Rafael briefly thought of Damien’s damning accusation. He tightened his hold on Victoria’s hand. A pity that Damien was his brother. He hoped that when he struck him he at least loosened some of his teeth.
“Whatever is the matter? Are you just now realizing the enormity of your situation?”
He grinned down at his bride. “I am a very lucky man. That’s what I was thinking.”
But Victoria wasn’t at all certain of that. Rafael could be very smooth when he wished to be, just as he was now with those glib words of his. She wondered what had passed between him and Damien, and found herself desperately wanting to know. She wasn’t granted the opportunity until after she and Rafael had dutifully toasted each other with Lucia’s finest champagne.
She said without preamble, “Rafael, why was Damien here? Surely he didn’t believe he could prevent our marriage?”
He’d hoped, of course, that Victoria wouldn’t inquire. A stupid hope. “He just had more ire and filth to spew over me. Nothing at all pertinent to anything. Now, my dear wife, I do believe it time for you to change into your traveling clothes.”
This was the first Victoria had even thought about traveling anywhere for a wedding trip. “Good heavens. Where are you taking me?”
“The marquess has very kindly offered us the use of one of his country estates in Dorset. It is called Honeycutt Cottage, near the town of Milton Abbas. Does that please you?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, it surely does.” She paused a moment, cocking her head to one side. “I forgot all about Mr. Westover, Rafael. Mustn’t we see him so that I may legally transfer half my inheritance to you, as I promised?”
“Actually, I visited with Mr. Westover yesterday afternoon. Everything was taken care of. Papers signed and all that. There is nothing you need do now.” He didn’t add that Mr. Westover had been shocked that Rafael was the baron’s twin brother, his lips a nearly invisible line when he realized that Rafael had pretended to be Baron Drago.
“I don’t understand. Since it is my inheritance, shouldn’t there be papers for me to sign?”
Well, Rafael thought, Victoria wasn’t stupid. But how to tell her that all fifty thousand pounds was in his hands? He’d instructed Mr. Westover to draw up a document for his signature, allowing a generous allowance for Victoria, to be paid by him quarterly. He said now, “No, only I needed to sign papers. I’m your husband, you know.”
“But—”
He lightly touched his fingertip to her soft mouth. “Upstairs, then, madam, but know I will drink champagne until you return.”
“I shall be quick about it. I don’t wish a weaving husband this soon in our married life.”
Rafael watched her leave the dining room with a light step. She paused a moment to say something to Frances. He saw her shake her head, laugh sweetly, and nearly skip out of the room.
She was a darling. She was his wife. He decided at that moment that he would put half her inheritance in a trust fund for their children. It was a fair solution, one that should please her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he’d married her for her money. Thanks to Dame Fortune, he’d amassed quite a respectable amount of money for himself during the past five years.
He turned from his thoughts to see Lucia looking at him thoughtfully. “What is it, ma’am? Have I unknowingly committed some indiscretion?”
“No, my boy. It just occurred to me that since I’m a nosy old woman, perhaps I should play stand-in for Victoria’s mother.”
He looked at her, at sea.
“Victoria is a quite charming, quite innocent girl. Perhaps I should speak to her of the more intimate side of marriage.”
“Ah,” said Rafael. What Lucia could know of that was beyond him. She’d never been married. “Trust me,” he continued in a very smooth voice, “to see to her properly. She will be all right, Lucia. I’m not a clod, you know.”
Lucia nodded. “I don’t suppose that you will tell me about that meeting with the baron?”
He stiffened. “No, ma’am. Suffice it to say that my brother is a very disappointed man, and disappointed men tend to spew nonsense in their frustration.”
Lucia saw his hands clench into fists. She would have given up reading her gothic novels for a week if she could but discover what had passed between the two brothers.
A half-hour later, Lucia watched Rafael hand Victoria into the carriage. He spoke a moment with that impudent fellow from Cornwall, Tom Merrifield, then climbed into the carriage. A dear sweet girl, Lucia thought, waving. She hoped she would be happy with Captain Carstairs. She turned at the sound of Frances’s voice.
“I think we should have at least one waltz,” the countess said. “Where is Didier?”
“Here, my lady.”
“Very well,” said Lucia, her eyes going to the marquess. “Well, old man? Do you think you are up for some jollity?”
“With the awesome Didier at the pianoforte, I shall shine and my consequence will make even you, my dear Lucia, appear a charming gazelle.”
“Good God, Father,” said Hawk. “You insult Lucia with much more creativity than you accord to me.”
“If ‘village idiot’ applies, my boy, there is no need to embellish upon it.”
9
I am bewitched with the rogue’s company.
—SHAKESPEARE
Fifteen minutes after Tom Merrifield had tooled the carriage away from Lady Lucia’s town house, Rafael said abruptly, “I have a confession to make.”
A confession was better than nothing, Victoria supposed, wondering at his strange and unusual silence of the last ten minutes. “What is it?”
“I get vilely ill riding in a closed carriage. Most unmanly, I know, but since you are my wife, and I will stick to you like a limpet, I feel I can admit my weakness.”
Victoria looked at him with thoughtful concern, but he saw the impish dimple deepen in her left cheek. “Now that I look at you closely, you are turning a rather peculiar shade of green.”
“Don’t,” he said, and in the next instant smashed his fist against the ceiling of the carriage. Tom obligingly pulled the carriage off the road. “Later,” Rafael said as he leapt out of the carriage. Victoria leaned forward, watching him standing very still at the side of the road, breathing in deeply.
A pity only his stallion, Gadfly, was tied to the back of the carriage. The thought of riding alone again wasn’t pleasant. Well, there was no hope for it.
Victoria grinned. She’d wondered, a bit miffed, why her new husband hadn’t been at all loverlike. Well, now she had her answer. How could he be such a good sailor and get ill in a carriage?
“It isn’t at all fair, you know,” she called out as he turned toward her. “Now I am to be stuck with naught but my own company.”
“Think all sorts of marvelous things about me, Victoria.”
“At the moment I can’t think of a single marvelous thing.”
He scratched behind his ear. “Well, you could think about tonight, and what delights await you.”
“You’re outrageous. Hush, Tom will hear you.”
“Tom never hears a thing unless it involves the word money. Now, we’ll stop in an hour for luncheon. All right?”
She nodded.
Lunch at the Green Eagle passed pleasantly enough. Rafael had recovered his healthy color and upon her eager request told her another of his adventures, this one of his meeting with a whaling captain in Boston harbor, a treacherous old man who’d tried to blow up the Seawitch.
“Why, Rafael?” Victoria asked, sitting forward in her chair.
“Later, my dear. There, I’ve given you something mysterious and exciting to think about this afternoon, since I’m not available to you.”
It was only when he handed her into the carriage again that he leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth. Victoria, startled, froze, but only for a moment. His mouth felt wonderful, warm and sweetly tangy from the wine he’d drunk at luncheon. She felt an immense urge to return his kiss, and
did, coming up to her tiptoes. When his tongue lightly glided over her lips, she opened to him eagerly.
Rafael slowly pulled away and looked down at her, his gaze intent. Her cheeks were flushed.
“Oh,” she said.
He lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek, then helped her without another word into the carriage.
She was warm and loving, he thought with a pleased smile as he mounted Gadfly. His wedding night would doubtless prove enjoyable, for both of them.
She is so eager for it . . . a wanton, a slut.
Rafael shook his head. Good God, what the devil was the matter with him? He wouldn’t believe his brother’s filthy words. He was ridiculous and a half-wit to even remember them. He motioned to Tom to increase their pace.
He didn’t call a halt until they reached Minstead and the Flying Goose. He saw the tiredness on Victoria’s face and felt guilty. But he wanted to reach their destination in two days. He wanted to be alone with her and get to really know his bride. He wanted her to laugh and to love him. He rubbed his hands together, smiling vacuously.
Despite her weariness, Victoria was excited. It would be a night for mysteries to be solved. She wanted to become a woman, and though she wasn’t at all certain what was involved in such a transformation, she was eager to learn.
And she knew that she would have to tell him about her leg. Oh, please, she begged her conscience, not tonight. She didn’t believe he would be repelled, but she wasn’t at all that certain. Her conscience warred with her uncertainty, rendering her markedly silent during their dinner.
Rafael was content to watch her. She’s nervous, he thought, immensely pleased. He fully planned to go very slowly with her, to lessen her inevitable virgin’s pain as much as he could. He spoke easily of inconsequential things, willing her to relax in his company, to smile with him again, perhaps even to tease him.
“Do you like your ring, Victoria?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling at him. “The sapphire is wonderful.”
“The stone nearly matches your eyes, though it isn’t as brilliant.”
It occurred to her at that moment that she hadn’t thought to buy him a wedding gift. Not that fifteen pounds would have purchased all that much. She would simply wait until she had enough money of her own, then she would find him something very fitting. She didn’t know him well enough as yet to know what that something would be.
“Would you like to retire to our rooms now, Victoria?”
She swallowed. “All right.”
“Shall I send a woman up to you? Or will you allow me to play your lady’s maid?”
“No, I’m used to seeing to myself.”
He walked beside her up the dimly lit stairs of the inn. He’d ordered adjoining rooms, feeling himself a considerate fellow. He patted her shoulder and left her at her bedchamber door.
He smiled over his shoulder at her. “Knock on my door when you wish me to come to you.”
“All right,” she said again. Tell him. You must. But she said nothing. Later, she thought. She would tell him later.
There was warm bathwater awaiting her, and she smiled toward the adjoining door, wondering when Rafael had ordered the bath for her. She undressed swiftly and stepped into the tub.
Rafael slowly undressed, folding his clothes neatly, as was his wont. Every few minutes he looked toward the adjoining door, wondering if Victoria was still in the tub. The thought of her naked made him harden instantly. His wife, he thought with satisfaction. His wife. He thought again of fate, of the unlikely set of circumstances that had brought them together. Just a bit over two weeks before, he hadn’t known she existed.
It was another ten minutes before a light, very tentative tap came on his door. He nearly bounded into her room, he was so excited. He forced himself to calm, and slowly opened the door. There was but one branch of candles on the small table beside the bed. Victoria was standing in the middle of the room, her glorious chestnut hair loose down her back. She was covered from neck to toe in a beautiful confection of peach silk, a wedding gift from Frances. She looked so exquisite he could only stare at her.
“Well,” he said finally and with great inadequacy, “did you enjoy your bath?”
She nodded shyly.
“You’re beautiful, Victoria.”
She looked at him fully as he spoke. He was wearing a rich burgundy dressing gown. His feet were bare. “As are you, Rafael.”
He grinned. “A crusty old salt like me?”
“There is nothing crusty about you. Well, perhaps your occasional lapses of wit.”
“Come here, Victoria.”
She walked to him without hesitation and he gently took her into his arms. He held her, not caressing her as yet. She smelled so good, he thought, inhaling her jasmine scent. Slowly he stroked his hands down her back, stopping before he reached her hips.
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
She thought of Damien and his groping hands and stilled for just a moment. She shook her head against his shoulder. “No, not with you.”
“Well, I’m nervous,” he said, nibbling on her ear. “You will be gentle with me, won’t you, Victoria?”
She giggled, just as he had hoped she would. “I’ll treat you with the greatest circumspection,” she said, and leaned back against his arms to look up into his face. Lightly she touched her fingertips to his jaw, his lips. Slowly he leaned down and kissed her. Softly, not demanding, just a gentle exploration. Again she responded to him without hesitation, just as she had when he’d kissed her this afternoon. Her response made him draw in his breath. He wanted her very much. “Victoria,” he said against her mouth.
She felt his hands gently knead her hips, then cup her and lift her against him. He was hard against her belly, and she felt a curious heat deep inside her.
He was nibbling her ear, kissing down her throat. She arched her back against him, throwing her head back. She thought vaguely that she should tell him about her leg, and opened her mouth, but he kissed her, his tongue lightly touching hers, and she forgot about her leg.
She felt a sort of pulsing sensation, insistent and wild, and she gasped with the power of it. “Rafael,” she said, her voice filled with surprise.
He heard the excitement in her voice, and trembled himself as he picked her up in his arms. “You don’t weigh much,” he said, and pulled her more closely to him. He felt her breasts, full against his chest, and nearly ran to the bed.
“Lord, Victoria, you’re driving me over the edge.”
“The edge of what?” she said, staring up at him as he gently eased her onto her back.
“I want you very much.” He forced himself not to touch her, not yet.
Victoria wasn’t at all certain what this wanting entailed, but she knew she wanted as well. Wanted to touch him, kiss him, feel the length of his body against hers. Unbeknownst to her, her eyes glittered with excitement, and something else he recognized—intense desire.
She was so eager for it.
He shook his head. Good Lord, he wanted his wife to desire him. He didn’t want her to fear his lovemaking. He straightened and stepped back from the bed, his eyes never leaving her face. Slowly he untied the sash around his waist and shrugged out of the dressing gown. “I know you’ve never seen a man before, Victoria. I want you to look at me, get used to me, and know I won’t hurt you.”
Victoria stared at him. His magnificent body was silhouetted by the flickering candlelight. Shadows played over the thick black hair on his chest and over the ridged muscles over his flat stomach. She felt her heartbeat increase, felt the spurting warmth intensify, just looking at him. Her eyes moved downward and widened at his sex, thick and heavy. Without conscious thought, her hips lifted, and her legs parted.
“Rafael,” she whispered, and she opened her arms to him.
He came to her then, lying beside her, propped up on his elbow. He looked down at her, his eyes as stormy a gray as the North Sea in the dead of winter. “You like what
you see, Victoria?”
“You’re beautiful,” she said, and kissed his throat. “I can’t imagine a man more beautiful than you.”
You are my imprint . . . that is why she married you. “Can you not?” he heard himself say in a distant voice. Then, furious at himself, he yanked at the ribbons of her nightgown. She began to tremble. When he pulled the silk apart, she felt the chill air on her breasts. He was staring down at her and it increased her own excitement to a near fever pitch. She couldn’t imagine feelings like these, but she didn’t question them. He was her husband. He lightly touched his hand to her breast and she gasped aloud. “Very nice,” he said, gently lifting her breast, feeling its weight in his palm. He could feel her pounding heartbeat against his hand. He heard himself say, “You’re not afraid, are you, Victoria? Of me touching you like this?”
Since she’d never felt anything like this in all her nearly nineteen years, she couldn’t think clearly enough for the moment to answer him. She closed her eyes, feeling him caressing her breast, making her want to scream with the sensations it created.
He lowered his head and nuzzled her breast, his warm breath caressing her.
“You’re perfect, Victoria,” He suckled her, and she arched upward, unable to help herself. “Yes,” he whispered, his breath hot against her flesh, “utterly perfect.”
His words brought her a moment of sanity. She wasn’t perfect, she was flawed. His hand was moving downward now and she knew that soon she would be naked and he would see her.
He pulled the nightgown aside. She heard him suck in his breath. His hand roved downward, coming to rest on her soft belly. She felt a nearly uncontrollable sensation, lower, just below his long fingers. She wanted him to touch her, wanted . . . His hand went instead to her right thigh, kneading the smooth flesh, the sleek muscles.
“Does that please you?”
She groaned, her head back. She felt his hand gently wedge between her thighs, his fingers coming nearer to where her need was becoming nearly unbearable.
“You’re soft, Victoria, and warm.” His fingers lightly touched her. “Hot,” he said, kissing her, even as his fingers found her. Suddenly his fingers left her, left the burning need, and she wanted to tell him not to stop, tell him . . . His hand neared her left thigh and her breath flattened, and she stiffened.