He turned to Maria. “Leave at once, madam. You’ve done enough harm.”
And so too had he.
Victoria stood at the window in her chamber, staring out at the vast, sprawling acres that unfurled before Carrington House. This morning, its breathtaking beauty was lost on her. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her mouth, trying with all the determination within her to squelch the sob that threatened to rise from her throat. She would not cry. She would not shed a single tear.
Signora Rosignoli was as lovely as she’d imagined. Perhaps even more so, with her glossy jet hair beneath a handsome hat and a deep blue silk gown that emphasized her flashing brown eyes and her tiny waist to perfection. Even her voice was lovely, though she supposed that ought not to come as a surprise. The woman was a celebrated opera singer, after all.
When Victoria had come upon Will and the elegant, exotic woman in the drawing room, she’d been stunned. His hands had been upon the woman’s arms. They’d been speaking lowly, their exchange animated and heated.Damn you, Maria, she’d heard him say. And Victoria hadknown. She’d known the identity of the stranger in her husband’s arms without needing to ask.
She realized with painful clarity that doubt and fear weighed a great deal more than any falling branch ever could, and when those twin monsters walloped a woman, they were enough to immobilize her. The silken skirts and undeniable beauty of Signora Rosignoli was the embodiment of her worries. Indeed, the Signora was the flowering vine of every small seed of misgiving Will’s actions had planted deep within Victoria’s heart.
What a fool she was. What a pathetic coward. She’d stood on the threshold, taking in the scene before her, and so many witty setdowns had tumbled over themselves in her mind. Yet she’d not spoken a single word. Instead, she’d turned and raced back to her chamber to hide as though she were a scullery maid who’d been caught filching a silver spoon.
The door to her chamber rattled, indicating someone attempted to gain entry. She’d locked it on the chance he may tear himself away from his paramour long enough to attempt to placate her. But that he’d followed so closely on her heels still surprised her.
“Victoria.” His voice was muffled, bearing an unmistakable tinge of desperation.
No, she wouldn’t answer. Would not let him in. She hugged herself, eyes trained on the green expanse below. “Go away, Pembroke.”
“Would you care for a scene? I’ll break down the goddamn door,” he warned.
“You would only do so at your own expense.”
A loud bang echoed in the silence. Perhaps it was his palm slamming against the door. She heard muffled footfalls. Very likely he was returning to his mistress’s side now. Maria, he had called her. Jealousy was an unforgiving beast. It made her hate the woman in the drawing room below. Just the notion of Will touching another woman in such tender passion, of doing to her what he’d done to Victoria…she couldn’t bear it if he wanted to carry on with a mistress. She didn’t care what was expected of the wife of an earl. Being a future duchess held no appeal for her. She had wanted only his heart, and that was a dear commodity indeed.
The door joining their chambers together rattled next. She’d locked it as well. Never let it be said that she was not a woman of preparation. “Leave me be, Pembroke. Go back to your strumpet.”
“Open this door, Victoria.” It was an imperious command, one that expected obedience.
Also never let it be said that she was a woman of obedience. “No,” she called, not moving from her watch.
“Open. The. Damn. Door.”
More pounding ensued. It suggested vehement determination. Dear heavens. Was that the sound of splintering wood? At last, she tore her gaze away from the window to find the door flying open and crashing against the wall.
He stalked into the room, his expression hard, jaw tense. In a breath, he stood before her, tall and fierce and handsome, the cad. She tipped up her chin in defiance and faced him, locating her mettle after all.
“You’re quite the actor, Pembroke. First you played the regretful husband, then the charming lover, and now the angry brute.” Her voice was devoid of emotion, and her bravado pleased her. “Tell me, which one of these roles suits you best? I confess I don’t particularly care for the angry brute, but I suppose ruining doors is preferable to being a lying reprobate.”
He caught her when she would have spun away from him, hauling her against him. “The only role that interests me is that of your husband.”
Did he think her an imbecile? She dug the heels of her palms into his chest. “You cannot expect me to believe that after I came upon you with your mistress in the drawing room.”
He refused to release her, his gaze pinned to hers as though he could make her believe him with the sheer vividness of his eyes. She looked away, fixing her vision on the window once more.
“I had no idea she would come here,” he said. “If she’d but sent word, I’d have made it bloody clear to her that she was not welcome nor will she ever again be welcome. What you came upon was me about to toss the bit of baggage out on her ear.”
Not half an hour ago, thebit of baggagehad been Maria. No, he would not charm his way out of this. He could not bring his mistress into their home and hold her in his arms without consequence. “Of course you would say so now that you’ve been discovered.”
“I would say so because it’s the truth, damn it. Look at me, Victoria.”
She refused to do so, partly because it hurt her heart too much and partly because he’d demanded it. “Leave my chamber. The door was locked for good reason.”
“Please look at me.” His tone had softened. “Would you have me beg? I’ll beg.”
He dropped to his knees before her, the action so unexpected that she couldn’t help but turn back to him. He’d humbled himself, staring up at her with an expression she’d never before seen on his face. Contrition? Desperation? She couldn’t be sure.
“Begging won’t help your cause,” she said without pity.
