palace, not simply a town house. She stared wide-eyed at her husband.
He smiled. “You can see Sutterly Court?”
She nodded solemnly.
“He is a duke,” David said with a shrug.
When she allowed David to help her from the carriage, several other couples were disembarking before and behind them. Then the greetings started, names called out back and forth, some she’d heard, some she hadn’t.
David smoothly answered any greetings sent their way, then led her up the stairs to the ground floor. Inside, a massive hall rose four floors through the center of the building, ending in a immense dome at the ceiling. A marble staircase split and wound its way up through the town house, and dozens of couples followed it up.
Victoria’s nerves were manageable, though still present. She was a viscountess now; she had to act the part.
No wonder David had said he could act. So much of his life seemed about doing that very thing, and now it was her turn.
At the entrance to the ballroom, there was a receiving line with the duke and his duchess. Victoria and David waited for their turn behind several couples.
David leaned down to her. “Are you well?”
Only weeks ago, she would have wanted to retreat to her house and be the kind of wife David had wanted.
The kind of wife he’d thought he wanted.
“I’ll be fine,” she said serenely. “What about you?”
He cocked his head. “Do I look nervous?”
“No, but you’re a born performer.”
He laughed. “You are a wonder, Victoria.”
As she smiled up at him, a booming voice said, “Ah, newlyweds. You’ve managed to leave Banstead House, I see, Thurlow.”
It was the duke, and he was smiling at them.
She swept into a deep curtsy, knowing so many people were watching. “It is good to see you again, Your Grace,” she said, before rising.
After several pleasantries that David handled, they entered a crush of people. It was hot and loud, and she felt a drip of wax land on her shoulder from an elaborate chandelier overhead.
David smiled and brushed it off. “Let me know when you want to leave.”
“We just arrived,” she said, as someone bumped into her from behind. “And besides, I haven’t yet begun to make you proud of me.”
Chapter 20
David stared down at Victoria, her determined eyes reflecting the light of thousands of candles. He knew that there had been a time in her life when this would have frightened her to death.
Not anymore. Now she intended to make him proud of her. For a moment he felt a lump in his throat, a feeling of tenderness for her that startled him with its intensity.
Regardless of who was watching, he trailed his gloved fingers down the side of her face, imagined the softness of her skin.
“I’m already proud of you,” he whispered. “Can you be proud of me?”
“Oh, David, maybe we each have to be proud of ourselves first.”
She looked at him as if anything was possible. He gave her a brisk smile and stepped back.
“Are you ready?”
He pulled her hand around his elbow and led her through the room, stopping at occasional clusters of people to introduce his wife.
Victoria was serene and elegant and charmed every person she met. David began
to think that it was because of her that he noticed so few under-currents in every conversation. But he kept waiting for someone to be openly rude, and it could have ruined the evening for him.
But he wasn’t going to let it.
Then Lady Augusta Clifford, whom they’d last encountered at the dressmaker’s, cornered them between a potted fern and the piano.
“Lord and Lady Thurlow, how good to see you again.” She glanced down at Victoria’s gown, and her smile faltered. “How wonderful you look in the garment Madame Dupuy pieced together for you.”
David took an angry breath, but Victoria squeezed his elbow and said, “Thank you so much, Lady Augusta. And I feel wonderful tonight, which is even more important, don’t you think?”
“Hmmm,” the woman said, then fixed her gaze on David. “I have a question that only you can answer, Lord Thurlow. Have you heard of Southern Railway?”
He called on every acting skill he possessed to look at her blankly. “Yes. Why?”
“I’m traveling to Dover in several months, and I was going to use their trains. My husband suggested that since you invested in it, perhaps we should do the same.”
She only wanted to talk about investments, but David’s worst fear about the ruination of all his plans hit him hard. “It is a good investment.” He took Victoria’s elbow. “Excuse us, but we’re both quite thirsty.”
Lady Augusta blinked. “Why—of course.”
David used his height to his advantage, and spotted the quickest way to the terrace. After threading his way through dozens of couples, he reached the tall glass doors and pushed them open. The gust of cool air refreshed him.
“Breathe, David.”
He frowned down at Victoria as she drew him to the balustrade, then slipped behind a tall column, shielding them from any curious people near the door.
She tried to fan him with her hand, her laughter swelling her breasts rather dangerously in that gown. Under the moonlight, her skin glowed, her eyes flashed.
“I think I’m breathing well enough,” he said.
“Good.”
And then she kissed him. The shock of her softly parted lips against his inflamed a desire for her that had become so much a part of him that he didn’t question it any longer. He pulled her against him, groaning at the pressure of her full breasts against his chest.
Victoria’s senses floundered. She was pressed up against her husband, who held her as if he might never let her go. His mouth was so gentle at first, as always, light kisses against her lips. She felt the prickly brush of his chin, heard his groan that echoed her own. She didn’t care where she was, or who might be watching her.
All she cared about was that David was kissing her back—an unplanned, spontaneous burst of passion practically in public. It satisfied her right down to her toenails.
And then he nipped at her lips, and when she parted them in surprise, his tongue swept into her mouth, and she could taste him in a way that made every intimate act they’d shared before seem incomplete. The way he licked deep inside her made her shudder with an urgent need for more. His mouth clashed with hers, opening, parting, almost drinking from her. After sweeping his hands down her body, he pulled her hips against his. There were too many garments between them to feel much, but she reveled in this rare sensation of being wanted.
“Thurlow!” a voice called from far away. “I saw you come out here.”
David ended the kiss, lifting his head but not releasing her. She swayed into him, and he smiled with a look of satisfaction and promise.
“This isn’t over,” he said in a low, rumbling tone that set off an answering vibration deep inside her.
How she loved what his voice could do to her.
She clutched his sleeves before he could release her. “David, can I face somebody like this?”
He cupped her face in his gloved hands, and she wished for the feeling of his skin against hers.
“You look like a wife, my wife. And besides, it’s only Simon.” He guided her away from the balustrade.
Lord Wade was walking toward them, his stride as jaunty as his manner. She couldn’t read his eyes in the moonlight, but his grin was wicked.
“Lady Thurlow,” he said, “your husband dragged you from the room before I could say hello.”
She smiled. “Hello, Lord Wade. And I wasn’t dragged. I came quite willingly.”
“Yes, married ladies have all the fun,” Lord Wade answered.
“You know that as well,” David said dryly.
Victoria stared in shock at Lord Wade, who only laughed.
“Ah, David, any married ladies sneaking off with me do so quite willingly.”
“Just remember the ‘willing’ part.”
Lord Wade put a hand dramatically on his chest. “Why, Lord Thurlow, is that a threat? You’ve somewhere acquired a married man’s jealousy.” He glanced at Victoria. “Not that I blame you.”
“Lord Thurlow has no need for jealousy,” Victoria said. “And this conversation is silly. Shall we go inside?”
She took David’s arm, and was satisfied when Lord Wade fell into place at her side.
As they entered the ballroom, no one seemed to be watching them. The orchestra was playing, and couples were jostling for position on the dance floor.
“Do you have a dance card?” Lord Wade asked.
David answered, “No” before she could even open her mouth. And then her husband swept her into a waltz that had almost the same intimacy as their kiss. She was floating through the air, as if her feet didn’t need to touch the floor. David looked at her with smoldering eyes, full of promise that the night was nowhere near over.
They spent only an hour at the ball, but that was long enough for Victoria. In the carriage on the way home, she didn’t want to break the delicious spell of anticipation that pulled between them.
Inside their town house, he took her hand and led a fast pace up the stairs. When she nearly tripped on the final steps, he swung her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way, as if she weighed nothing.
She felt smugly happy when David ordered a grinning Anna out of the room and shut the door on her.
They were alone. Her arms were about her husband’s neck; his arms held her close—as close as possible with skirts and petticoats puffing up her gown where it draped from her legs.
He let her down very slowly, so that her body rubbed against his. Then he pressed her up against the door and kissed her again, quick and deep and full of hot pleasure. She had felt certain David was hiding a passionate nature; every night’s gentleness and intimacy had only proved it. But now she felt giddy with the knowledge that he had to touch and kiss her, had to have her.
His hands kneaded her shoulders as they kissed. With a sudden tug, her breasts were suddenly overflowing the gown.
He looked down at what he’d revealed, then murmured her name as he dropped to his knees. His mouth on her breasts made her melt inside, made every passionate feeling roar to unfulfilled heights. He licked her and nipped her and drew her nipple into his mouth, then worked his magic on the other breast. If he hadn’t been holding her up with the press of his body, she knew she would have collapsed in a boneless heap.
David let his fingers caress her breasts as he spoke. “How do we get you out of this gown?”
She licked her lips. “Anna…sewed me in where the bodice meets the skirt.”
He groaned and dropped his head to her chest. She let herself hold him then, circle her arms about his head, feel the texture of his hair.
He suddenly turned her around and began to unhook each clasp in the bodice.
“I’m ripping the stitches,” he said.
As each thread popped, she gave a delicious little shudder. Soon her bodice slid to her waist, then the heavy mass of the gown fell around her feet. But there were still so many clothes between them.
David dispatched them quite professionally, layer after layer of petticoat, then her corset, all while she still faced the
door. She took a deep, satisfying breath, expanding her lungs for the first time that evening. She wore only her chemise over her drawers, and even that had fallen to her waist. Then there was only stillness behind her.
“Turn around,” he said.
She did so, leaning back against the door, hands pressed to the wood. David was sitting back on his heels, watching her with so much expectation.
Then as he looked into her eyes, he reached for her chemise and pulled it off. He tugged on the string of her drawers, then guided the loose fabric slowly down her hips until she was naked.
Trembling, she let him look, knowing that the passion in his eyes was all for her. His hands settled on her hips and then skimmed down her thighs.
“Stand with your legs apart.”
She obeyed, stepping out of her drawers, then held her breath as his fingers trailed up her thighs, then brushed across her curls. She gasped, but he didn’t linger, just continued to caress a path up her stomach to her breasts, which he touched and teased until she was a quivering wreck.
“Please, David,” she whispered, not knowing what she wanted. Could he give it to her?
He smiled as his hands began a downward journey. She watched the concentration on his face, experienced the knowledgeable gentleness of his hands. When he reached her thighs, this time he trailed his fingers up the insides, taking his time until she thought she’d whimper with the sensations he wrung from her. Was he really supposed to touch her there?
And then he did, caressing deeper and deeper with each sweet stroke. His fingers glistened with wetness.
“David,” she whispered, “why am I the only one who’s nude?”
Still kneeling at her feet, he looked up into her face. “Because I can’t bear to stop touching you. Trust me.”
She nodded. He leaned forward to kiss her stomach, and then his fingers resumed their questing. She felt a sudden surge of passion and groaned.
