“Of course, I am no expert,” she replied, tilting her chin with a mock arrogance. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “But I am certainly not a novice like you.”
“Oh, really?” he countered, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “I am a novice merely because I speak honestly? Because I say what I mean?”
Victoria leaned slightly toward him, her tone teasing, voice soft but carrying a sharp edge. “Yes, but you must say it in a way that makes others believe you mean it.”
He leaned closer, his gaze darkening. “Do you think I do not?” His voice had dropped to a hoarse murmur, low enough for only her to hear. “Perhaps you do not yet realize what I am capable of saying, or doing, to convey meaning. I am certainly adept at other methods of communication; I can make you blush with words.”
Victoria’s stomach fluttered violently, though she tried to dismiss it as nerves. She denied the rising warmth in her chest.
“I am not blushing,” she said firmly, though the lie was obvious even to herself.
The heat creeping up her neck and the rapid pulse at her temples betrayed her words.
Richard smirked, catching the subtle admission. “There you go, duchess,” he said, voice rough and commanding.
His proximity was oppressive and thrilling at once, and Victoria found herself trembling.
A charged silence hung heavy and suffocating. Victoria realized, with a mix of awe and fear, that she had never wanted more than what she felt now, more than mere freedom or security, more than domestic normalcy.
She wanted Richard, in ways she had yet to admit to herself, in ways that terrified her with their intensity.
Her lips parted slightly, and she allowed a faint sigh to escape, quickly swallowing it down, her stubbornness warring with the pull of desire.
“You can’t keep playing this game, Richard,” she whispered, voice low and insistent. “I am not someone you can simply discard, not after what … after that kiss.”
Her fingers itched to reach for him, to bridge the distance, but she restrained herself, unsure if she even had the right.
Richard’s face had shifted, the hardness of the duke—the man who could command rooms and subdue the ton—now present, serious and unyielding. His jaw clenched, his back ramrod straight, yet his eyes never left hers.
“Why, Richard?” she asked, the question raw, trembling with the weight of unspoken fears. “Why marry me if you always intended to leave me for a year? Why kiss me with such passion, only to vanish afterward?”
He remained silent as he tugged his gaze away from hers, staring ahead, jaw tight, his hands clasped in his lap as if restraining something far stronger than temper. The silence stretched, almost unbearable, and Victoria’s heart pounded with a mixture of dread and anticipation.
“You have always known about the feud, Victoria,” he finally said, voice low, almost hoarse. “I was honest about what could be expected. What you did not know … you may have gleaned from whispers. The feud is endless, stubborn. Unrelenting.”
Victoria’s breath caught. “I know only the surface of it, Richard. Generations of conflict … still alive. I do not understand why it would make you leave.”
“I am the last in the Hawksford line,” he admitted quietly, almost painfully. “My brothers are dead because of this feud. The Penwikes have no intention of dropping it. It is survival. Murderous survival. I could not risk you … or Melody … in the line of fire.”
A shiver ran through her. She had understood only superficially before, imagining danger in abstract terms. Now she felt the harsh reality of it, and it terrified her. His absence had been a measure of protection, a barrier between her and the threat she had barely perceived until tonight.
“I have taken precautions,” he continued, voice quieter now, tired but resolute. “Men are watching. The house. The estate. The grounds. I will not let Penwike, or anyone else, hurt you.”
“You should have told me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “That is not a matter for secrecy. It means something serious … something I deserve to know.”
He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in frustration, and for a moment, Victoria wanted nothing more than to reach out, to touch the strands and feel the warmth of him.
“It is not easy to discuss an ages-old feud, Victoria. At the time, I did not know you. Not fully. All I knew was the marriage, not theheart. I thought distance would keep you safe. That was the best favor I could give.”
She arched an eyebrow, challenging yet tender. “Is that so? And now? Why do you still avoid me?”
His eyes, dark and piercing, fixed on hers. In them, she saw the storm of his emotions: melancholy, hunger, desperation, and a longing he could not fully voice. She felt her own heartbeat echo in tandem, realizing how much power he held over her, not through force, but through his presence, his truth, his undeniable intensity.
For a long moment, they sat in the quiet intimacy of the carriage, each wrapped in thoughts and feelings that had no space for polite conversation, no room for social masks.
The tension was thick, palpable, and dangerous, yet Victoria found herself leaning into it, needing it, craving it, afraid of it, and drawn to it all at once.
She did not speak immediately, letting the silence hold them.
