“With me?” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she moved closer to him.
Victor looked back at her then. “Do you truly wish to marry?”
The question startled her. Charlotte blinked slowly. “Most ladies do.”
“You avoided answering,” he said.
Her fingers tightened slightly against her sleeves. “I suppose I stopped thinking about it long ago.”
Victor remained silent.
“When my father died,” Charlotte continued quietly, “everything became about survival. There were debts and responsibilities and three younger sisters who needed someone sensible.” She gave a small shrug. “Marriage stopped being something I expected for myself.”
Victor’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly.
Charlotte laughed faintly to ease the sudden heaviness in the room. “Though apparently my mother believes I ought to begin immediately.”
“She said that?”
“She practically shoved Lord Whitemore into my path.”
Victor’s mouth flattened. “I shall speak with her.”
Charlotte burst into startled laughter. “Good heavens, do not duel my mother as well.”
A reluctant smile finally tugged at his lips.
“There,” Charlotte said softly. “That expression suits you far better.”
Victor’s smile faded slower this time. His eyes lingered on her face in the quiet room, and suddenly Charlotte became painfully aware that they were alone together once again. The air between them shifted into something warmer, heavier.
Dangerous.
“You should return to the ballroom,” Victor murmured.
Charlotte swallowed lightly. “Perhaps you should too.”
Neither of them moved. Victor stepped closer first. Charlotte’s breath caught immediately.
“You deserve happiness,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed upon her mouth now instead of her eyes. “I meant that.”
Something fluttered painfully inside her chest.
“And yet,” Charlotte whispered, “you do not sound pleased by it.”
Victor gave a low, humourless laugh. “No,” he admitted softly. “I do not.”
Charlotte stared at him in confusion as the words left his mouth, her breath still uneven from the way he had cornered her between the shelves. The library was dimly lit by a pair of lamps, their golden glow reflecting against the polished mahogany and leather-bound books, making the room feel smaller than it truly was.
Victor’s green eyes held hers with unnerving intensity, and she could not look away no matter how much sense begged her to do so. Her pulse fluttered wildly as she whispered, “Why in heaven’s name would it displease you for me to find happiness?”
He stepped closer until the scent of brandy surrounded her completely. “Your… your happiness can not be found with me. That's why it displeases me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You throw yourself into everyone’s suffering as thoughit belongs to you, and a person like you would be wounded with someone like me.”
Charlotte swallowed hard as his fingers brushed a loose curl from beside her cheek, his touch far gentler than a man like him ought to possess. “One day,” he said softly, “someone will ruin you or make you happy, but it will not be me.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, but the words never came. His lips crashed against hers before she could form a single thought, and every sensible notion fled her mind at once. The kiss was deep and consuming, stealing the breath from her lungs as though he meant to devour every objection she had ever held against him. Her fingers instinctively clutched the front of his coat, and to her horror, she melted against him immediately.
Victor groaned quietly against her mouth, one hand sliding firmly to her waist.
