Her eyes dancedacross the ornately carved marble of the mantle, the elegant crown molding, the walls papered in rich blue stripes; her bare toes wriggled in the thick pile of the rug. None of it truly distracted her from the hammering of her heartagainst her ribcage—especially not when she heard the handle of the door to the adjoining chamber turn.
Certainly, there was nothing in existence that could calm her pulse when her husband walked through the door, somehow even more devilishly handsome in his dishabille. The collar of his crisp white linen shirt was undone, affording her a view of the strong column of his throat; his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing his corded forearms and their dark dusting of hair. It was absurdly, incredibly intimate, this glimpse of his arms.
It took a great deal of effort, but she was finally able to drag her eyes back to his face…and he smiled when their eyes met. It was broad and unguarded; his eyes crinkled at the corners and his sharply angular features softened.
Once again, her stomach performed that hopeless flip.
Rafe had donethe unthinkable.
He, the Rake of London, one of the notorious Rank of Rakes, was well and truly wedded.
What was more impressive? He’d managed to snag one of the wealthiest heiresses on the Marriage Marts on both sides of the Atlantic.
In a matter of months, he’d singlehandedly managed to turn his fortunes around—quite literally.
Mr. Rockford had offered a most generous sum as settlement for the marriage agreement, along with an annual income that would keep them all quite comfortable. Of course, the younger Mr. Rockford hadn’t been able to resist throwing his weight around, and he’d insisted upon stipulations for his sister’s happiness.
“My son insisted upon a few terms as well,” Mr. Rockford had said, tapping his thumb on the paperwork between them. “Though I was reluctant, I must admit that his stipulations werenot unreasonable. The annual stipend will be paid out only after personal testimony to the solicitors by Victoria that she remains satisfied in the marriage. If she is at all unhappy or displeased, then the disbursement will be frozen. She will still be able to request funds for personal use, but nothing will be disbursed to the Blackwood estate. Not a cent. Not a pound. Not a farthing.”
Anxiety had briefly tightened across Rafe’s chest. He’d been arrogant to believe that all his troubles would be over after the vows were recited when he’d entered negotiations with such a shrewd businessman. His future—and that of his wards—would continue to hang in the balance and depend upon his ability to maintain a good rapport with the woman he would marry. He’d bolstered himself with the confidence in his charm…and other areas.
If Rafe wanted to benefit from the arrangement, then he needed to keep his wife satisfied. In that, he knew he could deliver. A sated woman was a happy woman, and if there was one thing he knew, it was how to satisfy a woman. He’d acted many a part in his life, and he would approach the role of devoted husband with the same mentality…no matter the slightly sick feeling that had occasionally begun to bloom in the pit of his stomach.
The truth was, he’d come to like Victoria over the past several months. He’d come to recognize her wit and humor, to appreciate her American frankness and understand the nuances of her mannerisms. If he were honest, then he’d admit he’d enjoyed all the events they’d attended together a great deal more than he would have otherwise. He’d always been a man who reveled in mirth and celebration—two things well absent from his childhood home—and who sniffed out the best entertainments, but adding Miss Rockford into the scenario had been unexpectedly pleasant. He enjoyed her company. He liked her as a person. And it almost made him regret howhe’d approached her with ulterior motives under the guise of friendship. There had never been a moment he hadn’t acted with the intention of wooing her and her family enough to win her hand. However, so much time spent in her presence meant he’d learned a great deal about her. He knew how she enjoyed the theater, how her nose wrinkled when she found something truly humorous, how she tapped the fingers of her left hand together when she was thinking. It made her seem less like a means to an end and more like an individual…one he liked spending time with and with whom he could conceivably spend many years.
But…was he possibly robbing her of a different future by claiming her out of desperation for money? Not that he placed much stock in the notion of love, but perhaps Miss Rockford did. Perhaps she might have found a love like Alice and her husband had; perhaps she could have found a man who did not take her away from America, her family, and all she’d ever known; perhaps she might have had a husband who didn’t have three young wards whom he’d hidden from her on the chance that their existence might have deterred her. It was a blasted inconvenient time for his conscience to dust itself off and make itself known. Of course, it hadn’t been loud enough to keep Rafe from going through with the wedding.
He spent the two hours since their arrival at the hotel taking his time removing his coat and waistcoat, sipping a glass of warmed brandy, stuffing that conscience back into its box, and counting the minutes until he would finally go to his wife.
It was a foreign thought, that. And, unnerving as it was, it wasn’t enough to rein in his anticipation. After all, these last few months had been some of the longest of his life.
Determined not to offer Miss Rockford or her father any reason to back out of the arrangement, he’d gone without female companionship since before even speaking a word to the American heiress. His last mistress, Lady Dallow was onlyslightly more than two decades in age, and she was already enjoying the freedoms of a woman who had married a much older man and inherited the title of “dowager” relatively quickly. She hadn’t taken kindly to Rafe’s termination of their relationship, but it hadn’t been anything he wasn’t used to. Women were often distraught when it happened, but they eventually moved on. Since then, Rafe had remained as chaste as a monk, and now the drought was about to end. His blood began to hum in anticipation.
Victoria was undeniably attractive, so he fully anticipated a night filled with more than just mild pleasantness—even if she was an untutored virgin. He had lain awake many a night pondering all the things he could teach her, imagining the sounds she might make, and how soft her skin would be with nothing between them.
When he found her waiting for him, standing before the glow of the fire as it cast her willowy figure in silhouette, he knew the night would be no hardship at all.
He pressed the door closed with his back and approached her with the slow, even steps of a trainer bridging the distance to a skittish filly. In his hand, he held two glasses of the rich brandy he’d been enjoying, and he offered one to her. She hesitated only a moment before accepting it, like he knew she would. He found it unexpectedly arousing that she enjoyed a stiff drink now and again, but he’d determined it was less the fact that she enjoyed brandy, and more so that she knew what she liked and wasn’t ashamed of it. He watched as she followed his gesture to take up the seat by the hearth.
If she was confused when he placed a dark glass bottle on the floor near the crackling hearth, then she said nothing; neither did Rafe acknowledge it.
The time for that would come later.
As much as he wanted to lay her on the nearby bed and finally begin exploring the gentle curves he’d spent far too long imagining, Rafe had never deflowered a virgin, and he wanted to do right by his wife. He knew the future of their bed play depended upon this night…so it was a good thing he was very confident in his skills.
First on his agenda?
Encourage his wife to relax with banal conversation.
“Have you settled in well? The room is to your liking?” he asked as he made himself comfortable in the chair beside hers.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied in a voice much smaller than he was used to hearing from her. She was nervous, but he couldn’t very well blame her for that, could he?
“Are you looking forward to the honeymoon trip tomorrow? I was going to warn you that the Channel crossing might be quite rough, but then I realized you’ve already crossed the Atlantic.” He knocked the heel of his palm against his forehead as if to underscore how daft he’d been.
“I’ve been around ships as long as I can remember. Even before Rockford Shipping became what it is, my grandfather was a captain. Luke and I have always enjoyed the water, and we often traveled to the docks and shipyards.” He loved watching her eyes sparkle when she spoke of her family.
“Then you will have to be the one to reassure and comfort me when we disembark tomorrow. I am afraid I haven’t been aboard anything more turbulent than a rowboat on the Serpentine.”
