But she didn’t allow it to show when supper ended and they arose. She was surprised but pleased when he invited her to play chess, and then all was forgotten. Victoria had always prided herself on her skill at the game—Papa had taught her when she was barely out of short-coats. But like Papa, Miles was a clever opponent, and it took all her concentration to pose a substantial challenge.
Miles won, but Victoria didn’t mind. This was the most enjoyable evening she’d passed in weeks.
A short time later, he escorted her upstairs to her room. At her door, they stopped. He stood close, so close were she to draw a deep breath her breasts would have brushed the lapels of his coat. There was an odd tightening in her chest. The evening had passed in such accord, she wondered almost frantically if to night would be the night he would make her truly his wife. And if it were, how would she feel…? She was afraid—oh, not of him, but of what he would do—to be sure. And yet, a shiver of excitement coursed along her veins.
“Victoria.”
The sound of her name startled her. Eyes like silver dwelled on her upturned face. She glanced up, swallowing a gasp.
“Yes?” The word was but a breath. All the world seemed to totter on this one moment.
A half-smile curled his lips. “I merely wished you goodnight, countess. And—sleep well.”
With that he was gone. Her hopes plunged. She gazed into the shadows after him, her spirits forlorn.
It seemed she had her answer after all.
A week passed in much the same fashion. Supper, then chess. Sometimes a glass of wine in the salon. Victoria gladly put aside other engagements to sup with her husband.
Just being near him made her stomach clench—not that he was unsightly. Lord, no! The sweep of his neck was long and corded, his jaw taut and strong. His brow was broad and regal, his lips beautifully chiseled. No longer was his mouth so sternly set as it was during those first days of their marriage. He didn’t smile often, but when he did…
But it wasn’t enough to be with him. She wanted him to touch her. She ached for him to hold her as he had the night she’d cried, to feel his arms snug and tight about her once more.
She couldn’t deny what her heart was telling her.
Something was happening. Something strange. Something wonderful.
Something…impossible.
Oh, there was no doubt that Miles’s reserve had thawed. He was unfailingly polite, occasionally teasing, no longer coolly remote. With every day that passed, he treated her with an ever-increasing familiarity. But Victoria wanted more. She longed to be treated like a woman.
She longed to be treated like a wife…his wife.
It was a point that caused her no end of frustration. Other gentlemen had been drawn to her. Other gentlemen had found her face and form attractive. Why not Miles? And perhaps most difficult of all, what was she to do?
Painful though it was, she couldn’t forget what he’d said the night they wed.
A word of advice for you, countess. I shouldn’t force my attentions on a gentleman—let alone kiss him…a man finds such boldness distasteful.
Perhaps it was time she did something she’d never dreamed she would do. Something she’d never thought she would have to do.
Seduce her husband.
She’d indulged in mild flirtations now and again. But to go about seducing a gentleman was something she’d not dared to consider.
So how did one go about seducing one’s husband?
Miles was different than the men she knew. It was apparent almost from the start that he was not a man to spend his evenings dining and gambling at the various gentleman’s clubs. No, he was not a bold and strutting London peacock.
So, Victoria determined, she must be industrious in her efforts, without being obvious. Persistent, without throwing herself at his feet. Sophisticated, like a femme du monde, for perhaps that was the sort of woman he wanted.
With that in mind, she knocked lightly on the door to his study one afternoon. Without waiting for him to bid her enter, she strolled within, as if she’d done so a hundred times before. Miles sat behind a huge mahogany desk, his quill poised over the open pages of a thick ledger. His head came up at her entrance.
His eyes flickered. Clearly he was startled to see her.
“Victoria. What brings you here?”
She positioned herself directly before him. “I’m here to take you away from such drudgery as this.” She nodded at his ledger. Her tone was airy and gay, or so she hoped. Inside she was a quivering mass of nerves.
Leather creaked as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh?”
“I thought we might take the curricle, you and I. I know a lovely spot just outside the city, and I thought we might have luncheon there.”
“This afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” There was no bite in his tone, just blunt curiosity.
Her face felt stiff from smiling. “Because it’s a lovely day outside.”
He hardly looked convinced.
“And because I-I’d like to share it with you.” So much for sophistication, she thought dryly. But at least it was out, though all in a rush.
But she had captured his undivided attention. He looked at her then, and in a way that had never happened before. Something kindled in his eyes, something she dared not name for fear it was otherwise. She thought surely her heart would burst the bounds of her body when he put aside his quill, arose, and came to stand before her.
Time hung suspended, a never-ending moment. A lean, dark hand lifted toward her face. His lips parted, as if to speak.
But what ever he was about to say was not to be. The doors were swept wide and Nelson stepped in.
“Your lordship, we’ve just received a note from your tailor asking if he may stop by this afternoon, if at all possible.”
“It will have to wait.” Victoria’s heart skipped a beat, for his gaze never wavered from hers. “I’m spending the afternoon with my wife.”
Several hours later they lounged beneath the shade of a stout oak tree, replete from the meal Cook had packed. Victoria sat upon a soft down blanket, her skirts spread out around her.
There was a farm house nearby. A low stone fence traversed the fields. Errant shafts of sunlight winked through the branches, bathing them in warmth and sunshine. As she had just told Miles, this place was one she knew well. When Mama was still alive, she and Papa had brought her here often. Even when Mama was gone, she and Papa had continued to visit.
Miles lay stretched out beside her, leaning back on an elbow. He’d removed his neckcloth and discarded his jacket. In polished boots, skin-tight breeches and shirt, an aura of undeniable masculinity clung to him. Conversation was like the stream that flowed nearby, lazy and idle and meandering.
“There’s a place much like this near Lyndermere Park,” he murmured.
“Lyndermere Park?”
“My estate in Lancashire.”
“Lancashire! What a long way from London. I didn’t know you had an estate there.”
There was a brief pause. “Actually, I live there most of the year. I usually stay in London only a month or so while attending business matters.”
“Well, I can certainly see why. London becomes quite tiresome at times.” She pulled a face. “Hot and smelly in summer. So dreary and cold in winter.”
Miles made no comment.
“So,” she went on lightly, “if you were in Lyndermere Park this very moment, what might you be doing?”
The makings of a smile tugged at his lips. “I might well be mucking through a field in search of a lost sheep.”
Victoria chuckled. “You? I can’t imagine you chasing after lost sheep.”
“And I can’t imagine you in anything but silk and ribbons, the toast of the Season.”
His voice was so quiet, almost somber, that she glanced at him sharply.
“Miles?” She probed very gently. “What is it?”
His lips continued to carry the slightest t
race of a smile. “Nothing, Victoria. You needn’t concern yourself.”
Something was wrong. She couldn’t see it in his features. But she could feel it.
Unthinkingly she placed her fingertips on his sleeve. “Miles,” she pleaded softly, “if something is troubling you, I wish you would tell me.”
His gaze dropped to her hand, then returned to her face. “Do you, Victoria?” Slowly he sat up. His tone was almost whimsical. “And what would you say if I told you I lusted after my wife—now. This very moment.”
A smile grazed her lips. “I would say…you need lust no more.”
In one swift move she was caught up hard against him. For the space of a heartbeat, his eyes blazed down on her. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Do you?”
Her fingertips splayed wide across his chest. Beneath she could feel the strength of muscle and bone. “Yes,” she whispered recklessly. Dangerously. Uncaring that all she felt lay vivid in her eyes. “Yes.”
That one word was like a trigger being pulled. His arms locked tight around her back. Then his mouth came down on hers, and it was just as she’d imagined it. His kiss was fierce, yet wondrously so. She could taste passion, heady and sweet, and a driving need that matched her own.
Her heart rejoiced, for nothing had ever felt so right—nothing.
Blindly she clung to him, caught in the tempest of emotions gone wild and rampant. She felt herself seized by a strange, inner trembling. Her breasts seemed to ache, for what she didn’t know. Lean male fingers traced the deep rounded neckline of her bodice. Victoria’s heart slammed to a halt, but she didn’t pull away.
The pad of his thumb just barely grazed the peak of her breast.
Fire seemed to blaze from the place he touched so fleetingly, but now she knew what she so longed for. Time stood still while those devil fingers circled and teased first one nipple, then the other, until those soft pink crests stood thrusting and erect. Her breath was but a ragged tremor. Miles, she thought yearningly. Oh, Miles…
But there was more. No protest found voice as he tugged loose the drawstring of her bodice. The neckline of her gown was swept from her shoulders, exposing the rounded softness of her breasts. He stared down at her, at pink swelling flesh that no man had ever seen before.
Victoria’s eyes locked helplessly on his face. She prayed that she would find favor in the eyes of her husband. But all at once his features might have been carved in stone.
“No,” he muttered, as if to himself. And then again, with a fierce bite in his tone: “This isn’t right. Dammit, this isn’t right.” He nearly flung himself from her.
She felt his withdrawal like a blow. Stunned and confused, Victoria sat up slowly. “Of course it is,” she said faintly. “We—we’re married!”
His jaw clenched hard. His gaze veered away from her. “It’s time we left,” he said curtly. His profile was stark and unyielding.
Her fingers were shaking as she tried to retie the strings of her bodice. He didn’t want her, she thought numbly. She’d made a fool of herself for nothing. She had thrown herself at him for nothing.
At last she was ready. Through eyes that were painfully dry, she stared at him. At a loss for words, for understanding, she struggled for both. “Miles,” she said, very low. “Miles, please tell me—”
“We’re leaving, Victoria. We’re leaving.”
His voice sliced through her as cleanly as a knife. Despair clamped tight around her breast, raw and bleeding. Choking back tears, Victoria picked up her skirts and ran toward the curricle, her heart in shreds.
Not one word passed between them the entire way home.
Once there, Victoria fled to her room. Only then did the tears come, slow and scalding.
Six
At first Victoria was devastated…little wonder that she avoided Miles over the next few days—or did he avoid her? It was only later, when she could react to the incident with her mind and not her heart, that she realized…
His kiss had not lied. He had felt something for her. She hadn’t imagined the fire in his kiss, the longing in his arms.
Something was holding him back. That was the only answer. Yet what could it be? What? Another woman? She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t.
Her husband was a quiet, private man, a man who would not reveal his every side for all to see; she had concluded that Miles was not one to trust lightly. Yet neither would she have deemed him a man of secrets. So why was it only now that he had spoken of his home in Lancashire?
It was odd…or was it? Perhaps it was only that the days had swept aside the boundaries between them.
Only now the barriers were back, as staunchly formidable as ever.
Still, she was determined not to sit home and wilt away. When an invitation to a ball given by Lord and Lady Devon arrived one morning, she decided she would attend the event, to be held the next week.
Supper that night was a dismal affair. Yet Victoria took quiet note of Miles’s attention upon her, his regard unsmiling—and enigmatic. Yet once—once—she caught the flare of some unknown emotion on his face…He stared at her with eyes that seemed to burn her very soul.
Hope burgeoned within her. As a footman removed the roast hare she’d hardly touched, she managed a bright smile.
“We received an invitation today from Lord and Lady Devon. They are giving a ball the Thursday after next. I should very much like to attend.”
His reply was brief and to the point. “Then do so.”
A pang swept through her. Gone was the man who had held her fast against him, whose mouth had covered hers with a passion unbridled and uncontrolled, a hunger fierce and un-checked. Everything within her cried out the injustice—she hated the cold, indifferent stranger he had become.
Her smile slipped. Icy-cold fingers linked together in her lap, for she was not prepared to let the matter rest so easily. “Miles,” she said softly. “Will you attend with me?”
“I think not, Victoria. You are fond of such affairs. I am not.”
They spent the rest of the meal in strained silence. Victoria pleaded tiredness soon thereafter. She excused herself and fled to the sanctuary of her bedchamber, blinking back tears.
She did not sleep. In anguished turmoil, she paced the length of her room, back and forth. But one thing was clear…This could not go on. They could not go on like this.
It seemed she had but one choice.
Miles had come upstairs some time ago; she could still hear him stirring in the room next to hers. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she tapped on his door.
He opened it. A winged black brow arched. “What is it, Victoria?” His tone was gruff, his manner impatient.
Her eyes were riveted to his face. His expression was remote and scarcely encouraging.
“May I come in?” she ventured.
He wanted to refuse. She could see it in the flicker of his eyes, yet he opened the door so she could step within. She advanced several paces, then turned to face him, thankful he couldn’t see her knees trembling.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” she said quickly, “but I thought we might…talk.”
“Oh? And what is on your mind, Victoria?”
Her eye ran over him nervously. She was still fully dressed, while Miles wore only a maroon velvet dressing gown. Loosely belted at the waist, there was a generous slice of bare chest exposed. Her stomach fluttered, for she had the oddest sensation he wore not a single stitch beneath. Her mind balked. Did he sleep naked? Victoria couldn’t help it; her imagination ran away with her. His body would be like his chest, all long, hair-roughened limbs. And all she could think was that he would be as breathtaking without benefit of clothes as he was in his most elegant attire…
She gestured vaguely. “I know our marriage did not start off well,” she said, her voice very low. “But I’d begun to think it was not such a mistake after all—and not so very long ago.” She paused, but Miles said nothing. He merely remained where he was, his hands at his side, his e
xpression impassive.
Victoria swallowed, forcing herself to go on. Faith, but this was the hardest thing she’d ever done! “Indeed, Miles, I-I thought things were progressing quite well. I-I thought everything had changed between us. That day in the country, when you—you kissed me. Or”—her voice fell, no more than a wisp breath of sound—“have you forgotten?”
His tone was harsh. “It should be forgotten.”
In but an instant her wistful longing was shattered. Her control grew perilous. It was all she could do not to run crying from the room. “Why should it be forgotten? You—you act as if you are ashamed of what happened.”
The cast of his jaw was rigid. “It shouldn’t have happened, Victoria. Need I say more?”
Pain was like molten fire in her lungs. “Yes,” she said raggedly. Recklessly. “Yes! Why is it wrong to—to desire me? To kiss me? To hold me? Miles, I-I don’t understand.”
Her voice caught as she struggled for words, for composure. Then suddenly it was all coming out in a rush. “I-I wanted you to kiss me, Miles. I wanted you to touch me and—and never stop. I wanted to be your wife in…in every way. Oh, Miles, I-I thought you wanted me, too!”
His features were cast in stone. “I think you forget, Victoria. If I had not stopped, there could be no annulment. Did you consider that?”
Victoria stared at him unblinkingly. Her lips were trembling so that she could hardly speak. “Is that it?” she whispered. “You still wish an annulment?”
Miles said nothing. He merely stood there, his posture wooden, his eyes downcast.
She persisted. “Do you want an annulment, Miles? Do you?”
Time slipped by. And in that deepening silence, she could almost hear her heart breaking…
Her throat clogged painfully. “You do. You do, but you don’t have the courage to tell me to my face. Look at me, damn you.” Her chin climbed high. Tears shimmered in her eyes, tears that betrayed the cost of her jagged cry. “Look at me and tell me!”
He looked at her. For one heart-stopping, frozen moment, their eyes collided…and what she saw there—what she didn’t see there—shredded the last of her control.
Scandal's Bride (Three Times a Bride Anthology) Page 5
