Married At Midnight (26 page)

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Victoria didn't care if she had provoked Miles— all the better if she had! Yet several hours later, her defiance had given way to something else entirely. Oh, she danced and laughed, chatted and smiled. But all in all, it was the most tiresome affair

of her life. As she confided to Sophie, were it not for her friend's company, she'd have quit the affair long

since and gone

home. Indeed, as she stood on the edge of the ballroom with Sophie, she was just about to voice that very intention.

There was a tap on her shoulder. It was Count Antony DeFazio.

"Dance with me," was all he said. His arm snug about her waist, he whisked her onto the dance floor.

Dark eyes roamed her face. "I've missed you,
cara."

"Have you?" Her tone was polite but detached. Manners alone dictated a reply.

"Oh, yes,
cara.
Never have I been so lonely!" he proclaimed grandly. "Did you not hear my heart call out to you?"

Lonely? How Victoria stopped herself from rolling her eyes, she never knew. Why, he must believe her a dimwit to fall

for such drivel!

"But enough of me. Where have you been these past days?"

"Actually"—she spoke very demurely—"I've spent many a delightful evening at home with my husband."

He laughed. "Oh, but I can make you happy as he cannot." The arm about her waist tightened. His voice deepened to

intimacy. "I can make you forget any man but me. Shall I show you,
cara?"

Victoria was speechless. How had she ever thought this man charming? Apparently he was convinced she was joking,

the cad! Such ego deserved a dressing-down.

"Rubbish," she said forcefully.

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Rubbish," she stated baldly. "You see, Count, there is only one man who can make me happy. Of a certainty that man is

not you."

Her partner was left standing in the middle of the ballroom. He gaped at her, stunned and open-mouthed.

Amidst gasps and whispers, Victoria strolled across the floor. Oh, she was fully aware her conduct was scarcely commendable. No doubt her name would be on every tongue the rest of the night and well into the next day. Still, it was

worth it, she decided rebelliously, and she didn't regret that she'd given Antony the dressing-down he deserved. Perhaps

he wouldn't be so arrogant in future.

The thought kindled a smile, a smile she maintained as she breezed her way across the ballroom, intent on fetching a breath

of air in the garden.

There was a touch on her elbow. Thinking it was Antony, she spun around, prepared to loose on him the full force of her disdain.

"I thought I made myself quite cl—" she began.

The rest died unuttered in her throat. Because it wasn't Antony at all...

It was Miles.

In an instant she was whirled back onto the dance floor. "You mustn't look so shocked, countess."

Miles's eyes were

somber, but his voice held a trace of mirth. "Lord knows you've just given the gossip-mongers a juicy little tidbit. I should

hate to give them another."

"My very thought, my lord," Victoria echoed faintly. Her heart pounded a bone-jarring rhythm. Her mind was all agog.

What on earth was he doing here?

Miles glanced toward Count DeFazio, who glared at the pair, then pointedly turned his back. "Your tongue is rapier-sharp tonight, I take it. I pray you'll not turn it against me tonight."

He bent his head low. Warm breath rushed across her skin ...

He kissed the side of her neck.

Victoria's pulse was clamoring, her emotions a mad jumble. "To-tonight?" she stammered.

"Yes, sweet," he said softly. "Tonight."

And then he said the words she'd never thought to hear. "You were right, Victoria. I
was
jealous, jealous of every moment

you spent with DeFazio. But I have the feeling you made another assumption— only a quite erroneous assumption, I fear."

His gaze pierced hers. "I don't want an annulment, Victoria. Not now. Not ever."

Her heart stopped—along with her feet. Was she in heaven? Surely it was so, for this couldn't be happening ...

He kissed the tiny hollow before her ear. "Did you hear me, sweet?"

Her eyes clung to his. His regard was so tender, his words so sweet. She nodded, for she could do no more.

"Good," he said gently. "Now dance again, love."

Hope flowered in her breast, hope that warmed her like the heat of summer sunshine.

"Are you ... certain?" She ventured the question cautiously, then held her breath.

"Very." Quiet as his tone was, beneath was a gravity that left no doubt he meant what he said.

Yet even while hope burgeoned still further, a pang rent her breast. Never had she been so afraid!

Her eyes slid away. "Why," she said, her voice very low. "Why not?"

"The reason is simple, Victoria. I am your husband."

"A reluctant husband," she said unsteadily. "And as I recall, you made your feelings for me quite clear.

You—you found me distasteful." She fought to keep the hurt from her voice and wasn't entirely successful.

The arm about her back tightened. His gaze was unerringly direct. "No, Victoria. Never distasteful.

Never that."

But Victoria could not forget so easily. A rending ache seared her breast. "What then if not distasteful?

You wanted nothing

to do with me," she said haltingly. "You said it... it wasn't right."

"And what if I was wrong? What if I was a fool? What if I told you that I wanted you then? That I want you now. That I

will
always
want you."

The music and voices around them faded into oblivion. There was a note in his voice she'd never before heard; it might have been just the two of them. She was half-afraid to speak, lest it be a dream.

"Then you must show me," she whispered.

And God above, he did.

She scarcely noticed they had glided to a halt. She had one paralyzing glimpse of glowing silver eyes before his dark head descended.

He kissed her then, there before all the
ton
to see. Slowly. Leisurely tasting, as if they had all the time in the world. Victoria couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to. It was as if he had some strange power over her. The pressure of his mouth on hers was magic. Bliss beyond reason.

By the time it was over her head was spinning. Her hands had come up to clutch at the powerful lines of his shoulders. As

he raised his head—reluctantly, it seemed to her—she realized the room had gone utterly quiet.

And every eye in the ballroom was turned to the two of them.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Oh, dear," she murmured, catching her lip between her teeth.

"I do believe we've caused yet another scandal."

Miles hiked a brow in sardonic amusement. "Scandal be damned," he said baldly, "for I should very much like to escape this crowd and take my wife home—if that meets with her approval, of course."

Victoria wanted to weep with relief and happiness. She raised shining eyes to his. "It does indeed, my lord. It does indeed."

He pressed her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Then let us be off, countess."

Together they strolled from the dance floor. But it seemed Miles was not yet ready to leave, for he snared two glasses of champagne from a passing footman.

Heedless of the gazes which had yet to leave their figures, he touched the edge of his glass to hers.

"To my beautiful wife," he stated for all to hear, "and to a long and happy marriage."

His head came down. He rested his forehead against hers. As his gaze captured hers, heat shimmered between them, as

hot and blazing as a fire. Only now his words were a velvet whisper, for her ears alone ...

"And to the night ahead ..."

Miles's bedroom door clicked quietly shut. Victoria had stopped in the middle of the room. She was quick to flash a beaming smile at him, but he knew she was nervous. Nor had he missed the way her eyes flitted to and from the four-poster on the opposite wall. His own dropped to where the creamy skin of her breasts swelled above the lace of her bodice. Blood rushed to his head and loins, firing his desire into a raging need, swelling his manhood to an almost painful fullness.

He tightened his shoulders, fighting to hold himself in check. Slowly he expelled a long, pent-up breath.

He could wait, he cautioned himself. He
must
wait, for he knew full well Victoria was a virgin, well born and gently bred. He didn't want to

shock her, nor did he want to frighten her.

He extended his hand. "Come here," he said softly.

There was a rustle of skirts as she breached the distance between them. Shyly she placed her hand within his. Her fingers

were ice-cold.

Raising his free hand, he curled his knuckles beneath her chin and tipped her face to his. His tone was very quiet. "You

know where this will end, don't you? There will be no annulment after this night."

Her eyes clung to his. "I-I know."

"And this is what you want?" He searched her face intently.

She didn't retreat from either his gaze or his question. "Yes," she said breathlessly. "Yet still I wonder, my lord, if you are certain that is what
you
want."

In bringing her here, Miles realized he had made not one, but two choices. The first was to make her truly his wife. He

wanted that, he realized. He wanted it so much he could taste it. As for the other...

He could no longer hide the truth from her. But there was time enough to tell her about Heather. For now, Miles wanted the moment to stay just the way it was—the two of them alone, secluded from the world, with no one to think of but each other.

"Do not doubt me, Victoria. My choice was made when I came after you tonight." He spoke very quietly. "I have no regrets and it's my hope you will have none either."

The wispiest of smiles touched her lips. "I've known for quite some time what I want, my lord. I am here

... and I am yours."

Miles needed no further encouragement. He caught her up in his arms and carried her to the side of the bed. Lowering her to the floor, he let her body slide against the hardness of his, then turned her mouth up to his. He fed on it endlessly, like a feast before a starving man. His fingers slid into her hair. It tumbled about his hands, thick and heavy and silken.

It was he who dragged his mouth away. Holding her gaze, he shrugged off his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

He saw the way her eyes widened at the sight of his naked chest. Two spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. He sensed her uncertainty, but her fingers fluttered to the neckline of her bodice.

His hand engulfed hers. At her questioning glance, he shook his head. "No," he said. "Let me."

He undressed her down to her shift, so sheer the outline of her body was clearly visible beneath. He pulled her close, suppressing a groan, letting her grow used to the feel of him. His mouth sought hers, at first slow and exploring, then with mounting urgency.

But suddenly she drew back, burying her face against his shoulder.

He smoothed the tumbled gold of her hair. "What, Victoria? What is it?"

The breath she drew was deep and uneven. "Oh, I know 'tis silly, but... we have been a long time coming to this moment.

What if I should do something foolish? What if I should do something wrong?"

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "You need not worry, Victoria. You are perfect. In every way. In all ways." T

here was a small pause. "And now, countess"—it was his turn to tease as he tugged slender arms up and around his neck—

"I would very much like for you to kiss me."

Her head came up, only now there was a faintly teasing light in her beautiful blue eyes. "What is this, my lord? Why, I do believe you told me once I should not force my attentions on a gentleman—let alone kiss him!—for a man finds such

boldness distasteful." It was her turn to arch a slender brow. "Your exact words, if I recall."

He smiled, his expression tender. "I think I will go quite mad if you do
not
kiss me. Besides, I am not just a gentleman.

I am your husband." His smile faded. "And your husband would very much like to make love to his wife."

Tears sprang to her eyes, yet she was smiling, a smile he knew he would carry in his heart forever. Her arms tightened around him. The dewy softness of her mouth hovered just beneath his, a provocative invitation. "And your wife wishes you would wait no longer, my lord."

And indeed, Victoria knew beyond any doubt that this was all she wanted—
he
was all she wanted. With infinite gentleness,

he kissed her, then lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. When he stretched out beside her, she pressed herself against his length, eager for all he would teach her.

Her shift was soon but a flimsy pile on the carpet. With her palms she skimmed the sleek outline of his shoulders. She could

feel the knotted tension in his muscles, yet he did not hurry her. The touch of his hands on her breasts was a divine torment. With his thumbs he teased the sensitive peaks until they throbbed and stood up hard and erect. His head lowered. His tongue touched her nipple, leaving it shiny and wet and aching.

She gasped as he took one deep coral circle into his mouth, sucking and circling, sweeping across that turgid peak with the wild lash of his tongue.

His hand drifted lower, down across the hollow of her belly, sliding through dark gold curls. Victoria's

heart began to hammer, for there was a strange questing there in the secret cleft between her thighs.

Surely he would not touch her there, she thought

in half-panic, half-excitement. Surely she did not
want
him to, for such a thing was scandalous . . .

It was heaven. A jolt of sheer pleasure shot through her. The gliding stroke of his fingertips was boldly undaunting, skimming damp folds, dipping and swirling against the pearly button of sensation centered within.

Her eyes widened. Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Oh, dear," she whispered faintly. "Miles, I do not think—"

"It's all right, sweet." He stared down at her, his features were strained, his voice thick. "All I want is to please you." Sweat beaded his upper lip. His blood pounded almost violently. As she gave a muted little whimper, his shaft swelled still further, straining his breeches until he felt he would surely burst the bonds of his skin.

Her lashes fluttered closed. One long, strong finger slipped clear inside her, a blatantly erotic caress.

Blistering flames leaped deep in her belly, for his thumb now worshiped that sensitive kernel of flesh. Her hips began to move. Seeking. Searching for something maddeningly elusive. And then it happened. Her body seemed to tighten, then explode in a blinding flash of ecstasy.

Her eyes opened, smoky and dazed. Miles had pulled away, but it was only to strip away his breeches.

Lamplight flickered over his body, turning his skin to burnished gold. He looked like a god, she thought wonderingly, strong and proud and irresistibly masculine.

Tentatively, she touched the hair-matted plane of his chest. He sucked in a harsh breath. Emboldened, she dared to explore

still further, brushing the grid of his abdomen with the backs of her knuckles. His eyes half-closed.

"Touch me, Victoria." His voice was taut. With his own hand, he dragged hers where he wanted it most.

Her cool fingers curled about his shaft. He was enormous, hot and thick. A fingertip traced the velvet-tipped crown. Even

as she marveled that something so steely hard could be so soft, she swallowed, for she could not imagine how she could accommodate something so immense ...

His breath rushed out. "God, Victoria. Oh, God..."

Then he was there between her thighs, kneeling between them. He levered himself over her, his features heated and searing.

His belly was hard as stone against her—as was his manhood. One swift, stretching stroke of fire and virginity was no more;

his shaft pierced hard and deep inside her, to the very gates of her womb.

A ragged sound broke from her lips. Above her, Miles went utterly still. Victoria blinked, for he lay buried to the hilt within

her. Her velvet heat clamped tight around his swollen member, the pressure of his shaft stunningly thorough.

"Oh, my," she said shakily.

He braced himself above her. His lips grazed hers. His voice was but a breath of air. "Do I hurt you, love?"

She was stunned to find her body had yielded. Already the stinging pain was but a memory. She shook her head, wordlessly offering her lips . .. her body...

Her very soul.

He kissed her then, a lingering, binding caress. His shaft withdrew, only to return with a deft, sure plunge that stole her very breath. Pleasure, dark and heady, swirled all around her. The flame was back in her belly, burning higher and higher as their hips met again and again. His hands slid beneath her buttocks.

Guiding even as she blindly sought. . . Lifting as she arched to meet each downward plunge ...

The rhythm of their love dance was hot and driving, frenzied and urgent. She felt herself swept high and away, deep into a white-hot vortex of sheer rapture. She was only half-aware of crying out. Above her, Miles gave one final, piercing lunge.

She could only cling to him while his climax erupted inside her, a fiery rush of molten heat.

The tension eased gradually from his body. His lips nuzzled the baby-soft skin behind her ear. "Sweet,"

he whispered.

"So sweet."

Without warning she began to cry.

Warm fingers brushed the dampness from her cheeks, a touch of infinite tenderness. "Victoria. Victoria, love, what is this?"

He froze, propping himself on an elbow and staring down at her. "Never say I hurt you!"

"It isn't that." She buried her face against his chest. "It's just that—I thought you did not want me," she sobbed. "I thought

you didn't want me— I thought you would never want me!"

In some strange way, she knew he understood. A possessive arm locked around her, drawing her close and tight against

him. A hand beneath her chin, he brought her gaze to his. "Never doubt that I
do
want you, sweet. Never doubt
me."

And in that moment, she didn't.