Page 383 of From Rakes to Riches

“Do you hear yourself?” she whispered. “‘Wewerefriends.’ What are we now?”

“We are husband and wife—and it can be more than a friendship, if you’ll give it time.”

She stared at him, her shoulders bowed, her eyes sad. “Is that what you really want?”

“I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. I admit, I’ve handled things badly. But I can make this better. Will you give me the chance?”

Her hesitation seemed to last forever. They were frozen, gazes trapped within each other, trying to read the truth by expression alone.

“Yes, my lord,” she finally said. “I am your wife, and I do not take that lightly. I ask that you treat me with respect from now on.”

“You have it,” he said.

He watched her leave the room, her posture rigid, her face without emotion. When she was gone, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had almost ruined their marriage out of stupidity. He was a man who prided himself on thinking out every decision, but since Victoria had come back into his life, things seemed to happen spontaneously. And he wasn’t handling them well.

Victoria founda bath already waiting for her, and she sank in gratefully. Every muscle in her back and shoulders ached as if she’d been beating rugs all day, instead of simply arguing with her husband.

She’darguedwith her husband.

Only a year ago, she could never have imagined standing up to a man like that. But she’d done it because it had been necessary. She would not start out her marriage with secrets between them. She still didn’t know if she could trust him, but at least he knew she was serious about trying. As far as she was concerned, his mistress was a thing of the past. He abhorred scandal enough to see to that.

But after their earlier discussion about the earl, she found it very sad that Lord Thurlow had no relationship at all with his father. She recognized herself in her husband, and it softened her toward him. She would have to do her best to see father and son reunited in the short time the earl had left. It was too late for her and her father, and she bitterly regretted that. She always would wonder if there was something she could have done to save him from the fate he chose for himself.

The water was growing cool, so she finished her bath quickly. Most likely she’d be going to bed alone, after their “discussion.” Relief and disappointment mingled within her.

She was sitting before the hearth, her hair almost dry, when she heard the soft knock on the door between their rooms. She froze with her hand on the brush, then slowly set it down.

“Come in.”

When he stepped inside, she realized they were both garbed just as they had been the previous night, dressing gowns beltedin place. He watched her with a serious gaze as silence stretched out between them.

He sat down across from her, their knees almost brushing. Her throat went dry. As always, Victoria had no control over her skin; it heated into a blush that she knew could be seen by candlelight. She wanted to talk about everything, yet she didn’t feel an apology was necessary. Yet how to make things right between them?

“My lord?—”

“Victoria, we said everything that needed to be said. As I sit here looking at you, smelling you?—”

She gasped at how sensuous that sounded.

“I find I’m not thinking of the daytime, of discussions and agreements and business. I’m only thinking of you and me alone together.”

He leaned forward again, and this time their knees touched. He didn’t move away, just put out his hand, palm up.

“Give me your hand, Victoria.”

His voice was deep and hoarse, and made her think of movement in the darkness, things better felt than said. She gave him her hand, and this time he cupped it in both of his.

“Kiss me, Victoria,” he whispered.

Her gaze flew to his in surprise. Still holding her hand, he leaned back in his chair. Her arm was forced to straighten between them. She understood that he was challenging her, and she realized that she wanted to meet that challenge. She pulled on his hands, but he remained where he was, a lazy smile tugging one corner of his lips. He looked so…intriguing.

Slowly, she rose and leaned over him, bracing her free hand on the arm of his chair. His head was tilted back, and they stared at each other as if they shared a silent contest of wills. And to her shock, she didn’t mind that he was winning this one.

There was something different about being above him, seeing him below her. It made her feel…powerful, in control, something she’d rarely felt in her day-to-day existence. But here, in the candlelit dark, he was letting her experience it in a very intimate way.

She lowered herself ever nearer to him, her gaze sliding to his mouth. Their lips touched and her uncertainty began. What was she supposed to do—remain still?

Then his fingers began to slowly caress her hand, his thumbs brushing the back of her palm. Her eyes slid closed. She never would have imagined that a man touching her hand could make her feel…fluttery, shaky, so very aware of their skin meeting.

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