The question caught him off guard—not the inquiry itself, but the hint of eagerness behind it. “We will dine together this evening. Until then, I have business that requires my attention.”
He quickly dressed and then departed, ordering a bath for her when he caught her maid on the way out.
Olivia was adapting more quickly than he had anticipated, embracing their arrangement with surprising enthusiasm. And it left him in a constant state of desire.
Yet there was something that troubled him. A vulnerability in her eyes when she’d asked about seeing him. Was she growing attached? He supposed he didn’t mind her desiring him in equal measure, as long as that was all it was. He had wanted her submission, her obedience, her body... but not her heart.
Perhaps he’d been spoiling his duchess, indeed. It was time to introduce her to more ways she would submit to him.
Dinner that evening was a quiet affair, just the two of them in the formal dining room. Olivia had changed into an evening gown of deep burgundy silk that complemented her coloring beautifully. The neckline was modest but revealed enough of her breast to draw his eye.
“Have you given any thought to making social calls?” Victor asked as the first course was served. “As Duchess of Ravenswood, you should establish your presence in society.”
Olivia’s expression faltered slightly. “I’m not certain how I’ll be received, given the scandal.”
“You enter society now as my wife,” Victor said firmly. “Any who dare treat you with disrespect face my displeasure.”
Her lips curved in a small smile. “Scandal has a way of lingering, especially for women.”
“Then we will address it directly,” Victor decided. “Host a small dinner party next week. Invite several influential matrons along with their husbands. Your position as my duchess will establish your new status and have them speak of what an entertaining hostess you are.”
If it was one thing his cold father had been good at, it was keeping up appearances. Victor knew just how to navigate the situation.
Olivia considered this, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. “Who would you suggest?”
“Lady Atherton, despite her rudeness. The Dowager Countess of Meryton, whose approval carries significant weight. Perhaps the Duchess of Pembrooke, who has weathered her own scandals in the past.” Victor watched her reaction closely. “You will need allies, Olivia. Strategic ones.”
“Political thinking,” she observed with a hint of admiration. “Very well. I’ll send invitations tomorrow.”
The conversation turned to household matters. She spoke of proposed changes to the breakfast room, her assessment of the staff, her discovery of a neglected conservatory that could be restored to beauty with proper attention.
Victor found himself unexpectedly engaged by her observations. Her intelligence shone through as she shared her plans, revealing a practical mind and an eye for detail. This was no flighty society miss concerned only with fashion and gossip, but a woman of substance. His little one had depths he was only beginning to explore.
As the final course was cleared away, the tension and desire he fought all day returned. Olivia’s gaze met his and the flush on her cheeks indicated that she might be of a similar mind.
“Shall we retire to the drawing room?” Victor suggested, rising from his chair and offering his arm.
Olivia placed her hand on his sleeve, her touch light but charged with meaning. “If that’s what you wish.”
The drawing room was warm and inviting, a fire crackling in the grate despite the mild spring evening. Victor dismissed the footman who had followed them, then turned the key in the lock. The decisive click sounded in the room. He had prepared for this evening with meticulous attention to detail, having personally placed several items in the cabinet earlier that day.
“Come here,” he commanded, his voice hardening with authority.
Olivia approached slowly, her eyes never leaving his. She stopped before him, close enough that he could detect the faint lavender that had become his favorite scent.
Victor seated himself in a large armchair and beckoned her forward. “Sit,” he ordered, patting his knee.
Olivia hesitated momentarily before perching cautiously on his lap, her body tense with anticipation.
“You’ve done well today,” Victor stated, reaching up to trace the line of her jaw with his finger. “Taking charge of the household, making plans for our social reemergence. I am pleased.”
Her eyes brightened at his praise. “Thank you.”
“But now,” he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous timbre as his hands began unfastening the buttons at the back of her gown, “you must remember your place, little one.”
He began unpinning her hair, removing each pearl-tipped pin and setting it aside on a nearby table. As the mass of curls tumbled down her back, he gripped the strands firmly, using them to tilt her head back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat.
“So responsive,” he observed, tightening his grip slightly when she gasped. “Your body betrays your eagerness for whatever I choose to do with you.”
