“Am I to be forever reminded of my past misdeeds?”
“I’m not one to quibble over definitions, but I do seem to recall that only a fortnight ago, you were engaging in misdeeds at the Belgravia house with a Signora Rosignoli. That hardly seems so far away as to be deemed past.” It was her turn to raise a brow. “Until you’ve proven you’ve changed for good, I remind myself as much as I remind you.” For her own self-preservation, she added silently.
“I’ve told you before that I never wanted to hurt you, Victoria.” He put down his spoon. “My battle is with my father, not you, and I regret that you were caught up in the crossfire.”
The acknowledgment seemed genuine, but so had his interest in her during their courtship. Even if he was being honest now, she didn’t know if it was enough. “Thank you,” she offered simply. “I am gratified you’ve realized that much, at least.”
“You are most welcome.” He studied her intently. “Now, I find I’ve tired of the soup course. Have you?”
Her turtle soup had long gone cold. She nodded, watching warily as he rose from the table and stalked toward her. He stopped when he was at her side, leaning his hip negligently against the table. He framed her face with his large hands.
“We both know I never wanted to be a husband when I married you,” he said at last, his tone grave.
His acknowledgment had an air of deep candor to it, far more than his effortless flirtation and charming grins did. She searched his bright gaze, wondering if she could trust him. Wondering if she should. It occurred to her that what had happened in the past did not hold as much power over her life as what could happen in the future.
“And what of now?” she asked. “What do you want now?” It was the question that seemed to matter the most.
His gaze grew shuttered. “I have a duty to do by you.”
She frowned, trying to understand him. His hands were still a warm, tempting touch on her face. “Duty is not a want.”
“Sometimes it becomes a want,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to crush hers.
The hunger of his kiss took her completely by surprise. He slid his palms down over her arms and hauled her to her feet. Her chair toppled over behind her. She clutched at his shoulders, opening to his questing tongue. His words swirled through her mind, confusing her all the more. Was he saying he wanted her? Or that he still considered her a duty?
She couldn’t be sure, but all she did know for certain was that he was undoing the hidden jet buttons at the back of her bodice. He dragged the lace-capped sleeves down over her arms, drawing her gown, chemise, and corset cover to her waist. The creamy tops of her breasts were exposed above her satin corset.
He tore his mouth from hers to gaze upon the flesh he’d revealed. His eyes were hot, glittering with lust and, unless she was mistaken, appreciation.
“Scarlet?”
Flushing again, she looked at the extravagant red corset she’d had commissioned in Paris before her nuptials. “It’s my favorite color,” she said, slightly embarrassed by her whim.
“I adore it.” He dropped a kiss upon each of her breasts, cupping them through the fabric and stiff whalebone that helped her curves to attain the proper shape. “I’d adore it even more if it was on the floor.”
She gasped, reality returning to her at his bold pronouncement. “We mustn’t. Not during dinner. What would the servants say?”
He looked up at her, a wicked expression on his face. “I expect they’d say that I’ve gone mad, and I’m afraid they wouldn’t be too far off the mark.”
“I must say I prefer mad Will over sane Pembroke any day,” she confessed.
The old Pembroke certainly wouldn’t have all but made love to her over dinner. Goodness, what was she thinking, allowing him to cajole her into such scandalous behavior? Bad enough he had her at sixes and sevens. Now, she wasen dishabilleduring the soup course.
“I suppose you’re right.” He sighed and began straightening her desperately askew bodice. “It wouldn’t do to ruin the servants’ proper opinion of us. But I’m afraid I cannot wait much longer for you, my dear, else I’ll go mad in truth.”
He wanted her.
He wanted the shy woman he’d married for money. His attentions had not been feigned. His scorching passion in the music room had been real. Her stomach upended like a tipped teacup. Oh dear. She hadn’t permitted herself to even think of sharing the marriage bed with him again. It was far too tempting, far too dangerous to her heart. But part of her didn’t care. Part of her longed for passion. Forhim.
His hands were gentle as they righted her gown over her bared shoulders before reaching round the back to redo the hidden procession of buttons. “May I come to you tonight?”
The request sent her heart into a wild rhythm as passion slid through her body like warm honey. She closed her eyes for a moment, uncertain of what her answer should be. Very probably, it ought to be an outright “no”. And yet, she couldn’t deny she was drawn to him as ever. What could be the harm? It was only her heart at stake.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You may.”
e’d won. Already.
Will lingered in his study long after dinner’s end, nursing a brandy and soda water, brooding. He’d finally gotten what he wanted. His cock had been hard as hell for the duration of dinner, but he’d wanted to give Victoria time to prepare herself for his visit, so he’d gone off to his study.
