Married At Midnight (24 page)

Odd, that such a simple thing as supper with her husband could bring about such excitement.

By seven o'clock the next evening, Victoria was happier than she'd been in days—why, weeks! She labored over her toilette

in a way that she hadn't even done for her come-out ball. Indeed, she could scarcely sit still as her maid dressed her hair, twisting it into a smooth gold coil atop her crown. Her gown was of pale blue silk, long and flowing; beneath the high-waisted, low-cut bodice it fell in dozens of tiny pleats.

At last she was ready. As she descended the stairs, Miles was just exiting the library. When he saw her, he stopped short at

the foot of the stairs. Victoria held her breath, for his gaze was riveted upward. She was half-afraid to glance at his face yet neither could she stop herself.

But then she could have pinched herself in sheer delight, for though he spoke not a word, it appeared he very much approved of what he saw.

She was suddenly very glad she had taken such pains with her appearance.

When she reached the last step, silently he extended his arm. Lightly she placed her fingers on his sleeve.

In the dining room, Nelson had seated them opposite the other, at each end of the long table. Miles frowned and said something to the footman. Plate, silver, and glass were hurriedly swept up and placed directly to the left of his.

Victoria could never quite remember exactly what she ate. Dishes were set before her, then removed. It might have been

straw, for all that she knew.

It was over dessert when she finally tipped her head to the side and regarded him.

"Why have you never wed?"

"My dear, correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe I
am
wed."

She wrinkled her nose. "You know what I mean. Why did you never wed before now?"

A dark brow arose. "Why do you ask?"

"Well"—her tone was earnest—"you're a bit old to have never married."

She had shocked him. It was only then she realized she must have reached for her wine glass just a bit too often. Her fingers stole to her lips. "Oh, dear me, I can't believe I dared to say such a thing. I-I did not mean to be so rude, truly."

Miles shook his head. "It's quite all right." There was a brief pause. "It was several years ago, but I was, in fact, engaged to

be married."

"Then why didn't you?" This, too, emerged before she thought better of it.

"It simply wasn't to be." Though his tone was light, his features had turned rather solemn. "And since that time, well, I never found a woman I wished to wed."

And he still hadn't, she acknowledged with a pang. He would never have married her if his hand had not been forced. The realization caused a sharp, knifelike twinge in her chest.

Why it should hurt so—why it even mattered— she didn't know.

But she didn't allow it to show when supper ended and they arose. She was surprised but pleased when he invited her to

play chess, and then all was forgotten. Victoria had always prided herself on her skill at the game—Papa had taught her

when she was barely out of short-coats. But like Papa, Miles was a clever opponent, and it took all her concentration to

pose a substantial challenge.

Miles won, but Victoria didn't mind. This was the most enjoyable evening she'd passed in weeks.

A short time later, he escorted her upstairs to her room. At her door, they stopped. He stood close, so close were she to

draw a deep breath her breasts would have brushed the lapels of his coat. There was an odd tightening in her chest. The evening had passed in such accord, she wondered almost frantically if tonight would be the night he would make her truly his wife. And if it were, how would she feel.. . ? She was afraid—oh, not of him, but of what he would do—to be sure. And yet,

a shiver of excitement coursed along her veins.

"Victoria."

The sound of her name startled her. Eyes like silver dwelled on her upturned face. She glanced up, swallowing a gasp.

"Yes?" The word was but a breath. All the world seemed to totter on this one moment.

A half-smile curled his lips. "I merely wished you goodnight, countess. And—sleep well."

With that he was gone. Her hopes plunged. She gazed into the shadows after him, her spirits forlorn.

It seemed she had her answer after all.'

A week passed in much the same fashion. Supper, then chess. Sometimes a glass of wine in the salon.

Victoria gladly put

aside other engagements to sup with her husband.

Just being near him made her stomach clench—not that he was unsightly. Lord, no! The sweep of his neck was long and corded, his jaw taut and strong. His brow was broad and regal, his lips beautifully chiseled. No longer was his mouth so

sternly set as it was during those first days of their marriage. He didn't smile often, but when he did ...

But it wasn't enough to be with him. She wanted him to touch her. She ached for him to hold her as he had the night she'd

cried, to feel his arms snug and tight about her once more.

She couldn't deny what her heart was telling her.

Something was happening. Something strange. Something wonderful.

Something ... impossible.

Oh, there was no doubt that Miles's reserve had thawed. He was unfailingly polite, occasionally teasing, no longer coolly remote. With every day that passed, he treated her with an ever-increasing familiarity.

But Victoria wanted more. She

longed to be treated like a woman.

She longed to be treated like a wife ...
his
wife.

It was a point that caused her no end of frustration. Other gentleman had been drawn to her. Other gentlemen had found

her face and form attractive. Why not Miles? And perhaps most difficult of all, what was she to do?

Painful though it was, she couldn't forget what he'd said the night they wed.

A word of advice for you, countess. I shouldn't force my attentions on a gentleman
—
let alone kiss
him
... a
man

finds such boldness distasteful.

Perhaps it was time she did something she'd never dreamed she would do. Something she'd never thought she would
have

to do.

Seduce her husband.

She'd indulged in mild flirtations now and again.

But to go about seducing a gentleman was something she'd not dared to consider.

So how did one go about seducing one's husband?

Miles was different than the men she knew. It was apparent almost from the start that he was not a man to spend his evenings dining and gambling at the various gentleman's clubs. No, he was not a bold and strutting London peacock.

So, Victoria determined, she must be industrious in her efforts, without being obvious. Persistent, without throwing herself at

his feet. Sophisticated, like a
femme du monde,
for perhaps that was the sort of woman he wanted.

With that in mind, she knocked lightly on the door to his study one afternoon. Without waiting for him to bid her enter, she strolled within, as if she'd done so a hundred times before. Miles sat behind a huge mahogany desk, his quill poised over the open pages of a thick ledger. His head came up at her entrance.

His eyes flickered. Clearly he was startled to see her.

"Victoria. What brings you here?"

She positioned herself directly before him. "I'm here to take you away from such drudgery as this." She nodded at his ledger. Her tone was airy and gay, or so she hoped. Inside she was a quivering mass of

nerves.

Leather creaked as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh?"

"I thought we might take the curricle, you and I. I know a lovely spot just outside the city, and I thought we might have luncheon there."

"This afternoon?"

"Yes."

"Why?" There was no bite in his tone, just blunt curiosity.

Her face felt stiff from smiling. "Because it's a lovely day outside."

He hardly looked convinced.

"And because I-I'd like to share it with you." So much for sophistication, she thought dryly. But at least it was out, though

all in a rush.

But she had captured his undivided attention. He looked at her then, and in a way that had never happened before. Something kindled in his eyes, something she dared not name for fear it was otherwise.

She thought surely her heart would burst the bounds of her body when he put aside his quill, arose, and came to stand before her.

Time hung suspended, a never-ending moment. A lean, dark hand lifted toward her face. His lips parted, as if to speak.

But whatever he was about to say was not to be. The doors were swept wide and Nelson stepped in.

"Your lordship, we've just received a note from your tailor asking if he may stop by this afternoon, if at all possible."

"It will have to wait." Victoria's heart skipped a beat, for his gaze never wavered from hers. "I'm spending the afternoon

with my wife."

Several hours later they lounged beneath the shade of a stout oak tree, replete from the meal Cook had packed. Victoria

sat upon a soft down blanket, her skirts spread out around her.

There was a farmhouse nearby. A low stone fence traversed the fields. Errant shafts of sunlight winked through the branches, bathing them in warmth and sunshine. As she had just told Miles, this place was one she knew well. When Mama was still

alive, she and Papa had brought her here often. Even when Mama was gone, she and Papa had continued to visit.

Miles lay stretched out beside her, leaning back on an elbow. He'd removed his neckcloth and discarded his jacket. In

polished boots, skin-tight breeches and shirt, an aura of undeniable masculinity clung to him.

Conversation was like the

stream that flowed nearby, lazy and idle and meandering.

"There's a place much like this near Lyndermere Park," he murmured.

"Lyndermere Park?"

"My estate in Lancashire."

"Lancashire! What a long way from London. I didn't know you had an estate there."

There was a brief pause. "Actually, I live there most of the year. I usually stay in London only a month or so while attending business matters."

"Well, I can certainly see why. London becomes quite tiresome at times." She pulled a face. "Hot and smelly in summer.

So dreary and cold in winter."

Miles made no comment.

"So," she went on lightly, "if you were in Lyndermere Park this very moment, what might you be doing?"

The makings of a smile tugged at his lips. "I might well be mucking through a field in search of a lost sheep."

Victoria chuckled. "You? I can't imagine you chasing after lost sheep."

"And I can't imagine you in anything but silk and ribbons, the toast of the Season."

His voice was so quiet, almost somber, that she glanced at him sharply.

"Miles?" She probed very gently. "What is it?"

His lips continued to carry the slightest trace of a smile. "Nothing, Victoria. You needn't concern yourself."

Something was wrong. She couldn't see it in his features. But she could
feel
it.

Unthinkingly she placed her fingertips on his sleeve. "Miles," she pleaded softly, "if something is troubling you, I wish you

would tell me."

His gaze dropped to her hand, then returned to her face. "Do you, Victoria?" Slowly he sat up. His tone was almost

whimsical. "And what would you say if I told you I lusted after my wife—now. This very moment."

A smile grazed her lips. "I would say . .. you need lust no more."

In one swift move she was caught up hard against him. For the space of a heartbeat, his eyes blazed down on her. "Do

you have any idea what you're saying? Do you?"

Her fingertips splayed wide across his chest. Beneath she could feel the strength of muscle and bone.

"Yes," she whispered recklessly. Dangerously. Uncaring that all she felt lay vivid in her eyes.
"Yes."

That one word was like a trigger being pulled. His arms locked tight around her back. Then his mouth came down on hers,

and it was just as she'd imagined it. His kiss was fierce, yet wondrously so. She could taste passion,

heady and sweet, and

a driving need that matched her own.

Her heart rejoiced, for nothing had ever felt so right—nothing.

Blindly she clung to him, caught in the tempest of emotions gone wild and rampant. She felt herself seized by a strange, inner trembling. Her breasts seemed to ache, for what she didn't know. Lean male fingers traced the deep rounded neckline of