She studied his eyes, unable to fathom his thoughts. “A symptom of what?”
“Of being a rotten cad.” He took her hands in his. “We are husband and wife. We cannot forever be at odds.”
“Your actions have proven otherwise to me.” She tried to escape from his touch but he was persistent and stronger. “I understand you do not care for me, and I never cared for you. I never wish to ever be in your presence again.”
“Victoria.” He gripped her waist and pulled her into his tall, lean body, anchoring her against him. He lowered his head until their noses nearly bumped. His breath was a hot, invisible curtain drawing over her lips.
Despite her anger and disillusionment, she was breathless, caught in his smoldering gaze. “I think that I hate you,” she whispered. She hated him as much for what he had done as the way he made her feel. Dizzy, confused, hopelessly wanting. How could she want such an unfeeling rake? What had he ever done but lie to her and manipulate her to suit his own interests? And yet his mouth on hers made her shamefully vulnerable.
“Before you can hate someone, you must have loved them first,” he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth.
She tried to squelch the rampant stirring of desire his nearness and heated glances produced. “You speak like a man who has learned from experience,” she observed.
He shook his head slowly. “I have never loved anyone.”
She supposed she shouldn’t be disappointed to have final confirmation that he’d never harbored a tender feeling toward her. But the revelation still stung. Surely he must have loved someone at some point in his life?
“Not your mother?”
His expression was impassive as ever. “My mother only had time for balls and lovers. What was there to love?”
“Your father the duke then,” she suggested, thinking of the rigid, silver-haired man she had met on only a handful of occasions. His demeanor was hopelessly grim and disapproving at all times, it seemed.
“I neither hate him nor love him.” Pembroke’s beautiful mouth drew into a sneer. “I feel nothing for the man. My hatred would give him power, and I refuse to give him anything.”
She was once more baffled. “How can you feel nothing? He’s your blood, your family.”
He met her gaze. “Family means little to those who easily betray it. He has not inspired anything in me other than a desire to be the thorn in the lion’s paw.”
Something must have happened between the duke and her husband. Pembroke surely lied when he said he felt nothing. It seemed odd indeed that she would have been married to the earl for so many months while so much of his life remained unknown to her. She had to believe there was a reason behind his lack of faith.
Or perhaps that was her heart wanting to believe. Focusing her thoughts proved difficult while trapped in the seductive spell cast by being in his arms. It would not do. She’d finally found her strength, and she couldn’t abandon it now.
She gathered up her courage to say what she’d decided she must. “I don’t want to be married to you any longer, Pembroke.”
He stilled, his hands tightening on her cinched waist. “I beg your pardon?”
He seemed genuinely aghast. Victoria felt the heat of his large hands even through the French silk of her day gown, the layers of her undergarments, and the stiffness of her corset. Dear heavens, she wished she was not so drawn to him.
“I no longer wish to be your wife,” she elaborated, her voice as pinched as her waist felt.
“I’m afraid you’re a bit tardy in that realization, my dear. We’re irrevocably wed. We’ve consummated our union.” His gaze was scorching upon her. “Surely you haven’t forgotten? The law has strict requirements in these matters.”
Oh he was a wilier opponent than she had realized. He knew all too well that mentioning the consummation of their marriage would bring with it an onslaught of memories. Pleasurable memories. She’d had no complaints in her marriage bed other than that her husband had disappeared from it and chosen to share it with others instead. She could not forget his sins, particularly after he had flaunted it by living with that woman.
“You abandoned me,” she pointed out, “and I have ample proof of adultery.”
“Complete shite,” he said. “Everyone knows divorce is only granted when one of the parties is a fair candidate for the lunatic asylum. More importantly, how can I have abandoned you when I’ve returned?”
It was true that divorce was rarely granted, particularly in the English aristocracy. Indeed, seeking divorce was seldom attempted for the dreadful fall from grace that ensued. Husbands and wives could do as they wished in seeking bed partners as long as the scandal was not too great. It was Victoria’s experience that the Marlborough House Set, including the prince himself, made adultery into a sport. She simply hadn’t realized she’d been marrying a man who subscribed to the same belief. She had not taken her vows lightly, despite the financially motivated underpinnings of their union.
The way he held her in his arms now could not sway her. Must not sway her.
“I want a divorce,” she said with quiet force.
His mouth flattened. “Preposterous, if not altogether impossible.”
“You don’t want a wife,” she pointed out, trying to wrestle away from his grasp without success.
