“I am your wife,” she said simply. “It was my duty.”
“Ah, but I did not do my duty to you.”
She stopped and relinquished his arm, facing him again. Victoria had suffered far too much at his hands to pretend she hadn’t. “No,” she agreed quietly, “you did not.”
His expression turned wry. “I have been thinking of how I can make amends.”
“I suppose it wasn’t entirely your fault,” she said, taking pity on him a bit. “You didn’t want a wife.”
“It is true that my father forced my hand, but I begin to find I rather like having a wife.” He caressed her cheek. “Don’t go to London. Stay here with me. Carrington House needs you.”
Carrington House, he’d said, but not him. The omission was glaring. “I’ve drafted a list of changes that need to be made here. It’s with the estate ledgers. You may feel free to use it.”
“I don’t want a list,” he murmured, his tone low and intimate, sending warmth through her. “I want you. Tell me, what can be on this list of yours?”
She fought to keep her composure. “I recommend a raise for loyal retainers. It’s difficult indeed to keep good servants these days.”
He lowered his head, his lips exceedingly near to hers. “What else?”
She wanted him to kiss her but she forced herself to think. “The roof in the east wing has been leaking for some time. Funds need to be allocated for its repair, for if you don’t act soon, I fear the roof will be in danger of collapse. I understand the east wing is the original manor house, dating back several centuries. It ought to be saved.”
“Indeed?” His mouth remained distractingly close.
Her passion had become the historic, imposing, and awe-inspiring Carrington House. She’d made it her business to learn all of its shortcomings, all of its failures and weaknesses, all of its scars and wounds in need of mending. She was good at mending, figuratively speaking. In her family, she was the peacekeeper amongst her sisters.
“It is your family’s history, my lord, not mine,” she said, trying not to notice the proximity of his mouth to hers. “Were I you, I’d make more of an effort to preserve it. I realize there’s an expense, but surely we can find the means.”
“Surely.”
“I do think you’ve stopped listening to me.” She frowned.
“Of course I’m listening, darling. Do go on. What other ideas have you?” His tongue swept over her lower lip, tasting her as if she were a sugary treat. Something to be savored.
Dear heavens. Her mind went suddenly blank save for the need to feel his mouth upon hers.
“I can’t recall,” she admitted on a whisper.
“You see?” He grinned and gave her a quick kiss. “You must stay. What if I’ve questions about your list? What if you think of more changes to add to it? What if I want to ravish you again in the music room?”
His wicked question sent heat traveling through her, an answering pulse between her thighs. He was very good at destroying her defenses. Very good indeed. She hesitated, knowing that if she gave in to him it could well prove her undoing. But when she tried to muster the bitterness that had so long been her steadfast companion, she found it oddly absent.
I have been thinking of how I can make amends.
Could she trust him, this beautiful man before her who still remained so much a mystery? Dare she trust that he meant what he said? His words yesterday had revealed a part of her to herself that mystified and mortified her at the same time. She had remained at Carrington House not just out of duty but because it meant something to her. Becausehemeant something to her.
“I need you,” he said finally. “Please stay.”
Those three words tipped the scales inside her. “I shall stay,” she relented. “For a few days.”
“You won’t regret it, my dear.” He drew her hand to his lips for a lingering kiss, his stare searing her.
She fervently hoped he was right.
After turning about the gardens with Pembroke, Victoria returned to her rooms to announce her change of plans to her lady’s maid, Keats, only to find that her husband had already called off her trip without her knowledge. He was very sure of her, she thought to herself. Perhaps too sure of her. It was a niggling concern in her mind as she joined him for dinner that evening as had become their routine.
“You are utterly beautiful,” he murmured to her as he escorted her to dinner.
She’d chosen one of her best Worth gowns to wear that evening, a silk, satin, and velvet evening gown of dark green and ivory. The bodice hugged her curves and emphasized her bosom. It was complete with a skirt of shot cream silk and a drape of handmade French lace. The gown was from her trousseau, very different from the demure pastel gowns her mother had chosen for her before her marriage. Mother had never possessed an eye for fashion, and as a result, Victoria had faced her society debut with a wardrobe rife with ill-suiting frocks. She’d never had an occasion to wear a truly beautiful dress. Until now.
