Victor’s jaw clenched.
Because everyone I loved dies. Because happiness never remains. Because one day a child might look at me with trust and affection, only to be ripped away by fate just as our parents had been.
He still remembered blood. He still remembered grief.
“I simply have no particular desire for a nursery full of screaming infants,” Victor replied flatly.
Morgan wandered closer with obvious delight sparkling in his eyes. “Oh, I should pay handsomely to see you holding a babe.”
“You could not afford such entertainment,” Victor muttered.
Lionel laughed softly. “Perhaps Charlotte will change your mind.”
At Charlotte’s name, Victor’s gaze instinctively shifted across the room again. She stood near the windows now, sunlight catching in the warm brown curls pinned elegantly atop her head. One of her sisters said something outrageous enough to make Charlotte laugh, and the sound drifted across the room like music.
Victor felt his mood ease despite himself.
It irritated him greatly.
He had spent years carefully constructing walls around every vulnerable part of himself. Desire was manageable. Lust was harmless. Affection, however, was dangerous.
Love destroys people.
Since his parents' passing, he had vowed never to allow another person enough importance to ruin him.
And yet Charlotte smiled at him across crowded rooms, and suddenly, breathing became easier.
It was intolerable.
“You are staring,” Morgan said smugly.
Victor took another drink. “You are imagining things.”
“You married her less than an hour ago and already look prepared to duel any man who glances her way,” Morgan observed. “Frankly, it is the most entertaining transformation I have ever witnessed.”
“I have not transformed.”
Lionel coughed delicately into his glass to hide what was obviously laughter.
Victor glared at both men. “You are insufferable.”
“True,” Morgan agreed cheerfully. “But not incorrect.”
Before Victor could respond, Charlotte approached them with graceful steps, her cheeks slightly flushed from conversation. The moment she stopped beside him, the restless irritation inside him settled almost instantly. She smiled up at Lionel first.
“Lord Lionel,” she said warmly, “my sisters are placing wagers on whether Uncle Oswald or my mother shall win their latest argument.”
Lionel looked intrigued. “What are they arguing about?”
“Whether swans are elegant or terrifying.”
Morgan barked out a laugh.
Charlotte sighed dramatically. “My mother claims they are graceful creatures of beauty while Uncle Oswald insists they are feathered demons.”
“They hiss,” Victor remarked. “Your uncle has a valid point.”
Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she turned toward him. “You would side with him merely because he insulted something beautiful.”
