“True,” he admitted. “But hearing you confess how much you desire me might make me even more unbearable.”
The final course arrived before she could think of a proper response. Sweet pastries dusted with sugar sat beside bowls of strawberries and thick cream while a servant poured fresh tea.
Victor finally released her hand, though his foot brushed hers beneath the table as though he could not stop seeking contact entirely. Charlotte tried to compose herself while stirring sugar into her tea.
“You are quieter now,” Victor observed.
“I am attempting to recover from being relentlessly harassed through four courses of dinner.”
He looked entirely unapologetic. “I thought husbands were meant to dote upon their wives.”
“There is doting,” Charlotte informed him, “and then there is whatever it is you are doing.”
Victor leaned back in his chair, looking deeply satisfied with himself. “I see. Then I shall endeavour to continue doing precisely this.”
Charlotte shook her head helplessly, though laughter tugged at her mouth once more. The strange thing was that beneath all the teasing and shameless flirtation, she felt happy.
Truly happy.
As Victor watched her across the candlelit table with heat and amusement tangled together in his green eyes, she realized something far more dangerous than attraction had begun growing quietly inside her heart.
And that terrified her far more than his wandering hands ever could.
* * *
Morning sunlight filtered softly through the heavy curtains of the bedchamber, casting golden streaks across tangled sheets and bare skin. The fire had burned low during the night, leavingthe room wrapped in a pleasant warmth that matched the languid satisfaction humming through Victor’s body.
Charlotte lay beside him with her curls spread over his pillow, her cheeks pink from sleep and affection, and Victor found himself staring at her in quiet disbelief.
My wife.
The word was still strange and dangerous inside his mind.
Charlotte stirred beneath his gaze and slowly opened her eyes. “You are watching me again,” she murmured sleepily.
Victor brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face and kissed her forehead with surprising tenderness. “I am beginning to think I rather enjoy it.”
Her lips curved softly as she shifted closer beneath the blankets. “You are very smug for a man who only woke a moment ago.”
He chuckled under his breath and leaned down to kiss her properly. The kiss was slow and warm, lacking the fevered desperation of the night before, yet somehow it affected him more deeply. Charlotte sighed softly against his mouth and rested her hand against his chest, her fingertips brushing lazily over his skin.
Victor nearly groaned at how easily she touched him now, as though she already belonged there.
“You kiss differently this morning,” Charlotte whispered once their lips parted.
Victor arched a brow. “Do I?”
“Mm,” she said softly, studying him with sleepy brown eyes. “Less like a wicked rake attempting to ruin me.”
He smirked faintly. “That is unfortunate. I had quite enjoyed ruining you.”
Charlotte gasped and lightly smacked his shoulder. “Victor.”
“Charlotte,” he mocked gently in return. She tried to look scandalized, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her entirely. Victor felt something dangerously close to peace settle over him as he watched her laugh quietly beside him.
He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow while tracing idle patterns along her bare arm. “Tell me something about yourself I do not know.”
Charlotte looked thoughtful for a moment before letting out a small breath. “There is not much left to tell.”
