“I can hear you here,” he said, his breath warm over her breast, right before he sucked her nipple hard over and over, in sync with his probing fingers. He did so until she could no longer keep the pressure within her.
She exploded into a jarring blast of pleasure, crying out loudly. To her surprise and glee, he cried not long after, his warm seed spilling over her chemise.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Victoria,” Richard moaned her name in triumph.
At that moment, he wished, achingly so, that he could have done it inside her.
The thought was sharp enough to make him still. How was it that this was already enough to unravel him? He had known women before. He had indulged freely, without attachment, without caring about a future. Yet none of them had ever made him feel like this, as though he were standing on the edge of something irreversible.
And now, here was his wife, fingers still warm against his skin, leaving him feeling like a man barely holding himself together.
The duke knew that he was getting closer and closer to giving in to her wants. In his head, he reasoned that they could hire more nursemaids, governesses… He could afford the very best,the most capable of them. He could insulate Victoria from exhaustion, from sacrifice?—
But the reality continued to poke him, to prod him. Victoria would never accept being placed in the background when it came to children. Not Melody. Not any child. She would never be content to stand at a remove, watching others care where she longed to love.
Tonight, he felt even closer to her. Not merely because of what they had just shared, but because she had allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, open with him.
When he rose from the bed, intending only to fetch water and cloths, her hand shot out and caught his arm.
“Stay,” she pleaded, her blue eyes wide, innocent on a woman with wiles that could shatter him.
“I’m not leaving,” he said at once, the firmness in his voice meant as reassurance, not authority. “I swear it.” He softened his tone. “Let me just clean us up.”
Only then did she loosen her grip, let him slip out of it. Even that tiny brush of skin made his whole body heat up, as though walking under the scorching sun of a desert.
He gathered their discarded clothes, moving with an efficiency that felt almost comical given how little control he felt inside. He returned moments later with warm water, clean cloths, anda small vial of lavender oil he knew she favored. His movements were careful as he tended to her, soothing skin that had grown sensitive beneath his touch.
She watched him quietly.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said at last.
“I want to.”
That seemed to silence her. He draped a heavy velvet robe around her shoulders, drawing it closed before pulling her gently against him once more.
They settled into the bed together, limbs tangled, her head tucked beneath his chin. The fire crackled low in the hearth, its glow painting the room in gold and shadow. Outside, the night pressed close against the windows.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Yet something pulsed, pressed within Richard’s chest. Something that needed to come out. Something he needed to share with her.
“My father,” Richard began, his voice a low rumble against her temple, “and my brothers were men of few words. The feud with the Penwikes became the very foundation of their being. It wasn’t merely hatred—it was identity. Purpose. Obligation.”
His arm tightened around her waist. “Both families had become intensely involved to the point that it became their lives. Theythought keeping me away would spare me.” A humorless huff escaped him. “Instead, I learned how to listen. How to disappear when necessary. How to fight when I couldn’t.”
Victoria rested her chin on his chest, angling herself to see his face. “And how to feel?”
“That,” he admitted, “was never taught.”
He swallowed before continuing. “When I asked you to marry me, I thought myself… tainted. A plague, of sorts. We were married as strangers, but I believe I had enough decency to stay away from you and ensure that the Penwike poison would not affect you, too. You were innocent. But…instead, by hiding, by avoiding you, I starved us both. Of a life. Of a future.”
Victoria rested her chin on his chest, as if she was trying to find a better view of his face, of his eyes. To see the honesty in them.
“I know what it is to live in fear,” she said at last. “You’ve… you’ve likely heard of my father.”
“I have,” he said carefully.
“He was a tyrant, a man who loved his first wife so much that her death became the death of his decency. He lost whatever kindness he had left in him. Then he married my mother. He probably thought the best partner, the best kind of wife for him, had to be someone as coldly practical as he was. I think he believed that love was a weakness.”
