Chapter 6
Chapter Six
When Richard arrived back at Hawksford House, the sun had begun to set. Long shadows spread across the drawing room carpet, the edges seemingly pointing at Victoria, who sat on the sofa.
His wife was not reading a book, which was customary for her during this hour, a fact he’d gathered from the housekeeper. Instead, she was standing with Melody in her arms.
She looked like she certainly wanted to be good at caring for the newborn. For her, it could be a challenge to herself or a true development of feelings for the baby. It could be both.
Melody was fussing. It was a low sound that suggested either discomfort or exhaustion, but not a sign of true distress. It seemed that there was at least some improvement in their interactions.
Victoria rocked Melody, more gently than she did last night. Her face was scrunched into a frown, the effort certainly showing.
Richard could understand some of it. The baby needed comfort. His wife wanted to be competent at everything she did.
Melody was her true focus. Victoria had again decided she could wear whatever she wanted in her own home.
She wore a thin gown with no corset and no petticoat.
Instead of her gown billowing out, the fabric clung to her every curve.
Richard could clearly see the natural swell of her breasts and hips.
The dimming light streaming from the windows rendered the fabric almost translucent.
Desire slammed into the duke, an instantaneous and fatal blow.
A year of celibacy was becoming alarming.
Then again, even before he met Victoria, he had never felt this strong rush of desire.
Of want. His face warmed as he tried not to gape too much at the uncorseted woman who still struggled with the infant.
He felt slightly ashamed, noticing her body when he should be focused on her admirable efforts in caring for an infant who was not even her own.
Then, she finally felt his presence. She looked up, her eyes flashing with recognition. It seemed she had noticed him staring at her. Her eyes, soft with Melody, hardened.
“Are your sisters settled?” Richard asked, keeping his voice level, hoping that nothing would reveal the desire he felt at simply watching his wife.
“Oh, they are,” she responded. “They won’t tell anyone. We have gone through many things together. We protect each other.”
“You should have consulted with me before inviting them over,” he countered, even though his irritation felt somewhat faraway.
Richard’s irritation was a mere shield, fraying at its edges.
However, his voice managed to remain sharp, and his eyes wandered as if afraid he would betray his feelings; that he was no longer angered by her acts of defiance.
He was fully aware that he was fighting a losing battle with his attraction.
It was more than lust that he felt for her; he was vaguely aware now. His mission to search for Melody’s origins was no longer simply about clearing his name but also proving he was a man worth her trust.
“It’s easy for you to judge,” Victoria replied, tilting her chin up in defiance. “You are not the one who was forced into the charge of a child who is not your making. I had to learn so many things in a short period of time.”
Her words hit a nerve. He had not offered to care for Melody. It was not what was expected of men, but he could have at least offered or even provided his presence. Guilt now reigned supreme, dousing his desire like a bucket of ice water would.
“I have been asking around, finding ways to secure our reputation,” he said, hoping that he could express his efficiency.
He walked closer to his wife, as he continued, “We may now have a cover story. We can claim that Melody is my recently deceased cousin’s daughter. Her husband died not long before her. We could say she left an infant behind, and as her nearest relative, the child became my ward.”
Victoria’s mouth opened and closed. Before she could say anything, Melody started fussing. She squirmed in her arms, flailing her tiny fists at the duchess.
“Oh, hush, darling,” Victoria said softly, almost pleadingly. Her voice cracked. His chest clenched at the sound of her growing fatigue.
“Mrs. Davies!” she called out.
“Yes, Your Grace?” the housekeeper asked, immediately coming to see what her mistress needed.
“Melody is fussing,” the duchess said, almost sounding like a young girl.
“She needs to sleep now, Your Grace,” Mrs. Davies replied, reaching out to take the baby from Victoria’s arms. “She is tired and needs sleep. Babies like her will sleep for most of the day, as needed by their bodies. She will soon settle.”
“If she does not settle,” Victoria said, “P-please call me immediately.”
“I will, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, securing the baby in her arms even as she gave a small curtsy before she left for the nursery.
Richard noted that Victoria might care for the baby more than she was willing to admit. She had begun getting attached to the life she was caring for even as they were trying to determine the baby’s parentage.
How will she feel if there is a need to return the child to her parents?
They were alone now, with no baby between them to command the line of conversation. Victoria looked Richard in the eye, allowing him to see the pure exhaustion on her face.
“The plan sounds like the best we have so far,” she said, agreeing to his cover story.
Her arms crossed over her chest, accentuating the soft swell of her breasts.
“You don’t look too happy about the story,” he noted, frowning.
“Well, if I have a hard time believing the story, how will we expect the ton to believe this concocted fiction?”
Frustration settled heavily over Richard. He had turned the matter over in his mind from every angle, testing each solution for weakness—only to find that none of them satisfied Victoria. Worse, she might be right.
“We will sit down and establish the facts,” he said, forcing calm into his voice. “Once we do, we will give the same answers to anyone who asks. We are the Duke and Duchess of Hawksford. Our reputation is thus far untarnished. Consistency is all that is required.”
“Consistency?” Victoria shot back, her disbelief sharp enough to sting.
“We have lived apart for more than a year, Richard. We are known for our indifference to one another. And now, suddenly, we reside under the same roof because a child appears on our doorstep? Even the foolish will see the convenience in it, and people delight in believing the worst. And when we find the child’s mother?
” she pressed. “When Melody is returned to her, what story do you intend to tell the ton then?”
“When that happens, I will deal with it,” Richard snapped, the last restraint on his temper giving way.
Enough. He had endured suspicion and judgment since the moment he arrived. All he had done was honor their agreement—kept the marriage orderly, distant, and safe. He had left London to preserve her independence. To protect her. And still, she looked at him as though he were capable of this.
“You must persuade me first,” Victoria said, her voice tight. “I am the one caring for a child who is not mine. I barely sleep. And I do not even know whether she is yours.”
The accusation struck home, sharp and precise. Heat flared through him—anger first, then something far more dangerous beneath it.
“There is nothing I can do to persuade you,” he said quietly. “You have already judged me. Branded me. You did not even grant me the courtesy of doubt.” His voice hardened. “Have you ever asked yourself what sort of man I am, Victoria? Have you ever asked anyone at all?”
She went still. He saw it—the pause, the realization. Of course, she had not. She had never tried to know him. And if he dared claim knowledge of her, she would accuse him of calculation.
Their argument drove them closer without either of them willing it.
The space between them vanished. He was acutely aware of her now—her warmth, the faint scent of lavender and milk clinging to her skin.
Silk whispered as she shifted, and his attention followed the line of her throat before he could stop himself.
“You had been with other women,” she said at last.
“Not while I was married to you,” Richard replied at once. “I kept my honor intact—only to see it questioned because another man’s child was laid at my door.”
“And I kept this household alone,” she said. “You chose to leave. You did not even—” She broke off, eyes widening.
“I did not even what?” he demanded.
They both knew.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Soft. Trembling. Parted with more than anger. The question that rose in him was dangerous, but he needed the truth.
“Or is it,” he said, his voice low and rough, “that you doubt me now because you wish I had claimed you on our wedding night?”
Victoria blushed furiously. She was also speechless, and that, coupled with her burning face, spoke volumes. Her reaction was unexpected, and it broke something within him.
His self-control was gone.
The duke reached for his wife and pressed her against him. His hands cupped her face, and he kissed her. It wasn’t the gentle, chaste kiss he gave her at their wedding. This one was fueled by desire, its violence proof of the year of denial and the chaos that had settled over Hawksford House.
He could feel her soft body through her thin gown.
Warm. Yielding. Her soft pressed against his hard.
And she didn’t push him. Instead, her arms went around his neck.
It was a base instinct, he knew, but he reveled in it.
He liked how her fingers tangled with his hair, pulling at strands roughly; it almost hurt.
Throughout his life, Richard had tried to avoid a connection like this. This was a consuming fire. People didn’t think as clearly when they were consumed by desire.
Yet, he let himself be lost. They were there in the drawing room, out in the open for any servant to see, but at that moment, he didn’t care. The duke let his hands roam his wife’s body.
She was his own. Yet, he never claimed her; he didn’t think there was a need. Until now. He pulled her closer as if that were possible at all. Their tongues lashed. He sucked hers, eliciting a moan from her. He was now hard, everywhere, and he ground himself against her.
Then, a sound not too far away had them jumping apart just as quickly as they combusted. It was Mrs. Davies’s voice.
“Your Graces?” she called out from the hallway, almost as if she knew the married couple needed a few moments to settle down. “Will the two of you eat dinner together? Would you like the meal served soon?”
“Y-yes, Mrs. Davies,” Victoria managed to reply.
Their eyes were both wide, their breathing still ragged. The shared guilt seemed ridiculous given that they were married. But they were not this kind of married. Not really.
Victoria smoothed her gown, while Richard cleared his throat. He fought for air.
When he gave his wife a curt nod, he noticed her still-swollen lips.
He could not trust himself to say anything more.
So, he turned on his heel and left her in the drawing room.
It might look cold, but deep inside him, he knew he would struggle to rid himself of the memory of her taste and yielding body.