He had certainly never loved the women he’d acquainted himself with. While those were always pleasurable transactions, they were merely well-orchestrated scenes that had an end. And then he’d move on to another.
He refilled his glass and continued staring into the fire, pondering what awaited him and his new bride. He wouldn’t love her either. Protect her, yes. Fulfill his every fantasy and desire, yes. But never love.
It was almost laughable how her family had made the event out to be a celebration, as if the whole of society wasn’t aware of how such situations were handled. Wed the woman to a titled peer and hope to bury the scandal.
Victor had seen the painting when it hung at The Crimson Queen. He couldn’t remove his eyes from it. It didn’t matter that he was almost twenty years older than its subject. The woman depicted had entranced Victor. Her vulnerability mixed with defiance spoke to him. Once he learned who the model had been, he had to have her. It was impulsive, he could admit. But he had to marry eventually to produce an heir. So why not to the one who’d awakened every protective and possessive instinct and fantasy he possessed?
She needed guidance. Structure. A firm hand and safe boundaries to explore her sensual nature. And he was just the man to give it to her.
His time in America for a military mission had exposed him to many things the sheltered aristocracy of England would only whisper about.
During a particularly brutal winter encampment, he had been billeted in a frontier town’s only boarding house, which doubled as a brothel. There, he had witnessed an unusual dynamic between some of the women and their regular clients.
“You’re such a good girl for Daddy,” one patron had ground out to a young woman of the night, his voice carrying through the thin walls as Victor attempted to sleep.
Victor’s cock stiffened at the memory. He had heard the term used by girls in America to refer to their fathers, which only made him question why the dynamic stirred such a reaction in him.
Although initially repulsed with himself, he couldn’t fight the curiosity. Victor had later observed the same woman and solicited her services for the evening. She explained that it was normal for men to crave to be a woman’s protector and disciplinarian, while it was also normal for women to crave the praise and affection that came from having a protector.
Victor played this out with various doxies in his years of military service, and while temporarily satisfying, it hadn’t been everything he’d wanted. It was just a fleeting moment with women paid to do whatever he told them to. It wasn’t true control.
But this would be different. When he saw that painting of his new bride, he imagined what it would be like to be herDaddy. To be the one who shaped her into a proper duchess in the eyes of society, and his good girl in private.
And she desperately needed exactly what he could provide.
Besides, the whole of society had pressed him relentlessly since he had become a duke. His unexpected inheritance of the dukedom had brought not just title and lands, but continued correspondence with former military colleagues now scattered throughout the government and diplomatic services.
Worse, matchmaking mamas had paraded their insipid daughters before him. With all practiced smiles and calculated innocence, he had found them insufferable.
But then there was Olivia. With her scandal and her sharp tongue, she was different. The moment he’d seen that painting, noticed the defiance in her eyes even as she displayed herself so vulnerably, he had known. She was someone who needed discipline, someone whose spirit required not crushing but channeling. She would submit to his protection and guidance, and he’d care for her completely, bending her to his will while nurturing her true self.
He had always needed to be in control, even in his youth. The chaos of battle had only reinforced that need. To defend the most beautiful, enticing woman he’d ever seen—that would ease the darkness that haunted him.
He smiled as he pressed the cool glass to his lips. The scandalous painting now hung in his personal study, where he could study it daily. Just like the painting, Lady Olivia Ashford, now the Duchess of Ravenswood, the woman who bore his name and would carry his children, was his.
And it was time to see just how his new duchess would respond to the first tests of his guidance and control.
Victor drained the contents of his glass, swallowing the burn as he set it aside, then crossed the room. He opened the connecting door without knocking.
His beautiful wife was seated at the vanity when he entered her chamber—one she would dress in, but never sleep in—brushing her honey-brown hair. She wore a silk nightdress that revealed the graceful line of her neck and shoulders. In the mirror, her hazel eyes met his, wary, calculating, and unmistakably nervous.
“Stand,” he commanded, his voice quiet but firm.
She hesitated only a moment before setting down the brush and rising to her feet. At her full height, she came only to his chin.
“Your Grace,” she said, a slight challenge in her tone when she looked up at him.
“When we engage in casual conversation, you may address me by my given name,” he instructed, keeping his voice even but firm. “But when we engage in ... certain activities, ‘Your Grace’ will remain appropriate. Do you understand?”
He desperately wanted her to refer to him and see him as her Daddy. He’d introduce the notion soon, but she wasn’t quite ready for that.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes ... Victor.”
Victor crossed the room in measured strides, circling her as he assessed her breathing, her posture, the slight tremble in her hands. Her scent, a sweet lavender, filled his senses. He observed the way her pulse quickened at the base of her throat, the subtle rise and fall of her breath. She was cautious but not cowering. Olivia’s stance—back straight, chin lifted—pleased him. It would be all the more satisfying when she chose to yield to him.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, stopping directly before her.
Olivia met his gaze unflinchingly. “I am not afraid of any man.”
