Taviston paused. He had never contemplated the actual words of a marriage ceremony before. But, this was only a marriage of convenience—for whom he wasn’t sure—and the ceremony merely a formality.
“I will.”
Hodgson flapped his cheeks Victoria’s way and repeated the same question, with the additional words “obey him and serve him.” Taviston wondered if she would ever obey him. Perhaps just once, as a token of her affection? Ha.
Victoria paused in her answer as well. At last she replied in a quavering voice that banished the nasty smile from his face, “I will.”
He had never heard her speak thusly, not even after she had just taken that wild ride on the uncontrollable horse.
Mr. Hodgson had moved on to ask who gave this woman to be married and Browne had replied “I do.” With an effort the man pried Victoria’s fingers from his forearm and retreated.
Grasping her right hand in his, Taviston turned to face her, in anticipation of exchanging their vows. His infuriating bride’s hand trembled violently.
What was going on here? Could she really be this nervous about marrying him? He tried to take in as many details of her as he could but wasn’t capable of much since he had to repeat after Mr. Hodgson, “I, Charles William Maximilian Danforth, take thee Victoria Mary Forster to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse...”
About halfway through his vow she at last raised her eyes, wet eyes, causing him to stumble over the next part of his vow. Something, or someone, had clearly shaken Victoria. Imperturbable Victoria. He had never witnessed her cry. Not Victoria.
In turn she repeated the reverend’s words, though her voice barely rose above a whisper. Taviston squeezed her hand and felt a corresponding jab in his chest. After numerous pauses Victoria completed the vow, sounding miserable. Intuition told him marrying him wasn’t the cause of her distress. Something had happened to her before the ceremony.
Shuffling sounds from behind him signaled Peyton passing the ring to Mr. Hodgson. Taviston took it from the rector’s prayer book and slipped it on her left hand while saying, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
Well, those words were true at least. No prevaricating required with that vow. The rector led them over to kneel beside each other, with right hands still clasped, as he continued on with the ceremony.
Taviston rubbed her hand gently. Her trembling had subsided, and she had fought back her tears but she bit her lower lip and he knew she still struggled to maintain her decorum.
Their proximity allowed him to observe her gown in more detail. Mud, not brown trim, skirted the hem. Additional mud spatters formed a random pattern over the dress. He noticed one long tear near her right leg.
His imagination worked frantically. She had been conveyed to the church in a carriage, her dishevelment made no sense. He resisted an urgent desire to rip the prayer book out of Hodgson’s hands and drag his bride from the church in order to hear a full explanation. Not ten minutes ago he had impatiently waited for the ceremony to begin and now he waited impatiently for its end.
By chance he caught Victoria’s eye. He smiled softly but received no response. She looked absolutely wretched. He continued to hold her gaze, as the rector’s voice hummed in the background. On an impulse he wiggled his ear at her. Satisfaction swept over him as she lost the battle to contain a small smile. A sparkle crept back into her eyes and she gave his hand a squeeze.
At last, the rector bade them rise and, tucking his wife’s hand firmly into the crook of his arm, Taviston led them from the church.
When he saw the carriage he had ordered sitting in front of the church, Taviston cursed under his breath. It was an open landau and would afford them no privacy whatsoever to discuss what had beset Victoria. With a grimace, he handed her up and tried, once again, to suppress his impatience. He climbed up behind his wife. Would that word ever sound normal?
He and Victoria gave brief waves to the crowd gathering outside the church. They and many more would be waiting to congratulate them back at Taviston House within no time.
He turned back to see how she fared. She looked up into his eyes and commanded softly, “Kiss me.”
Without hesitation he grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her closer while his lips descended to hers. The more raucous members of the crowd sent up a cheer. For propriety’s sake Taviston attempted to make the embrace brief, but when he tried to pull his head back, Victoria’s lips clung to his with urgency and her hand stole up to cradle his cheek.
Surrendering to her will, he continued the sweetly gentle kiss. Her lips tasted of honey and felt as soft as rose petals beneath his. He sensed some of her earlier tension melting away and realized he too found the light caress comforting after the turmoil of their wedding ceremony. With a breathy sigh she slowly withdrew and folded her hands in her lap, staring out the other side of the landau.
“Victoria, what happened?”
She locked eyes with him ever so briefly then fixated on her hands. “We haven’t time to discuss it now.”
He knew that. He did. But again, patience was not a strength he enjoyed. “That is—was—a lovely dress.”
“Thank you,” she said wistfully, her head still down. “Oh!” She splayed her left hand out and twisted the wedding ring around her finger. Emeralds and diamonds marched around a band of gold. “It’s beautiful. Emeralds are my favorite. Is it a family heirloom?” Her inquisitive eyes found his.
“No, it is not.” He tried to ignore the disappointment shadowing her eyes. “I purchased it the other day.”
“You did? Might...might I ask why?”
Was she asking why he didn’t give her a family ring, or why he had purchased this particular ring? Good questions, both. He had personally glossed over them himself in the last week.
Victoria had gone suddenly still and stared at a fixed point over his shoulder. Was she that upset he hadn’t given her a Danforth heirloom? Taviston decided not to explain why he’d bought the ring. He threw out a vague, “You needed a ring.”
“Oh, of course.”
She dropped the ring-laden hand back into her lap but continued to focus her gaze behind him. He glanced back but saw nothing but the still cheering crowd. Taviston signaled the coachman and the landau rumbled forward, making quick work of the short distance to Taviston House.
Halston quietly congratulated them as they entered the house, and they accepted graciously. Taviston knew they had precious little time before the wedding breakfast began. His curiosity was not of high importance at the moment.
Victoria turned to ascend the grand staircase. He called her name, more sharply than he had intended.
“Yes?”
“About the gown...”
She took a step toward him and lashed out. “The gown. I apologize for ruining the blasted gown, all right?” Her eyes flashed defiantly, and he was glad of it. He did not like to see her so despondent.
With calmness and yes, patience, he said, “I only meant to inform you that Madame Broussard finished a few more gowns for you and had them sent over. I thought perhaps one of them might be suitable enough to change into. Though I do compliment you on your taste, I think you might be more comfortable in something else at this time.”
She blinked several times, parted her lips as if to speak, closed them firmly, then gave him a perfunctory nod and escaped up the stairs. The swaying of her hips mesmerized him. His head overflowed with an abundance of emotion, most of them unidentifiable. And he didn’t want to identify them. Something had changed. Either her, or him, or perhaps both of them. But he didn’t have time to contemplate any of it right now. Even his plan to chastise her for her unpunctuality had faded away. He only wanted to know what kind of event could so remarkably affect his wife.
Alas, duty called.
VICTORIA CLOSED THE door to her new bedchamber and sagged against the thick mahogany. She had been married for
twelve hours now and had at long last escaped from everyone. How could one person, or rather two she amended, be expected to socialize for twelve hours?
The “breakfast” had spanned six hours by the time the last preening guest had left. Then she and her husband had spent another two hours chatting with close friends such as the Northfields and the Daventrys. After that, their presence had been required at a family dinner—family in the all-encompassing sense of the word. She had met Taviston’s three aunts, two uncles, seven cousins, one great-aunt and six second cousins. No, it might have been seven second cousins and six first cousins. She had wanted family. She now had them in spades.
A shudder passed through her. Spade. Sinking down onto the luxurious emerald green satin coverlet, she let her hand trail over the slippery surface as she soaked up the silence. For the first time since she had actually accomplished the feat of making it to her wedding, she savored that moment.
She had made it.
She had trudged the mired road for two hours. Not really, of course. But it had certainly felt as though hours had passed her by. Innumerable coaches had. It had obviously been a well-used highway. Probably only ten or fifteen minutes had gone by before a coach stopped. A jewel-encrusted, very unconventional lady had poked her head out the window and offered her a ride to London. Victoria had accepted without hesitation, as she had no time to consider safety or consequences if she wished to arrive at St. George’s before Taviston left in disgust.
The lady turned out to be the eccentric Countess of Portsmouth. A raucous and brash woman, the countess had ignored Victoria’s bedraggled appearance and inquired about her destination. The lady willingly agreed to take her to St. George’s and then launched into a disjointed account of her recent visit to her estate in Bedfordshire, requiring only an occasional nod from Victoria. Soon enough they had arrived in Mayfair and her ladyship had finally questioned whose wedding Victoria was to attend. The lady had accepted an invitation to attend with outright glee.
Victoria fell back across the bed. Lady Portsmouth had made a loud and somewhat ill-mannered guest at the breakfast, but Victoria did not care. Her ladyship had conveyed her to the church just in time. It had been twenty minutes past ten and Victoria did not doubt that Taviston had been contemplating leaving.
While the trial of the kidnapping and the rush back to London had strained her nerves considerably, the actual joy and relief of finding Taviston still standing at the altar had been her emotional undoing. At that moment her fondest desire had been to collapse at his feet and reveal her heart to him. But greater wisdom had prevailed, and she had gathered as much dignity as she could, leaned on Mr. Browne as much as possible, and made her way up the aisle.
Oddly enough, the last thing she had wanted to do upon arriving at the church was to marry Taviston. She wanted to hold him, kiss him, stroke his hair, generally anything that would allow her to cling to him. Instead, she had been trapped in her own wedding ceremony, in a soiled and torn gown. Next to her, Taviston had looked the debonair, polished groom, ever so handsome in his blue coat and snug white pantaloons.
Once they were officially married and in the landau outside the church, their kiss had settled her nerves like nothing else could. Until she had spotted Anthony Ripley in the cheering throng. Her publisher had not been celebrating. He had been watching her intensely. He had recognized her. There was no way he could not know who sat beside her in the carriage. Therefore, he knew she was now the Duchess of Taviston. He knew she’d lied.
The question was, what would he do with that knowledge? Ruin her? Unleash another scandal upon her and Taviston? Victoria didn’t know whether to confront him or wait until he made a move. Or had he already made a move and had her kidnapped?
But no, Mr. Ripley was a solid citizen who ran a profitable printing house. Why would he stop her from marrying? If he had even known the truth before today.
Oh, what a mess. A duchess shouldn’t have such problems.
She sat up at the sound of scratching on her door. After pausing, she jumped up with a grin and threw open the door. Arthur marched in, tail high.
“Hello there, sire!” She gathered him up and carried him back to the bed. “I have missed you so, Arthur. I assume I shall be seeing much more of you now that we both will reside with Taviston.”
“Meowwww.” Arthur rolled onto his back and offered her his belly.
Victoria complied, petting him softly. Something loosened inside of her. The day hadn’t been all terrible. Towards the end of the ceremony, she had inspected Taviston’s clothing more closely and discovered his garments were not as pristine as he had most likely thought. A fine layer of grey fur clung to the soft white fabric of his muscled thigh.
“Thank you for keeping him company, Arthur.”
He gave her a baleful look and commenced washing himself.
Sliding off the bed, Victoria went to her dressing table. She sat down and took one pin out of her hair. When she had come up to change her gown, she had done her best to rearrange it. Her eyes traveled down to the sea-blue silk she had donned. The vibrant color complemented her light hair and blue eyes and had boosted her spirit as well. Taviston had been right. Drat him.
Did he have to continue to be so nice to her? She had anticipated him being standoffish, indignant, and thoroughly irritated with her. But no, he had offered her strength during the wedding and had even coaxed a smile from her with his wiggling ear. Throughout the last twelve hours he had been nothing but solicitous and supportive. Granted, much of his behavior was for the benefit of their guests, but she had sensed an underlying sincerity.
She glared at herself in the mirror. So, what was wrong with having such a kind husband? Her shoulders slumped and she pulled another pin from her hair.
The problem was that she loved him all the more for his attentive and gracious behavior. As he unwittingly took larger and larger pieces of her heart, what remained behind filled with even greater pain. She brought her elbows up to rest on the dressing table and buried her face in her hands.
A door clicked open and she turned to look at the mahogany door that gave onto the main hallway of the west wing. It remained closed. Taviston cleared his throat and she whirled around to find him standing in the far corner of the room, on the other side of the fireplace.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Good evening.”
More pleasantness. Victoria stifled a sigh. After all, what did she want him to be? Nasty?
She gestured toward the door behind him. “Where does that lead?”
“To my bedchamber,” he replied while striding across the floor towards her.
Not quite certain she was ready for her wedding night, she quickly spun back around to the mirror and began pulling pins out, giving her nervous hands something to do. Within seconds though Taviston stood behind her and did the same. Her hands tangled with his as they both tried to accomplish the same goal. She found his grey eyes in the mirror and lowered her hands to her lap when she saw their intensity.
He finished with the pins and then drew his fingers through her hair like a comb. Victoria suppressed a delighted shudder. Her eyes drifted shut and she savored the decadent caresses.
He abruptly stopped, though, and said in a casual tone, “Do we have time to discuss this morning’s events?”
Her eyes flew open and connected with his questioning gaze in the glass. Did she detect a speck of amusement in there as well? She rose and turned to face him.
“But of course. Unless we are expected at some midnight supper?” She raised a brow at him.
He smiled in sympathy. “No, our social obligations are over for the evening.” He waved a hand toward the door he had used to enter and continued, “Why don’t we talk in my room?”
Victoria nodded. It didn’t matter to her where they spoke; he wasn’t going to like what she said no matter the venue. Would he even believe her outlandish tale?
He had left the door ajar, so she crossed the threshold and then stopp
ed suddenly. So suddenly that Taviston bumped into her from behind and placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Candlelight and firelight softly bathed the room with a warm glow, and she caught a scent of roses. What had precipitated her abrupt halt was the enormous bed.
His bed.
A large four-poster sat back against one wall, with dark blue velvet hangings. She swallowed thickly, remembering what Taviston had promised about this night.
With her attention focused on the bed, she was at first unaware of Taviston. Then she felt his breath on her neck. His hot hands still clasped her shoulders and he had pulled her against his hard body. And against his hard body parts. Good Lord, the man was already aroused. She struggled to breathe. After sliding his hands down her arms, he walked around her.
Victoria narrowed her eyes at his back. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he was teasing her, sensually provoking her.
He leaned his tall frame against the foot of the bed and this time she did catch a flicker of merriment in his smoky grey eyes, which only made her nerves sing all the louder.
“What happened?”
Gliding over toward the blazing hearth, she faced him, watching his face intently, wanting to judge his true reaction, whatever his mouth might say.
“I was kidnapped.”
He bolted upright and closed the gap between them in two strides. “The devil! Are you hurt? Are you all right?” He slid his hands up her arms.
His reaction was genuine and once again, kind. Now that it was all over with and she was safely home, a bit of compassion from Taviston wasn’t such a bad thing. Victoria wished he would wrap his arms around her.
“Thank you for your concern. No one harmed me.”
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