Richard’s hand stilled at her back.
“My mother was absent during our childhood. So…my sisters, my brother, and I… we learned to deal with our father’s cruelty. Most people thought that, as the most troublesome of his children, I at least deserved the blows.”
“Nobody deserves to grow up in fear of their mother or their father,” Richard interjected.
She let out a slow breath. “I know. I know. And yet… because of them, because of my parents… I don’t know what it is like to be a good mother. Yes, I saw my sisters marry and have their own children, and they’ve grown to be wonderful mothers. But I… I am not like them. Not as steadfast as Marianne and Wilhelmina, not as thoughtful as Elizabeth and Daphne… That is the reason why I’m so terrified of Melody. I didn’t know how to hold her. I didn’t know if I even wanted children. I thought I would fail them.”
He lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are nothing like your parents, Victoria.”
She searched his face, as if testing the truth of it.
“And perhaps you’re not like your sisters. But you’re strong and compassionate in your own way. Need I remind you that you did not take Melody in because duty demanded it?” he continued. “You did so because your heart would allow nothing else. You are the light and warmth of Hawksford.”
Victoria let out a shaky breath, and Richard wondered what she was thinking at the moment.
The scent of lavender mingled with the warmth of the fire and the lingering trace of their intimacy. He felt an overwhelming pride and an equally sharp and jagged guilt.
He was praising her maternal heart while quietly denying her the chance to let it fully bloom.
He felt the hypocrisy of praising her maternal heart while actively ensuring she could not let it beat for a child of their own. He was calling her Hawksford’s warmth and light while keeping her in the dark about what Penwike could do to them.
“Know that I am no saint, Victoria,” he continued, his voice sounding rough, and his throat felt raw. “I’ve not always struggled against the feud that ruined my family. Before we married, before my brothers’ deaths, I lived my life as a rake.”
“Yet you sought to get married.”
“Yes. You knew most of the circumstances that I was in when we got engaged. I was not yet a duke, and I needed the protection that would come from being connected to your family. I need strong alliances.”
“Everything was because of Penwike.”
“In a way, it was. At least then. You’ve protected me more than you could ever know.”
“And now?” she asked softly.
“Now,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm beneath it, “Now, you are caring for Melody, who is safer in your arms than anywhere else. I must do the same for you. Make you feel safe.Besafe.”
This time, Victoria responded with her body and not her words. Her small hand slid behind his neck, pulling him so that his forehead touched hers. It felt more intimate than a passionate touch, but it did not mean that he didn’t want more of her in that regard.
He craved it. Desired her. Wanted more of her touch and kisses.
“I don’t need a fortress,” she murmured. “I need a husband.”
The words took root within him. With them, he felt that the gap between them seemed to be disappearing, tonight’s intimacy serving as a bridge. The fire in the hearth might be fading, but they were warm.
He stayed awake to watch her breathing level as she drifted off to sleep. Moonlight streamed in to caress her skin. She looked ethereal, something he had to hold on to. Tightly.
Tonight felt like a victory.
And yet, as the clock chimed softly in the hall, he wondered how long he could keep her trust.
“We’re going tonight?” Victoria asked, pleasantly surprised.
Last night was a revelation. She could still feel the warmth of being intimate with Richard. In the morning, he surprised her with theater tickets.
“Yes. Why is that a surprise?” he asked, giving her a lopsided smile.
“No. It’s just -,” she faltered, thinking of his obsession with keeping everyone safe.
“You must see this play,” he said softly, “and we will retreat as soon as it is done.”
