Chapter Nine
The next morning, Victoria awoke with a feline stretch and a languid sigh.
As she moved and her consciousness grew brighter, she gradually became aware of small aches which could only have resulted from the previous night’s activities.
Her inner thighs twitched with the memories, and her core emitted a tender throb.
Judging from the halo of warm sunlight peering around the room’s curtains, she’d slept the entire night following her thorough introduction to the art of wifehood.
She bit her slightly puffy lower lip and fancied she could still taste her husband in the whisper of brandy.
It had been more than she could have imagined, and even more wonderful than Lady Morton had led her to believe.
The duchess had pulled Victoria aside toward the end of the wedding breakfast, saying, “I realize you do not have a feminine influence in your life, and I refuse to allow you to go into tonight without even the slightest bit of warning; therefore, I am taking matters into my own hands.”
“Warning?”
Lady Morton had nodded. “It isn’t really my place to have this conversation with you, but I will not allow you to be as unprepared as I was.”
“Unprepared?” Victoria had squeaked.
“Oh, are we doing this now?” Lady Swanleigh flitted over and joined their private corner.
“Doing what?” Victoria had asked, her alarm growing by the second.
“As much as I enjoy both Mr. Rockfords, they are men and surely have not bothered to consider what this night will entail. I am certain I would have been brought in if they had.”
“And how would that conversation have gone?” Lady Swanleigh had laughed airily. “Can you imagine?”
Having had enough of their banter, Victoria grabbed Lady Morton’s hands and pleaded with her to just come out with whatever she needed to say. The day had gone so well up to that point.
“What Lady Morton is trying to say is that there is usually a mother or other close female relative with whom a bride might discuss the…mechanics of the wedding night.”
The pang Victoria felt in the vicinity of her heart whenever her mother’s absence was pointed out made its presence known once more, but then it quickly gave way to the realization of just what they wished to discuss with her.
Instantly, Victoria’s cheeks caught fire, and it was everything she could do not to turn toward her husband at the sound of his laughter across the room.
“I see,” she’d rasped, then cleared her throat.
“That is, I have a somewhat rudimentary understanding.” Her mouth was parched, and her tongue felt suddenly too large for speaking; her cheeks had only burned more brightly.
She’d prayed the ladies would not ask how she knew of such things, even if Lady Morton’s books had been one of a handful of forbidden sources for her material.
“Good,” the duchess had chirped with a smile on her pleasingly wide mouth. “Then you are already more educated than I was on my wedding night. I was told to lie back and allow whatever my husband wished to happen.”
“My mother never spoke to me about any of it,” Lady Swanleigh chimed in with a dismissive shrug of a shoulder.
Victoria didn’t know if it would be more damaging to pretend marital relations did not exist, or to be told they were something to be endured.
Neither option had left her with a particularly pleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“And…” Victoria paused and looked between the women. “You intend to step in?”
“Precisely!” Lady Morton had beamed before leaning in to speak so they would not be overheard. “First and foremost, it is not something to be feared.”
“Not if you are with the right man,” Lady Swanleigh had added thoughtfully, then rushed to say, “And Rafe, of course, is the right sort of man! I’ve known him for many years now and count him amongst my closest friends. He can be quite thoughtful.”
“And his reputation precedes him,” remarked the duchess. “I do not believe you have anything to fear on that front—not that either of us would know first-hand, though.”
Lady Swanleigh rapidly shook her head in agreement.
“We haven’t much time left, so let us begin, shall we?”
What followed was an only slightly mortifying account of the physical act of making love, described in hushed tones and only mildly vulgar gestures and subtle demonstrations.
Victoria was certain her face resembled a beet by the time it was all said and done, but she had to admit that she was quite a bit more educated than she had been when she awoke that morning.
“The act itself is natural. Utilitarian. But what it can be is…transcendent.”
“Life-altering,” sighed Lady Swanleigh.
“Beautiful.”
There was a pause as both women were briefly lost in their musings, and Victoria was able to recover herself somewhat before the duchess looked at her. Her crystalline blue eyes searched her face.
“You are nervous because you do not know what to do. That is entirely normal.” Lady Morton squeezed her hand, and Lady Swanleigh took up her other.
“He will teach you and, before you realize it, you will be in charge. I promise.”
“You likely already wield more power than you know…” Lady Morton lifted her chin in Blackwood’s direction.
Victoria glanced in the direction she indicated, only to find her new husband watching her intently.
His dark eyes had been riveted upon her, as motionless and innately powerful as a statue of a god.
As if instinctively knowing what lay in store, a delicious tremor ran up and down the length of her body.
Oh, how Rafe had proven their words right. He had taught her a great deal already, and Victoria looked forward to learning more.
She smiled sleepily and rolled over, expecting to find her sleeping husband lying on the pillow beside hers, but she was alone.
A frown immediately knit her brows together, only deepening when she sat up and scanned the shadows to find herself abandoned in the bedchamber.
A quick touch to the vacant pillow told her he hadn’t been beside her for quite some time—maybe even the entire night.
The thought unleashed a ripple of unease deep in her belly.
She knew it wasn’t that uncommon for married couples to exist in separate chambers, but she’d thought their wedding night—of all nights! —would have been one to share.
She spent several minutes locked in indecision before deciding she would continue on with her straightforward personality.
She would locate her husband and directly ask him where he had been and why he had left.
The air was slightly chilly on her naked flesh as she slipped from the bed to locate her discarded clothing and dress herself.
It was a stark contrast to the heat of the room and the sensual closeness of the evening before.
The heady scent of the exotic oil Rafe had used still lingered in the air and on her skin, making her entire body heat all over again.
“Calm yourself…” she muttered chidingly and tugged the tie of her dressing gown a little more firmly than was necessary.
One cleansing breath later, and she was turning the handle on the door to the adjoining chamber through which Rafe had visited her.
Her eyes were instantly drawn to her husband as if yanked by some powerful, unseen force.
He sat at the small table set by the window.
A china cup of steaming tea sat before him as he skimmed the freshly pressed newspaper.
He sat with all the grace and dangerous allure of a jungle cat, legs splayed out before him, crossed at the ankle, feet bare.
He wore only a pair of half-buttoned buff breeches and a deep blue dressing gown open to reveal the broad swath of taut naked chest beneath it.
Victoria’s mouth went suddenly dry as sand—especially when her eyes returned to his handsome face, and she was greeted with a blindingly beautiful grin.
“Good morning, wife. I trust you slept well?” His voice was warm as the summer sun on a beach.
Words were too difficult to locate in that moment when she was first faced with the man who had touched every intimate inch of her only a few hours before, so she settled for nodding in response. Where had her indignation at her abandonment gone?
Burned away like fog by the brilliance of her husband’s beauty, she supposed.
“Care to join me?” he offered solicitously. “It is not a full breakfast, but the pastries are better than any I’ve had in recent memory.” It was then that she noticed the platter of baked goods and various spreads laid out beside the tea service.
“Yes, thank you,” she said to cover up the plaintive whine of her stomach. She had been too distracted to eat much of the supper the hotel had served them the night before—too preoccupied by Lady Morton and Swanleigh’s hasty instruction only a few hours prior.
As she took up the vacant seat across from Rafe, she couldn’t help but spare a glance at the nearby bed.
The luxuriously large mattress was covered in a rumpled coverlet the same shade of green as the one beneath which she’d slept.
She did her best not to dwell upon the evidence of just where her husband had chosen to sleep.
Instead, she focused on overcoming the newness of the intimacy of sharing breakfast while in a state of undress with a man.
Where was she supposed to look? She knew where she wished to look, but that likely wasn’t very proper behavior.
His face was once again half-hidden behind his newspaper, but what she saw was still unnerving in its perfection. She could easily stare at him for hours, but she didn’t dare risk being caught ogling him like that.