Chapter Seven
“Thank you, Fran,” Victoria murmured as her maid bobbed a curtsey and quit the room.
The unfamiliar room.
The room in an opulent hotel where she would reside until she and her new husband boarded a ship for their honeymoon trip.
Her husband…
And she was now Lady Victoria Hart, Viscountess Blackwell.
It wasn’t the first time that day the realization had crossed her mind, but it was setting in a little bit more on each occasion.
She wondered when it would stop being a novelty and simply become her reality.
She nearly reprimanded herself for her silliness, then decided to give herself some grace.
She’d been married less than twelve hours; she could hardly be expected to change her entire perception of herself in that amount of time!
And there were a great many things with which she now must come to terms…like how much she enjoyed looking at her new husband.
Just as she’d explained to Luke, Victoria had long ago accepted the fact that the man she married might not love her—and that was her current situation, since the viscount had never so much as hinted at the word—but what would happen to her if she were to give in to the way Blackwood made her feel?
How could she handle herself for the rest of her life when faced with the persistent flutter in her chest whenever he smiled at her?
Or her incessant desire to have him hold her and touch her?
It was damned difficult to maintain her composure when faced with his charm; it was even more difficult now that they’d spent the last couple of months getting to know one another.
She’d learned the shape of his smile, the difference in his laughter when it was just the two of them as opposed to when there was more of a crowd, and that there was substance behind his lighthearted demeanor—there had to be if he’d won over her father.
Could she allow herself to explore her attraction to the man she’d married?
Would she?
None of Society’s constraints applied any longer; they’d been freed from them as soon as the ink had dried on the register.
But the idea of admitting to her growing attraction felt a bit like handing over too much control.
She’d spent so long keeping her emotions in check and disguising her feelings from the vipers and harpies who would feast upon her weakness that it caused her no small discomfort to think of doing otherwise.
If she couldn’t do this with Blackwood, then with whom could she? He was her husband, after all.
Victoria had still been contemplating that much when they arrived at their suite of rooms from the lavish wedding breakfast, as the maid had helped her slip from her elegant wedding gown and into the gauzy ivory nightdress trimmed in sapphire blue ribbon, and she waited in silence thick with anticipation.
Her eyes danced across the ornately carved marble of the mantle, the elegant crown molding, the walls papered in rich blue stripes; her bare toes wriggled in the thick pile of the rug.
None of it truly distracted her from the hammering of her heart against her ribcage—especially not when she heard the handle of the door to the adjoining chamber turn.
Certainly, there was nothing in existence that could calm her pulse when her husband walked through the door, somehow even more devilishly handsome in his dishabille.
The collar of his crisp white linen shirt was undone, affording her a view of the strong column of his throat; his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing his corded forearms and their dark dusting of hair.
It was absurdly, incredibly intimate, this glimpse of his arms.
It took a great deal of effort, but she was finally able to drag her eyes back to his face…and he smiled when their eyes met. It was broad and unguarded; his eyes crinkled at the corners and his sharply angular features softened.
Once again, her stomach performed that hopeless flip.
Rafe had done the unthinkable.
He, the Rake of London, one of the notorious Rank of Rakes, was well and truly wedded.
What was more impressive? He’d managed to snag one of the wealthiest heiresses on the Marriage Marts on both sides of the Atlantic.
In a matter of months, he’d singlehandedly managed to turn his fortunes around—quite literally.
Mr. Rockford had offered a most generous sum as settlement for the marriage agreement, along with an annual income that would keep them all quite comfortable.
Of course, the younger Mr. Rockford hadn’t been able to resist throwing his weight around, and he’d insisted upon stipulations for his sister’s happiness.
“My son insisted upon a few terms as well,” Mr. Rockford had said, tapping his thumb on the paperwork between them.
“Though I was reluctant, I must admit that his stipulations were not unreasonable. The annual stipend will be paid out only after personal testimony to the solicitors by Victoria that she remains satisfied in the marriage. If she is at all unhappy or displeased, then the disbursement will be frozen. She will still be able to request funds for personal use, but nothing will be disbursed to the Blackwood estate. Not a cent. Not a pound. Not a farthing.”
Anxiety had briefly tightened across Rafe’s chest. He’d been arrogant to believe that all his troubles would be over after the vows were recited when he’d entered negotiations with such a shrewd businessman.
His future—and that of his wards—would continue to hang in the balance and depend upon his ability to maintain a good rapport with the woman he would marry.
He’d bolstered himself with the confidence in his charm… and other areas.
If Rafe wanted to benefit from the arrangement, then he needed to keep his wife satisfied.
In that, he knew he could deliver. A sated woman was a happy woman, and if there was one thing he knew, it was how to satisfy a woman.
He’d acted many a part in his life, and he would approach the role of devoted husband with the same mentality…
no matter the slightly sick feeling that had occasionally begun to bloom in the pit of his stomach.
The truth was, he’d come to like Victoria over the past several months.
He’d come to recognize her wit and humor, to appreciate her American frankness and understand the nuances of her mannerisms. If he were honest, then he’d admit he’d enjoyed all the events they’d attended together a great deal more than he would have otherwise.
He’d always been a man who reveled in mirth and celebration—two things well absent from his childhood home—and who sniffed out the best entertainments, but adding Miss Rockford into the scenario had been unexpectedly pleasant.
He enjoyed her company. He liked her as a person.
And it almost made him regret how he’d approached her with ulterior motives under the guise of friendship.
There had never been a moment he hadn’t acted with the intention of wooing her and her family enough to win her hand.
However, so much time spent in her presence meant he’d learned a great deal about her.
He knew how she enjoyed the theater, how her nose wrinkled when she found something truly humorous, how she tapped the fingers of her left hand together when she was thinking.
It made her seem less like a means to an end and more like an individual…
one he liked spending time with and with whom he could conceivably spend many years.
But…was he possibly robbing her of a different future by claiming her out of desperation for money?
Not that he placed much stock in the notion of love, but perhaps Miss Rockford did.
Perhaps she might have found a love like Alice and her husband had; perhaps she could have found a man who did not take her away from America, her family, and all she’d ever known; perhaps she might have had a husband who didn’t have three young wards whom he’d hidden from her on the chance that their existence might have deterred her.
It was a blasted inconvenient time for his conscience to dust itself off and make itself known.
Of course, it hadn’t been loud enough to keep Rafe from going through with the wedding.
He spent the two hours since their arrival at the hotel taking his time removing his coat and waistcoat, sipping a glass of warmed brandy, stuffing that conscience back into its box, and counting the minutes until he would finally go to his wife.
It was a foreign thought, that. And, unnerving as it was, it wasn’t enough to rein in his anticipation. After all, these last few months had been some of the longest of his life.
Determined not to offer Miss Rockford or her father any reason to back out of the arrangement, he’d gone without female companionship since before even speaking a word to the American heiress.
His last mistress, Lady Dallow was only slightly more than two decades in age, and she was already enjoying the freedoms of a woman who had married a much older man and inherited the title of “dowager” relatively quickly.
She hadn’t taken kindly to Rafe’s termination of their relationship, but it hadn’t been anything he wasn’t used to.
Women were often distraught when it happened, but they eventually moved on.
Since then, Rafe had remained as chaste as a monk, and now the drought was about to end. His blood began to hum in anticipation.
Victoria was undeniably attractive, so he fully anticipated a night filled with more than just mild pleasantness—even if she was an untutored virgin.
He had lain awake many a night pondering all the things he could teach her, imagining the sounds she might make, and how soft her skin would be with nothing between them.
When he found her waiting for him, standing before the glow of the fire as it cast her willowy figure in silhouette, he knew the night would be no hardship at all.