His gaze drifted back toward Charlotte again just in time to see her glance across the lawn searching for him. The moment their eyes met, her entire expression brightened subtly. It was small. Brief. Yet Victor felt it like a physical blow directly to the chest.
Morgan noticed. “Oh dear,” the marquess murmured with wicked delight. “You are completely ruined.”
Victor exhaled slowly. “I am not ruined.”
“You are married, devoted, possessive, and one step away from writing dreadful poetry about your wife’s eyes.” Morgan clapped him once on the shoulder. “I fear there is no saving you now.”
Victor snorted quietly despite himself. “If I ever begin writing poetry,” he said dryly, “you have permission to shoot me.”
Morgan brightened instantly. “Excellent. I shall prepare my pistols immediately.”
Victor finally laughed, then, low and brief though genuine. The sound startled him slightly.
Morgan looked unbearably pleased with himself afterward. “There,” he declared triumphantly. “Marriage suits you, unfortunately.”
Victor rolled his eyes, though his gaze drifted once more toward Charlotte.
And this time, when she smiled at him from across the gardens, he smiled back without even realizing it
CHAPTER 25
Victor sat alone in his study with one elbow resting against the arm of his chair while Morgan’s words continued to echo irritably through his mind. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows of Mulford Manor, casting long bars of gold across ledgers and correspondence scattered upon his desk. Usually, the study calmed him, for numbers and contracts were sensible things that behaved predictably, unlike people and certainly unlike wives. Yet today the room felt too quiet, and every moment of silence seemed to fill itself with thoughts of Charlotte.
“You are completely ruined.”
Victor huffed under his breath at the memory of Morgan’s smug grin.
Ruined indeed.
This entire marriage had been intended as a practical arrangement born out of necessity and scandal, nothing more dangerous than convenience and mutual benefit. He had meant to provide Charlotte with security while maintaining his own emotional distance, just as he had done with everyone else in his life for years. Yet somehow that woman had smiled her way past every wall he possessed without even seeming to realize she was doing it.
Worse still, I allowed her to coax me into a carriage.
Victor leaned back heavily in his chair and rubbed a hand over his jaw as memories of that journey resurfaced with alarming clarity. Charlotte’s shy obedience as she had touched herself for him. The soft little gasps she had tried so desperately to hide. The way her eyes had looked at him beneath lowered lashes while his hands travelled across her skin. His entire body tightened unpleasantly at the recollection.
“This is madness,” he muttered aloud.
He stood abruptly from the chair before his thoughts could worsen further. Marriage was one thing. Desire was manageable. But this constant need to be near her, to hear her laugh, to see her smile at him as though he were something worthy of affection, that was dangerous territory entirely.
Victor strode toward the door and pulled it open sharply. “Baxter.”
The butler appeared with impressive speed, as though he had been materializing silently from walls for decades.
“Yes, Your Grace?” Victor crossed toward the desk and gathered several folded documents into a leather satchel. “Have my horse prepared,” he ordered curtly. “I have business in town.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Victor barely paused long enough to pull on his gloves before leaving the study. As he departed, he deliberately avoided glancing toward the drawing room where Charlotte had spent much of the afternoon with Elizabeth. The temptation to seek her out before leaving tugged at him immediately, which only worsened his already sour mood. He was a duke, not some lovesick schoolboy sneaking glances at his bride.
Outside, the cool evening breeze struck pleasantly against his face as a groom brought forward his black stallion. Victor mounted swiftly and took the reins with practiced ease. Horses he understood. They were honest creatures who required firm handling and clear commands, unlike women who smiled sweetly while dismantling a man’s entire carefully structured life.
The ride into London gave him too much time to think.
By the time he reached his solicitor’s office near Grosvenor Square, Victor had almost managed to convince himself he was behaving rationally again.
The elderly solicitor, Mr. Hembroke, rose immediately upon Victor’s arrival and bowed politely.
“Your Grace,” he greeted warmly. “I received your notes regarding the shipping investments.”
