“They are impossible,” Charlotte said fondly.
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed warmly. “And exactly what this house needed.”
Charlotte smiled at that, though inwardly her thoughts drifted once more toward Victor. He had not joined them for tea. He had barely spoken with her last evening. Even when he looked at her, there was something restrained in him now, something cautious.
And Charlotte could not decide whether he was running from her,
Or does he run from himself?
* * *
Late that night, moonlight filtered softly through the windows of Charlotte’s bedchamber, casting pale silver across the coverlet as she lay awake staring at the ceiling. The house had long since gone quiet, the corridors still except for the occasional distant creak of settling wood. Yet her thoughts would not rest. She turned onto her side with a frustrated sigh, clutching the blanket closer around herself as Victor’s absence weighed heavily upon her mind once again.
Three nights. Three nights since he has come to my chambers.
Charlotte frowned into the darkness. At first, she had convinced herself he was occupied with estate matters or business in London, but now she could no longer ignore the strange distance growing between them. He smiled at her across rooms, brushed kisses against her hand, called her Duchess in that low, sinful voice, and then disappeared.
It hurt far more than it ought to have.
“Perhaps wives are meant to visit their husbands as well,” she muttered quietly to herself.
The words sounded scandalous even in an empty room.
Still, the more she thought upon it, the more determined she became. They were married. Properly married. Surely it was not unreasonable for a wife to seek out her own husband.
Charlotte sat upright abruptly before she could lose courage. Her heart hammered as she slipped from bed and wrapped a silk robe around herself. The corridor beyond her chamber was dimly lit by dying candles as she quietly padded toward Victor’s rooms, every step making her feel both foolish and daring.
By the time she reached his door, her pulse was racing wildly.
She hesitated only a moment before gently opening it.
Victor sat upright in bed immediately, startled by the intrusion. Candlelight flickered beside him, illuminating his bare chest and dishevelled dark hair as his eyes fixed upon her in confusion.
“Charlotte?”
The sound of her name on his lips made her stomach flutter painfully.
For one dreadful second, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake. He looked genuinely surprised to see her standing there in the middle of the night, her robe clutched nervously around her body. Perhaps he had not wanted her to come at all.
“I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I did not mean to disturb you.”
Victor stared at her for another stunned moment before finally pushing aside the blankets and standing. “You are not disturbing me.” His voice softened slightly. “I simply did not expect you.”
Charlotte’s chest tightened at that.
Do not expect me. As though the idea of me seeking him out has never even crossed his mind.
Victor stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Has something happened?”
“No,” she answered softly. “At least… I do not think so.”
One dark brow lifted. “That sounds ominous.”
Despite herself, Charlotte gave a small laugh. “I merely…” She faltered awkwardly. “I thought perhaps husbands and wives ought to spend more nights together.”
Understanding slowly dawned across his features then. Not annoyance. Not displeasure.
Desire.
