Page 384 of From Rakes to Riches

Her attention was torn between the gentle pressure of his mouth and the movement of his hands. As she caught her breath at the sensation, her lips parted. His did the same, catching the fullness of her lower lip very gently between his. She shuddered at the exquisite rush of pleasure, so very new.

Her worries about her desirability faded. His questing fingers slid up her wrist, beneath the cuff of her nightdress. He rubbed her there, gently, and her soft gasp echoed in his mouth.

He broke the kiss. “Does that feel good?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

Straightening, she found her wits. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll leave you with that.”

He released her and rose to his feet, so tall and near her that she wanted to step back but wouldn’t. His clothing brushed her body, making her tremble with a feeling of want. She wanted him to touch her, wanted him to kiss her. As he looked down into her face, she could tell he knew it.

“Good night, Victoria.”

“Good night.”

And then he was gone, and she was left to slump bonelessly in her chair, disappointed in his absence, but relieved she wouldnot have to discover tonight just how much he could control her with a touch. Was that his true purpose, to show her who was in charge in their relationship, after she had challenged him at dinner?

8

The next morning, Victoria persuaded her mother to leave her room. They were to meet Mrs. Wayneflete in the kitchen, and then go next door together to say their farewells to Louisa and Meriel. As they circled the stairs above the entrance hall, Victoria looked down and noticed that there was a silver tray on a table bearing the day’s post.

“Just a moment,” she said, hurrying down the stairs in curiosity.

She lifted an envelope or two, all of which were of course addressed to the earl or his son. Many of them looked written in a woman’s flowing hand. Were these invitations? Several bore a wax seal with an insignia proclaiming them from society’s highest families.

Victoria felt her mouth go dry. These were vastly different parties from the ones Lord Thurlow had planned with the railway directors.

“Those aren’t for you,” said a cold voice.

Victoria gave a little start, sending the stack of invitations to the floor. She heard her mother gasp and come quickly down the stairs. From her knees, Victoria glanced up. The notorious Earlof Banstead sat in his wheelchair near the front windows in the library, which looked out over the street he seldom visited. His valet stood against the wall.

Lord Banstead watched her, and she recognized something of his son in those expressionless eyes. With Lord Thurlow, she sensed polite attention—at least when he chose to see her—but with Lord Banstead, there was a bitterness that colored the edges of what he’d just said.

Before she could respond, Lord Banstead glanced with disapproval at her mother, who now hovered protectively at her side. Victoria rose to her feet and took Mama’s arm.

She looked down at the invitations she was still holding, wishing this had happened after they’d at least been formally introduced.

“My lord, I know this mail belongs to you and your son.”

“Then why are you touching it?”

“Because I saw several addressed in a woman’s hand.”

“And why should that concern you? You can hardly accuse him of an affair two days after your marriage.”

“An affair?” she repeated in a quiet, stunned voice. Good lord, did even his father know about his mistress? “I would never make accusations, my lord.” She didn’t need to.

The valet was looking pointedly at the floor, and Victoria inwardly winced that a servant had to overhear such a personal disagreement.

“Then why do you care who corresponds with him?” the earl demanded.

How could she tell him that she was still frightened by simple party invitations, that the thought of attempting to dance at a ball made her feel dizzy inside?

“I had assumed that one of my roles as his wife would be to look after the social aspects of our marriage. I thought the letters were party invitations.”

“They may very well be, but he never attends anymore. If you married him for the rise in social class, you’ll be vastly disappointed,” he added with satisfaction.

She could not be angry with Lord Banstead—she’d married his son for something far worse: the safety bought by his money. She had no right to feel slighted because the earl didn’t like her. Yet she couldn’t think of a way to change his attitude.

---