As though she hadn’t been thinking about her damned wedding night enough! Vix steadied her hands on the contents of her bag, blinking away the memory of sitting on the foot of Ambrose’s neatly made bed, staring at the closed door in numb, vibrating disbelief.
That door had been haunting her. The way it hadn’t opened again. The way he hadn’t come back and made good on all his sharp little threats.
Don’t touch me, she had said.
And he hadn’t. The scoundrel.
Had it been so easy for him as it had seemed? To just walk away like that? She had been so very curious what it would feel like to be toyed with by Ambrose Aster, and now she knew. Now she felt how it burned.
She shivered, that kiss from the night of the knighting flashing in her mind, the slow, patient brush of his lips.
What did hewant?
And once she learned the rules of all of this, this game of beds and bodies, how long would it take to master it? Would she ever learn to toy with him right back?
Vix was not a woman who tolerated an imbalance of power. She did not like it. She did not …
Did she?
And in the time it took to learn such mastery, would she have ceased to be a novelty to him? Would the spark she brought to his persistent, bored malaise have already been dulled to familiarity?
Was there time?
She set her jaw. She would make time. She would create a novelty and diversion for herself too, if she must. And if he grew bored, then so be it.
She would have already become Lady Aster.
Why should his boredom bother her? Why should it terrify her so? Especially when there was still yet so much to achieve, so much justice to pursue from the true wrongs that had been done to her.
She had wanted a husband. Not a romance.
“Hannah,” she said suddenly, pulling her comb out and moving to the stool to begin brushing out her long, curling tresses while the wand heated. “When you were raising money for the clinic, did you throw any events to solicit donations? A charity banquet or some such?”
Hannah glanced at her from where she was hanging up and brushing out the wedding dress, the fluffy, floating layers of aubergine tulle catching the first lights of sunrise. “No, but that is a good idea. The clinic will always need funds. Perhaps we should consider it next Season.”
“I want to throw one this Season,” she said firmly. “In lieu of a celebration of my marriage. Remember, we spoke of a ball? Of your connection to an earl and countess who might assist?”
Hannah blinked. “Yes, of course. There is still time for that. You wish to raise money for the clinic?”
Vix shook her head. “No. For my school, the one I attended as a girl. I wish to raise a fund for the scholarship girls. And control it. That part will be important. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” said Hannah, with immediate and unwavering enthusiasm. “I have gotten very good at this type of thing.”
“She has,” said Mae, though she herself looked a little concerned, watching Vix from the kettle with a little frown on her lips.
“Excellent,” said Vix, turning her back to Mae to continue her combing. “We shall start planning immediately after the wedding. I want to ensure there is enough time to obligate my old headmistress to attend.”
“How lovely of you,” said Rosalind absently, distracted by the cosmetics she was setting out in neat rows on top of the valise. “Very lovely.”
“That’s our Vix,” said Mae, her voice gone cool. “Lady Bountiful at heart.”
Vix shot her a look and got a raise of the chin in response.
Perfect. She imagined she’d be interrogated later, and cringed in response.
“Come curl my hair, you harpy,” she said, and immediately noted that her voice lacked its customary bite.
Mae still came anyway.
