Her body wanted more of him, even though he was skillful with his hands and tongue, but she understood him. He was doing it for her, and she was willing to do anything to please him, too.
“I know what you are feeling,” he said. “I feel it, too. I want you. I have never wanted anyone as much as I do you.”
He proved it by kissing her forehead, her nose, and then her mouth. She sighed softly, her hand still insistently rubbing him through his trousers. He proceeded to kiss her neck.
“I won’t leave you aching, Victoria,” he whispered onto her skin. “I will give you exactly what you want. Over and over.”
Soon, she was completely bare and lying on her bed, a gift and offering to him. He hovered over her, spreading her legs. She gasped. If she did not know any better, he was planning to consummate their marriage.
He nibbled her neck and peppered kisses down her chest. Then, with one quick movement, he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked. It was gentle at first, almost tickling. Then, he increased the suction. It made her squirm, the movement making her core pulse with need.
The moon kept watch as he switched breasts to suckle, licking the tip and laving her breast before sucking once more. She whimpered, wanting more. Needing more. As he continued his onslaught, his fingers reached for wet heat and slipped inside. With his mouth on her breasts and his fingers spreading and filling her, her hips undulated over the bed.
“That’s it. Let go, Victoria. Let go.”
He rubbed her clit in repetitive circles and continued thrusting his fingers in and out until her body shuddered. He kept his promise. She was sated.
Still, she wanted more. For now, it would do.
Chapter Nineteen
Victoria was still humming with pleasure at the new arrangement with Richard. He always made certain he pleasured her almost every night of the week. Sometimes, she’d do the same for him with her hand. She knew she had yet to learn many things about lovemaking.
Love.
Nobody really mentioned that word. Sometimes, it gave her anxiety, but most of the time, she was just fine. Just like this Tuesday afternoon. She was reading a new volume of poetry while Melody lay on thick blankets on a rug nearby.
The background was soothing. At least she could read while also ensuring the baby was safe and comfortable, as well. The scene was perfect, with the sun streaming in and enveloping both of them with a warm glow of light.
But then, the front door slammed. Even the most preoccupied person would notice how the teacups rattled. Melody stopped babbling her little song.
“My lady, please,” Mr. Hawthorne begged, his voice sounding panicked. “Please wait in the drawing room while I announce you?—”
The butler seemed to be losing his composure more often as of late compared to the years of service he’d rendered to Hawksford.
Victoria immediately stood up. That sounded like only one woman she knew. Her instincts told her who it was before the uninvited guest strode into the library.
“Step aside, Hawthorne, if you know what’s good for you,” the familiar voice ordered coldly. “I am her mother. There is no need for me to wait at my daughter’s house.”
And just like that, the library doors flew open. In came Teresa Brighton, Dowager Marchioness of Grisham. To her credit, the woman had never looked less than the glamorous aristocrat she was, with her perfectly coiffed dark blonde hair and icy blue eyes. She wore midnight blue silk as if she were visiting someone beyond family, at least in Victoria’s eyes. She liked comfortable clothes, while her mother often reminded her to look her best anywhere she went.
Victoria could not help but feel cold apprehension. Despite their efforts to understand her mother, it just would not workout. Lady Grisham would always find a way to show them that they were right about her—that she only cared about herself. The woman had added to the trauma in her childhood, as she constantly attempted to tear her siblings down.
Victoria was a duchess now, no longer the hellion her mother perceived her to be or tried to tame.
“Mother,” Victoria began, keeping her voice firm and steady. She was fully aware of Melody babbling nearby. She would not shout in front of the baby, and she did not have a reason to shout—yet. “You do remember that you were forbidden to enter this house. You have not treated Daphne well as of late, and Daniel made your terms of residence perfectly clear.”
“Is that so?” Lady Grisham said, barely a whisper.
The Dowager Marchioness dropping her voice meant trouble. It meant that something else had caught her attention, something small and just as curious. She narrowed her eyes at Melody, just as the baby widened her eyes to inspect her.
“So,” the marchioness began, her voice taking a malicious tone. “What the ton has been saying is true. You have a child here. A supposed foundling.”
Supposed. Victoria somehow knew where this was going, and it was not going to be good.
“She has a name,” Victoria retorted, irritated, as she rose to block her mother’s view of Melody. “And her presence here is not your concern. As I’ve said earlier, you are forbidden from visiting. You must leave now.”
“You want the person who is concerned about your reputation and well-being to leave? Really, Victoria? I think not,” Lady Grisham drawled. “The ton is positively salivating over this matter. They say Richard has brought his bastard home. And guess what they are calling you? His barren wife. Wake up, Victoria. Listen to what people are saying. Is that child what people say she is? A mistake that has come to light? Now, you are taking care of his bastard for him?”
