“I think not, Victoria. You are fond of such affairs. I am not.”
They spent the rest of the meal in strained silence. Victoria pleaded tiredness soon thereafter. She excused herself and fled to the sanctuary of her bedchamber, blinking back tears.
She did not sleep. In anguished turmoil, she paced the length of her room, back and forth. But one thing was clear…This could not go on. They could not go on like this.
It seemed she had but one choice.
Miles had come upstairs some time ago; she could still hear him stirring in the room next to hers. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she tapped on his door.
He opened it. A winged black brow arched. “What is it, Victoria?” His tone was gruff, his manner impatient.
Her eyes were riveted to his face. His expression was remote and scarcely encouraging.
“May I come in?” she ventured.
He wanted to refuse. She could see it in the flicker of his eyes, yet he opened the door so she could step within. She advanced several paces, then turned to face him, thankful he couldn’t see her knees trembling.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” she said quickly, “but I thought we might…talk.”
“Oh? And what is on your mind, Victoria?”
Her eye ran over him nervously. She was still fully dressed, while Miles wore only a maroon velvet dressing gown. Loosely belted at the waist, there was a generous slice of bare chest exposed. Her stomach fluttered, for she had the oddest sensation he wore not a single stitch beneath. Her mind balked. Did he sleep naked? Victoria couldn’t help it; her imagination ran away with her. His body would be like his chest, all long, hair-roughened limbs. And all she could think was that he would be as breathtaking without benefit of clothes as he was in his most elegant attire…
She gestured vaguely. “I know our marriage did not start off well,” she said, her voice very low. “But I’d begun to think it was not such a mistake after all—and not so very long ago.” She paused, but Miles said nothing. He merely remained where he was, his hands at his side, his expression impassive.
Victoria swallowed, forcing herself to go on. Faith, but this was the hardest thing she’d ever done! “Indeed, Miles, I-I thought things were progressing quite well. I-I thought everything had changed between us. That day in the country, when you—you kissed me. Or”—her voice fell, no more than a wisp breath of sound—“have you forgotten?”
His tone was harsh. “It should be forgotten.”
In but an instant her wistful longing was shattered. Her control grew perilous. It was all she could do not to run crying from the room. “Why should it be forgotten? You—you act as if you are ashamed of what happened.”
The cast of his jaw was rigid. “It shouldn’t have happened, Victoria. Need I say more?”
Pain was like molten fire in her lungs. “Yes,” she said raggedly. Recklessly. “Yes! Why is it wrong to—to desire me? To kiss me? To hold me? Miles, I-I don’t understand.”
Her voice caught as she struggled for words, for composure. Then suddenly it was all coming out in a rush. “I-I wanted you to kiss me, Miles. I wanted you to touch me and—and never stop. I wanted to be your wife in…in every way. Oh, Miles, I-I thought you wanted me, too!”
His features were cast in stone. “I think you forget, Victoria. If I had not stopped, there could be no annulment. Did you consider that?”
Victoria stared at him unblinkingly. Her lips were trembling so that she could hardly speak. “Is that it?” she whispered. “You still wish an annulment?”
Miles said nothing. He merely stood there, his posture wooden, his eyes downcast.
She persisted. “Do you want an annulment, Miles? Do you?”
Time slipped by. And in that deepening silence, she could almost hear her heart breaking…
Her throat clogged painfully. “You do. You do, but you don’t have the courage to tell me to my face. Look at me, damn you.” Her chin climbed high. Tears shimmered in her eyes, tears that betrayed the cost of her jagged cry. “Look at me and tell me!”
He looked at her. For one heart-stopping, frozen moment, their eyes collided…and what she saw there—what she didn’t see there—shredded the last of her control.
He didn’t need to tell her. It was over, she thought brokenly. She meant nothing to him. She never had…
She never would.
She rushed forward with a low, choked sob. Escape was her only thought. But in her headlong flight, her fingers were clumsy. She twisted the doorknob frantically, but it refused to open…
Then suddenly he was there, a looming presence at her side, a hand on her arm.
“Victoria—”
“Don’t!” she cried. She tore herself away and whirled on him. Suddenly her eyes were blazing. “Just leave me be,” she whispered fiercely. “Do you hear, Miles Grayson? Just leave me be!”
The latch finally lifted. The door opened. Victoria fled blindly down the hall to her chamber. She flung herself on the bed, her heart bleeding.
In the morning her pillow was still wet with tears.
But she was dry-eyed and determined. She was a woman scorned, a woman who would not offer herself again. No, she would not beg or plead…
She, too, had her pride.
Nor would she wile away in misery.
She saw little of her husband, and soon the day of Lord and Lady Devon’s ball arrived. In an attempt to boost her spirits, she had indulged herself with a new ball gown. Though she was not given to pettiness, it had proved immensely satisfying when she’d informed the seamstress the bill was to be sent to her husband.
She was waiting in the entrance hall for the carriage to be brought around when Miles suddenly appeared.
Eyes the color of storm clouds flickered over her. Only moments earlier her maid had commented that she’d never seen her mistress appear more entrancing. The gown was of white satin shot through with shimmering silver threads that brought out the highlights in her hair. The style was off-the-shoulder and daringly low cut; it emphasized the pale fragility of her neck and shoulders.
Her heart quavered, for despite the odds, she had prayed nightly that he would tear down the barriers he’d erected between them; that he would choose to alter their stalemate.
But all he said was, “Going out for the evening, countess?”
Summoning an icy strength, Victoria met his regard head-on. “Yes. If you recall, we were invited to Lord and Lady Devon’s ball. You told me you didn’t wish to attend.”
Miles made no reply, but he did not appear pleased.
She took a deep breath and prayed she wasn’t about to make a horrendous mistake. “Do you disapprove of me going alone, Miles?”
“It’s hardly the first time you’ve done so. Why should I disapprove?”
But his expression revealed otherwise.
Some devil seized hold of her. “Oh, and by the way”—she smiled sweetly—“please inform the staff there’s no need to wait up for me. I shall undoubtedly be quite late.”
She experienced a certain grim pleasure at seeing the lightning change in his expression. She could almost hear the crack of thunder in the air. Relishing her brief moment of triumph, she picked up her skirts and swept outside to where the carriage now awaited her.
“Damn!” With an exclamation of disgust, Miles pushed himself away from his desk. He’d just spent the last few hours tending to his correspondence—or trying to. His efforts had proved quite futile.
He strode to the side table where he poured himself a generous glass of port. He grimaced as the brew slid down his throat.
No doubt Victoria was having the time of her life. He had no trouble picturing the scene that was surely even now taking place at Lord and Lady Devon’s ball. No doubt she was surrounded by half a dozen young pups, eagerly fawning over her. Or perhaps she was with that cad, Count DeFazio!
The thought that DeFazio might be helping himself to his wife made him clench his teeth. Not that Miles could blame the oily-tongued
Italian rake. When Victoria had come down the stairs to night, he’d felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Her gown set off to perfect advantage the gleaming slope of bare, slender shoulders. She’d looked particularly delectable, and he’d felt a stab of pure possessiveness—along with no little amount of male pride—that this woman was his.
That’s right, you pompous ass, sneered a voice in his head. She’s yours. So why aren’t you with her?
His lips twisted. “Why indeed?” he said aloud.
He had no one else to blame but himself. He could be with her now, this very moment. He should be with her. Moreover, he wanted to be with her.
But it wasn’t so easy, he argued silently, for he was still struggling with his dilemma.
Do you want an annulment, Miles? Do you?
His insides twisted in dread remembrance. Dear God, he couldn’t say yes. He couldn’t say the words. Yet how could he say no…
I-I wanted you to kiss me, Miles. I wanted you to touch me and—and never stop. I wanted to be your wife in…in every way. Oh, Miles, I-I thought you wanted me, too!
The memory of that night still haunted him. He could still hear her, her voice raw. And he could still see Victoria, her face so pale, fighting back the tears she thought he didn’t see.
His heart squeezed. He’d never meant to hurt her. God, if only he could, he’d make it up to her…
You were so convinced she was shallow and vain, jabbed a voice in his brain. But you were wrong. You know it and still you refuse to see it!
Long fingers tensed around the glass. He was a fool, he admitted at long last, for these last few weeks had been a revelation. Victoria was strong-willed and spirited, even a bit headstrong, but not wild. A bit reckless perhaps, but most assuredly not rebellious. The admission provoked a slight upward curl of his lips. She had a bit of a temper, but no less than his own.
His smile withered. She wasn’t like Margaret. She wasn’t!
But experience had left him wary, and it was that which held him back. There was so much at stake—too much to allow for another mistake.
A pang of guilt shot through him as he thought of Heather. He’d been gone from Lyndermere Park too long already. It was time he returned home to Lancashire. To Heather. Oh, he’d sent letters and gifts he knew would entertain and cheer her, but he knew how terribly she missed him when he was away…
Which only brought him full circle. What was he to do with Victoria?
Take her with him to Lyndermere? Or leave her here in London? Everything within him rebelled at leaving her behind. But it wasn’t just her reaction to country life that he feared. What about Heather? What would Victoria think of Heather? That was his foremost concern—he could not allow Heather to be hurt as Margaret had hurt her.
He should have told her, he thought heavily. Perhaps he should have told her long ago and let fate take its course.
His gaze sought the clock on the wall. Just after eleven. The ball was in full swing. Victoria wouldn’t be home for hours…What was it she’d said?
Please inform the staff there’s no need to wait up for me. I shall undoubtedly be quite late.
Lord, but she’d been so cold…but no colder than he had been to her.
It was then that an awful thought crowded his mind—and his heart.
Had he lost her? Had he? You fool, the voice inside him chided. You’ve no doubt driven her straight into the arms of that scoundrel DeFazio. And you have no one to blame but yourself.
No. No. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t.
His glass slammed down on his desk. He strode to the corridor and threw open the door. “Nelson!”
The servant hurried out from the kitchen. “Yes, my lord?”
“Please see that my evening jacket is laid out. I shall be joining the countess at Lord and Lady Devon’s ball.”
“Very good, my lord.” Nelson smothered a smile and trotted away. There was a considerable amount of wagering going on belowstairs regarding the outcome of lord and lady’s current state of affairs. He had the sudden feeling a rather tidy sum would soon line his pockets…
Victoria didn’t care if she had provoked Miles—all the better if she had! Yet several hours later, her defiance had given way to something else entirely. Oh, she danced and laughed, chatted and smiled. But all in all, it was the most tiresome affair of her life. As she confided to Sophie, were it not for her friend’s company, she’d have quit the affair long since and gone home. Indeed, as she stood on the edge of the ballroom with Sophie, she was just about to voice that very intention.
There was a tap on her shoulder. It was Count Antony DeFazio.
“Dance with me,” was all he said. His arm snug about her waist, he whisked her onto the dance floor.
Dark eyes roamed her face. “I’ve missed you, cara.”
“Have you?” Her tone was polite but detached. Manners alone dictated a reply.
“Oh, yes, cara. Never have I been so lonely!” he proclaimed grandly. “Did you not hear my heart call out to you?”
Lonely? How Victoria stopped herself from rolling her eyes, she never knew. Why, he must believe her a dimwit to fall for such drivel!
“But enough of me. Where have you been these past days?”
“Actually”—she spoke very demurely—“I’ve spent many a delightful evening at home with my husband.”
He laughed. “Oh, but I can make you happy as he cannot.” The arm about her waist tightened. His voice deepened to intimacy. “I can make you forget any man but me. Shall I show you, cara?”
Victoria was speechless. How had she ever thought this man charming? Apparently he was convinced she was joking, the cad! Such ego deserved a dressing-down.
“Rubbish,” she said forcefully.
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rubbish,” she stated baldly. “You see, Count, there is only one man who can make me happy. Of a certainty that man is not you.”
Her partner was left standing in the middle of the ballroom. He gaped at her, stunned and open-mouthed.
Amidst gasps and whispers, Victoria strolled across the floor. Oh, she was fully aware her conduct was scarcely commendable. No doubt her name would be on every tongue the rest of the night and well into the next day. Still, it was worth it, she decided rebelliously, and she didn’t regret that she’d given Antony the dressing-down he deserved. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so arrogant in future.
The thought kindled a smile, a smile she maintained as she breezed her way across the ballroom, intent on fetching a breath of air in the garden.
There was a touch on her elbow. Thinking it was Antony, she spun around, prepared to loose on him the full force of her disdain.
“I thought I made myself quite cl—” she began.
The rest died unuttered in her throat. Because it wasn’t Antony at all…
It was Miles.
In an instant she was whirled back onto the dance floor. “You mustn’t look so shocked, countess.” Miles’s eyes were somber, but his voice held a trace of mirth. “Lord knows you’ve just given the gossipmongers a juicy little tidbit. I should hate to give them another.”
“My very thought, my lord,” Victoria echoed faintly. Her heart pounded a bone-jarring rhythm. Her mind was all agog. What on earth was he doing here?
Miles glanced toward Count DeFazio, who glared at the pair, then pointedly turned his back. “Your tongue is rapier-sharp to night, I take it. I pray you’ll not turn it against me to night.”
He bent his head low. Warm breath rushed across her skin…
He kissed the side of her neck.
Victoria’s pulse was clamoring, her emotions a mad jumble. “To-tonight?” she stammered.
“Yes, sweet,” he said softly. “To night.”
And then he said the words she’d never thought to hear. “You were right, Victoria. I was jealous, jealous of every moment you spent with DeFazio. But I have the feeling you made another assumption—only a quite erroneous assumption, I fear.�
�� His gaze pierced hers. “I don’t want an annulment, Victoria. Not now. Not ever.”
Her heart stopped—along with her feet. Was she in heaven? Surely it was so, for this couldn’t be happening…
He kissed the tiny hollow before her ear. “Did you hear me, sweet?”
Her eyes clung to his. His regard was so tender, his words so sweet. She nodded, for she could do no more.
“Good,” he said gently. “Now dance again, love.”
Hope flowered in her breast, hope that warmed her like the heat of summer sunshine.
“Are you…certain?” She ventured the question cautiously, then held her breath.
“Very.” Quiet as his tone was, beneath was a gravity that left no doubt he meant what he said.
Yet even while hope burgeoned still further, a pang rent her breast. Never had she been so afraid!
Her eyes slid away. “Why,” she said, her voice very low. “Why not?”
“The reason is simple, Victoria. I am your husband.”
“A reluctant husband,” she said unsteadily. “And as I recall, you made your feelings for me quite clear. You—you found me distasteful.” She fought to keep the hurt from her voice and wasn’t entirely successful.
The arm about her back tightened. His gaze was unerringly direct. “No, Victoria. Never distasteful. Never that.”
But Victoria could not forget so easily. A rending ache seared her breast. “What then if not distasteful? You wanted nothing to do with me,” she said haltingly. “You said it…it wasn’t right.”
“And what if I was wrong? What if I was a fool? What if I told you that I wanted you then? That I want you now. That I will always want you.”
The music and voices around them faded into oblivion. There was a note in his voice she’d never before heard; it might have been just the two of them. She was half-afraid to speak, lest it be a dream.
“Then you must show me,” she whispered.
And God above, he did.
She scarcely noticed they had glided to a halt. She had one paralyzing glimpse of glowing silver eyes before his dark head descended.
He kissed her then, there before all the ton to see. Slowly. Leisurely tasting, as if they had all the time in the world. Victoria couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. It was as if he had some strange power over her. The pressure of his mouth on hers was magic. Bliss beyond reason.
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