Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
“Victoria,” Richard moaned her name in triumph.
At that moment, he wished, achingly so, that he could have done it inside her.
The thought was sharp enough to make him still.
How was it that this was already enough to unravel him?
He had known women before. He had indulged freely, without attachment, without caring about a future.
Yet none of them had ever made him feel like this, as though he were standing on the edge of something irreversible.
And now, here was his wife, fingers still warm against his skin, leaving him feeling like a man barely holding himself together.
The duke knew that he was getting closer and closer to giving in to her wants. In his head, he reasoned that they could hire more nursemaids, governesses… He could afford the very best, the most capable of them. He could insulate Victoria from exhaustion, from sacrifice—
But the reality continued to poke him, to prod him. Victoria would never accept being placed in the background when it came to children. Not Melody. Not any child. She would never be content to stand at a remove, watching others care where she longed to love.
Tonight, he felt even closer to her. Not merely because of what they had just shared, but because she had allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, open with him.
When he rose from the bed, intending only to fetch water and cloths, her hand shot out and caught his arm.
“Stay,” she pleaded, her blue eyes wide, innocent on a woman with wiles that could shatter him.
“I’m not leaving,” he said at once, the firmness in his voice meant as reassurance, not authority. “I swear it.” He softened his tone. “Let me just clean us up.”
Only then did she loosen her grip, let him slip out of it. Even that tiny brush of skin made his whole body heat up, as though walking under the scorching sun of a desert.
He gathered their discarded clothes, moving with an efficiency that felt almost comical given how little control he felt inside.
He returned moments later with warm water, clean cloths, and a small vial of lavender oil he knew she favored.
His movements were careful as he tended to her, soothing skin that had grown sensitive beneath his touch.
She watched him quietly.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said at last.
“I want to.”
That seemed to silence her. He draped a heavy velvet robe around her shoulders, drawing it closed before pulling her gently against him once more.
They settled into the bed together, limbs tangled, her head tucked beneath his chin. The fire crackled low in the hearth, its glow painting the room in gold and shadow. Outside, the night pressed close against the windows.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Yet something pulsed, pressed within Richard’s chest. Something that needed to come out. Something he needed to share with her.
“My father,” Richard began, his voice a low rumble against her temple, “and my brothers were men of few words. The feud with the Penwikes became the very foundation of their being. It wasn’t merely hatred—it was identity. Purpose. Obligation.”
His arm tightened around her waist. “Both families had become intensely involved to the point that it became their lives. They thought keeping me away would spare me.” A humorless huff escaped him. “Instead, I learned how to listen. How to disappear when necessary. How to fight when I couldn’t.”
Victoria rested her chin on his chest, angling herself to see his face. “And how to feel?”
“That,” he admitted, “was never taught.”
He swallowed before continuing. “When I asked you to marry me, I thought myself… tainted. A plague, of sorts. We were married as strangers, but I believe I had enough decency to stay away from you and ensure that the Penwike poison would not affect you, too. You were innocent. But…instead, by hiding, by avoiding you, I starved us both. Of a life. Of a future.”
Victoria rested her chin on his chest, as if she was trying to find a better view of his face, of his eyes. To see the honesty in them.
“I know what it is to live in fear,” she said at last. “You’ve… you’ve likely heard of my father.”
“I have,” he said carefully.
“He was a tyrant, a man who loved his first wife so much that her death became the death of his decency. He lost whatever kindness he had left in him. Then he married my mother. He probably thought the best partner, the best kind of wife for him, had to be someone as coldly practical as he was. I think he believed that love was a weakness.”
Richard’s hand stilled at her back.
“My mother was absent during our childhood. So…my sisters, my brother, and I… we learned to deal with our father’s cruelty. Most people thought that, as the most troublesome of his children, I at least deserved the blows.”
“Nobody deserves to grow up in fear of their mother or their father,” Richard interjected.
She let out a slow breath. “I know. I know. And yet… because of them, because of my parents… I don’t know what it is like to be a good mother.
Yes, I saw my sisters marry and have their own children, and they’ve grown to be wonderful mothers.
But I… I am not like them. Not as steadfast as Marianne and Wilhelmina, not as thoughtful as Elizabeth and Daphne…
That is the reason why I’m so terrified of Melody.
I didn’t know how to hold her. I didn’t know if I even wanted children. I thought I would fail them.”
He lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are nothing like your parents, Victoria.”
She searched his face, as if testing the truth of it.
“And perhaps you’re not like your sisters. But you’re strong and compassionate in your own way. Need I remind you that you did not take Melody in because duty demanded it?” he continued. “You did so because your heart would allow nothing else. You are the light and warmth of Hawksford.”
Victoria let out a shaky breath, and Richard wondered what she was thinking at the moment.
The scent of lavender mingled with the warmth of the fire and the lingering trace of their intimacy. He felt an overwhelming pride and an equally sharp and jagged guilt.
He was praising her maternal heart while quietly denying her the chance to let it fully bloom.
He felt the hypocrisy of praising her maternal heart while actively ensuring she could not let it beat for a child of their own. He was calling her Hawksford’s warmth and light while keeping her in the dark about what Penwike could do to them.
“Know that I am no saint, Victoria,” he continued, his voice sounding rough, and his throat felt raw. “I’ve not always struggled against the feud that ruined my family. Before we married, before my brothers’ deaths, I lived my life as a rake.”
“Yet you sought to get married.”
“Yes. You knew most of the circumstances that I was in when we got engaged. I was not yet a duke, and I needed the protection that would come from being connected to your family. I need strong alliances.”
“Everything was because of Penwike.”
“In a way, it was. At least then. You’ve protected me more than you could ever know.”
“And now?” she asked softly.
“Now,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm beneath it, “Now, you are caring for Melody, who is safer in your arms than anywhere else. I must do the same for you. Make you feel safe. Be safe.”
This time, Victoria responded with her body and not her words. Her small hand slid behind his neck, pulling him so that his forehead touched hers. It felt more intimate than a passionate touch, but it did not mean that he didn’t want more of her in that regard.
He craved it. Desired her. Wanted more of her touch and kisses.
“I don’t need a fortress,” she murmured. “I need a husband.”
The words took root within him. With them, he felt that the gap between them seemed to be disappearing, tonight’s intimacy serving as a bridge. The fire in the hearth might be fading, but they were warm.
He stayed awake to watch her breathing level as she drifted off to sleep. Moonlight streamed in to caress her skin. She looked ethereal, something he had to hold on to. Tightly.
Tonight felt like a victory.
And yet, as the clock chimed softly in the hall, he wondered how long he could keep her trust.
“We’re going tonight?” Victoria asked, pleasantly surprised.
Last night was a revelation. She could still feel the warmth of being intimate with Richard. In the morning, he surprised her with theater tickets.
“Yes. Why is that a surprise?” he asked, giving her a lopsided smile.
“No. It’s just -,” she faltered, thinking of his obsession with keeping everyone safe.
“You must see this play,” he said softly, “and we will retreat as soon as it is done.”
Victoria squinted at him. Perhaps he wanted people to see them more as a couple, without the necessary small talk. She should not complain. It had been a while since she last indulged in a play that did not involve her as an actor.
“Are we?” she asked, as she spotted mischief on his face. It was a welcome change from his constantly grave demeanor.
“Yes, we are,” he rasped, his eyes gazing at her with heavy-lidded intensity that pulled the air from her lungs.
The look on his face and the fire in his eyes made the carriage ride an exercise in agonizing restraint.
They sat opposite each other, with the coach’s rhythmic swaying having his knees brushing against the fragile silk of her skirts.
Just the slight nudge had her fidgeting in her seat.
She wondered if the carriage ride and the night at the theater were designed to torture her.
Suddenly, even her sapphire pendant felt hot on her decolletage.
Richard did not speak much. He looked out the window, as if his mind was far away from where he was stoking the fire in Victoria. Soon, they had arrived at the entrance of the theater, and she was utterly confused. The night out was his idea.