He had a care for her virginity, moving his hips away, then up, in a gradual motion that soothed and reminded her of the passion he had the power to incite.
She moaned softly as pain and pleasure mingled, until her body molded around his and they became one.
When she rested on him and he was all the way inside, touching the deepest part of her, he released his hold on her hips and commanded, “Ride.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Victoria woke when something depressed the mattress beside her. Her eyes fluttered open to see Raul, knee on the bed, leaning over her, smiling like a lover. With his fingertips, he pushed the hair out of her face. “How are you?”
She blinked at him, at the sunshine streaming through the high, narrow window, and the events of the night came back in a rush. She plastered the covers to her chest and sat up on a horror-struck inhale.
“How are you?” he asked again. “Are you sore?
Would you like me to call Amya to bring another bath?”
Victoria glanced at the tub, still filled with cold water, sitting before the ashes of the fire, and realized that last night, no one had been allowed through the door to empty it and take it away. “Oh, no. No. Everyone in the castle is gossiping about what we did last night.” She was blushing. All over. She was pretty sure her toenails were blushing. The things they had done last night. The things she had done last night! She had ridden him until the two of them were gasping and straining, and finally she had collapsed on top of him, exhausted by the physical effort, the emotional tumult, and the pleasure. Such a surfeit of pleasure. Raul had held her, embraced her, cradled her until she slept.
Then sometime in the predawn hours, she had woken to his gentle seduction, one so thorough and so exhaustive she had died and been reborn.
That must be why she felt as if today she were a different woman: tender, shy, uncertain, easily given to tears and laughter, open to feelings that had never before touched her.
His voice was prosaic, and he didn’t seem shy— she couldn’t imagine such a thing— but he kept touching her as if he couldn’t believe she was so close and so his.
“Everyone gossips all the time. They have no idea what really happened in here.” Her wide-eyed dismay must have impressed him, because he added, “No one knows what we did, Victoria, and unless you tell them, they never will.”
She let out her breath. “That’s true. I am no more ruined than I was before last night— which is to say, completely ruined.”
“No one in England knows where you are, and I promise my family won’t tell where you slept.”
She didn’t have his faith in people; in her opinion, no one in the world could refrain from good gossip. But she could hope that she wasn’t important enough to have gossip trek so far as England. Although Raul had certainly heard enough gossip from her travels with the Johnsons… .
“Today I’m going into Tonagra to finalize the sale of Viento, and I need to spend time gambling, dancing, and gossiping, like the worthless rake that I am.” He used the backs of his fingers to gently rub her cheek. “I have to keep making appearances or Jean-Pierre de Guignard will get suspicious.”
“Is he particularly suspicious of you?”
“He’s particularly suspicious of everyone, especially after the incidents those nasty rebels have caused.”
Amusement put a crease in his cheek. “Tourists are leaving, and worse, word is getting out that there’s trouble in Moricadia, and they’re canceling their travels here altogether. We are the royal family, the de Barbari Jinete, and we have successfully created chaos for the de Guignards, sending them on the chase in a dozen different directions, after real problems and imaginary, distracting them from the real threat right under their noses.”
Raul’s smile grew broad and warm. “I had no idea this would be so much fun.”
Disquiet constricted her throat.
He was trying to get himself killed.
Not that he was doing anything different than he had been doing, but the shift that had occurred yesterday seemed to actively involve her in his fate and the fate of his crusade.
What was she doing here?
“I won’t be back until late,” he said. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I won’t,” she mumbled.
“You do know how to crush a man’s fragile ego.”
“I wasn’t trying to— ”
“I know. That’s the worst part.” Catching the back of her neck, he pulled her close and kissed her.
She resisted. For a moment. Then, as she had last night, as she had every night, she yielded. More than yielded. She gave everything in her … to him.
And why? Why was she giving herself to him with her whole heart? Why did she care if he got killed?
When they pulled apart, he was breathing hard and color rode high on his cheekbones. “You make me forget sanity.”
“I wasn’t trying to do that, either.”
“Yet you’re a natural.” He touched her cheek again, then walked toward the door. “You had a long night. Go back to sleep.”
“Raul?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you tell me where you were going?”
He spoke as if the answer were patently obvious.
“Because now it’s your right to know.” He shut the door behind him.
She stared at it, confused and perturbed. Her right?
What did he mean, her right? She didn’t have any rights when it came to him and his whereabouts and what he was doing. She didn’t want any rights. She didn’t know if she really liked what had happened between them last night. The whole thing had been hot and sweaty, and she was still oily, and despite what she’d said to Raul, she ached between her legs because she had … she had ridden him.
All right. “Liked” was too mild a word for what she felt about last night. Some of it had been painful and some of it had been embarrassing and far too intimate and required emotions she had avoided most assiduously. She had been alive as she had never been before, closer than she’d ever been to another human being, wild and reckless, and right now she could be with child— except he had taken care of that problem.
Her fists clenched.
If she didn’t get out of bed right now and act as if nothing had changed between them, everyone in the castle would know what had happened. And the consequences, Victoria well knew, would be insupportable.
She glanced at the clock ticking on the mantel and gave a gasp of dismay. It was past nine. The children would be wondering where she was.
Hurriedly she rose, grabbed her nightgown off the floor and flung it on the sofa, picked up the bottle of oil and placed it on the headboard. She performed a hasty wash using the water in the pitcher, dressed, and painfully labored to comb the tangles from her hair. Pinning the strands atop her head, she peered into the small mirror on the chest of drawers— and grimaced.
She didn’t look like herself. She was too rosy, too glowing. She looked thrilled and surprised and terrified.
But on one thing she could depend— no one in the great hall ever paid her any heed. They never did.
But children weren’t like the adults. They noticed things.
She had to act normal, as if between yesterday and today, nothing had changed— when in fact the world had tilted sideways.
As quietly as possible, she opened the door. She peered down the corridor and, when she saw it was clear, she slipped out of the bedroom and hurried toward the classroom. To her surprise, the children were there, working together in small groups, teaching one another their letters and numbers. She stepped in, and they came to their feet and jabbered excitedly, pleased to have her with them, determined to tell her what they’d been doing.
Victoria laughed and relaxed.
She knew what to do with the children, how to behave … who she was.
She praised them for their self-discipline and reestablished their schedule. She made sure she took the time to allow them to instruct her in
Moricadian, for not only did she learn the language— she could now comprehend a lot of conversation— but in their eagerness to teach her, they learned English more quickly. When it was time for the noon meal, they all traipsed down to the great hall together, two of the youngest holding her hands.
The children went down the stairs to eat in the kitchen.
She saw some sideways glances as she settled in her seat, but surely that had more to do with the upcoming class than with any speculation about her rosy glow.
Raul had promised no one would know what they’d done last night; she had to believe he was right.
Lunch was the usual— hearty food and a lot of loud talk about battles, fighting, knives, and rifles. That left Victoria alone to think about … things. Which wasn’t so good, since the things that came to mind involved the slow rotation of Raul’s calloused palms around her nipples, the way he’d looked when he climaxed, like a man who had scaled the highest mountain peak, what he was doing right now, and whether he would live through the day.
He would live through the day.
She knew he would.
And at the same time, she suffered from a fear that sliced through her peace and kept her restless and on edge.
When she heard the scraping of benches across the floor, the meal was over and everyone moved into place for her class in etiquette.
As she stood before them, she was glad to face them in the role she understood so well: that of being a teacher. “Today we’ll learn how to address a duke, an earl, a baron, and a man rich but not titled, and, of course, royalty, for in Mr. Lawrence’s court”— she corrected herself— “in King Saber’s court, you will have many visiting kings, queens, and princes.”
“Not for a while.” Prospero scratched his cheek, then hastily lowered his hand. “They’ll want him able to prove himself as ruler first.”
“You’re probably right.” She nodded. “But from what I’ve seen of your king and the loyalty you hold for him, as well as what I’ve heard of his plans for after the revolution, I think after the first winter, he’ll be well established, and then they’ll come for the spas and the entertainment.”
“That’ll give us time to polish our manners, too.”
Prospero sagely nodded back.
“Having an English gentlewoman in the court will help prove we’re civilized enough,” Amya said.
Victoria started in surprise.
Amya timidly asked, “Won’t it?”
“While I appreciate your confidence in my influence, I believe yesterday Prospero”— Victoria indicated him with a wave of her hand— “said the current plan is for me to leave before the start of the revolution.”
Prospero looked at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses. “But that was yesterday.”
“Today is different,” Hada said.
Alarm skittered up Victoria’s spine. “Why is it different?”
Hada said, “Because last night, you and our king were mated.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Victoria staggered back.
Raul had betrayed her.
He had bragged about her capitulation. About the things they’d done in private. After promising no one would know.
“Mr. Lawrence told you we had …” She swallowed.
She couldn’t say it. “Your king told you— ”
“No!” Hada hastened to assure her. “He didn’t tell us. He’s not that kind of blackguard. But he didn’t have to say anything. He was smiling and cheerful. He was whistling when he left. So we knew… .”
Prospero suggestively thumped his fists together and grinned.
Victoria looked around the room.
Everyone grinned.
They weren’t being disrespectful. Several of them inclined their heads to her. A few put their hands over their hearts. They were glad she had made Raul happy.
They didn’t seem to understand that to be a man’s mistress was a disgrace. She was grateful for that, but what she and Raul had done was so private, so profound, so … decadent. He had assured her no one would know what had passed between them, but these people comprehended, if not the details, then certainly the basics.
Victoria always maintained a wall between herself and the rest of the world, and in this matter especially, she wanted privacy.
Too late.
If only Raul could have not been so obviously happy!
Knowing that they knew, she could scarcely bear to stand here and look them in the eyes.
But she couldn’t run away, either. That would be undignified and … and how would she ever face them again? No, she had to stay here and do her job.
And she did, ordering them to their feet to bow and curtsy and greet. She finished the class, holding dignity before her like a mask and all the while suffering an agony of mortification.
After an hour, she dismissed them— more than that she couldn’t bear. As they departed, rambunctious as always and obviously without a clue she was distressed, Hada asked if Victoria wished to consult with the cook about dinner.
Victoria stared at her wildly. “Why would I want to do that? No!” She held up her hand in the signal to stop.
“I don’t want to know.” Because the mistress of the house approved the menu for dinner, and she did not wish to be cast in that role. “What I want is to go for a walk outside.”
“You’re upset, because I think you realize now your life is no longer your own.” Hada spoke convincingly, like someone explaining the facts of life to a child.
“Yes, it is!”
Hada laid a soothing hand on Victoria’s arm. “Listen to me. We Moricadians are Saber’s people, his orchestra, his to command. We play our parts, and we make music so sweet it brings tears to your eyes. But we wait and we watch for the principal singers to take their place on center stage. It is the voices of the hero and the heroine that capture the attention of the world.
And that’s as it should be. That’s the way we want to see the opera. We want to hear our music, we want to know we helped bring the show to the stage, but we want to hear the voices sing the aria while we sit, dumbstruck with awe.”
Victoria worked through her distress, trying to comprehend. “Are you saying I’m one of the principals?”
“It matters not what I say and what I don’t. You are what you were born to be.”
“No.” Victoria didn’t want to hear what Hada was telling her. She didn’t want to be center stage. And anyway, when had Hada turned into a wise woman? Just because she’d been almost killed when she was a young woman, just because she’d recovered to find her whole world broken and rearranged, didn’t mean she could go around offering sage advice and thinking Victoria would be comforted. Victoria liked her life as it was. Yes, she was on her own, but no one ever disappointed her— and she never disappointed anyone.
No one ever told her she didn’t have the voice to sing.
Desperate to be alone, she insisted, “I would really like to go for a walk outside.”
Hada seemed to understand, but still she hesitated for a long moment. Then she stepped aside. “Please be careful. There are more dangers in the woods than you can imagine.”
Victoria didn’t wait for Hada to change her mind.
Picking up her skirt, she donned her straw bonnet and hurried toward the door. One of the footmen sprang forward to open it for her. She strode into the courtyard.
Then, as if she expected no objections, she walked over the drawbridge and out the gate.
No one hollered at her to stop. No one paid her any heed. Overnight, she had become someone they trusted.
She had become one of them.
And she needed out. She needed fresh air, solitude, a chance to ease the panic that drove her.
She hadn’t been beyond the gate since the day she’d arrived, and that night she’d been nothing but a package swaddled in cloth and thrown over a horse. Since then, all she’d seen of the world outside the castle she’d gained by looking out the windows. Nearby, she
heard grunts and thumps as the men practiced hand-to-hand combat. Farther away, she heard the thunk of arrows as they hit a target, accompanied by manly shouts of encouragement and, beyond that, the occasional gunshot.
So she walked away and into the forest, and drew her first long breath of freedom.
The woods were dense and green, an untouched alpine Eden. The pines reached their needled arms toward the skies, the sunshine filtered through in bursts of gold, and the silence enveloped her like an embrace.
She left the castle far behind, following a path many feet had worn into the ground, through the brush and toward a knoll growing like a stony knee from the forest floor. She could see the sun shining brightly above, and, drawn by the heat and the light, she climbed the steep, rugged path. Her governess clothes withstood the snags from branches and outcrops, and her sensible boots helped her make the ascent without slipping. When she reached the top, she was panting and triumphant.
Then she looked at the view, and her breath caught.
Untouched forest and mountains undulated toward the vivid blue horizon, majestic and blissfully quiet. In the distance, a hawk floated on the same breeze that ruffled her hair and breathed peace into her face.
She found a boulder, a peach-colored slab of chunky granite, and perched herself in the sun-warmed center.
Slowly her panic dissipated.
She put her hand on her chest. Her heart stopped racing and returned to its steady, pragmatic pace. She felt … almost normal, as if the weight of too many expectations had been lifted from her.
Since her father had died on that horrible day lost in the mists of her memory, she had been alone, without true connections or responsibility. Not that she didn’t care about her mother and her siblings; she did, and they cared about her, but in a haphazard way that always left her an outsider. She hated her stepfather. At school, she made good friends. But at no point had she been the center of anyone’s life, and she told herself that was fine with her.
Suddenly, she found herself important. The center.