Chapter Nine #2
The enticing expanse of his chest peeking at her from between the open panels of his dressing gown was rather inviting, but it, too, was dangerous…
oh, so very dangerous. It made her recall just how delicious the salt-tinged sweat of his skin tasted when she’d pressed impulsive, open-mouthed kisses against his flexing shoulder.
Not even her plate was safe territory; if she glared at it too long, then he might think she possessed a strange fascination with food…or cutlery.
Leave it to Rafe to put his disarming amiability to good use…
Either because of or despite her unease, he launched into pleasant chatter about their upcoming honeymoon trip, their plans, the day’s weather for their crossing to the Continent.
Almost immediately, Victoria was transported back to their weeks of friendship, and she settled back into their comfortable habits of interaction.
He became less the man who had used his wicked tongue and body to introduce her to pleasure and returned to the man who had used his easy smile and smooth words to earn her trust and make her feel more comfortable than she had since arriving in England.
He had a way about him that made her feel as if she’d known him for years rather than a few short months, and it was pleasant to sink into that sensation.
“All said, I do not believe we will have an eventful crossing,” Rafe said as she selected a jam-filled pastry made from flaky golden dough.
“If you find it agreeable, we should depart for the docks in two hours’ time.
That should—” A small scratch at the door interrupted him.
“Enter,” he bade the newcomer without breaking his sentence’s stride.
“Two hours should be sufficient for you to prepare yourself for travel, should it not?” he finished just as a red-haired maid entered the room and bounced into a curtsey.
“This letter arrived for you, My Lord,” she whispered, eyes appropriately downcast for three entire seconds before turning them on Rafe.
Victoria brushed a crumb from her lower lip as she watched the maid’s saucer-like eyes take in every glorious inch of Rafe.
It galled Victoria to no end that she could be annoyed by an appreciative glance at her husband from another woman—she was not a possessive or jealous woman by nature—but she was quickly discovering new aspects of her personality that had been heretofore unseen before her marriage.
She’d have to explore this new facet of her personality, mull it over, and decide how best to move forward with this realization.
Add that to the wild, uninhibited sensuality Rafe had somehow unlocked the night before, and her list of realizations was rapidly growing in length.
Rafe accepted the letter, and the maid excused herself. Victoria watched her leave—more slowly than necessary, mind you—until she felt Rafe’s piercing eyes upon her. Her cheeks warmed instantly when she realized she’d been caught staring.
Rather than witness disapproval or amusement in Rafe’s expression, however, she thought she saw interest and…was that appreciation?
Victoria quickly averted her gaze and shoved another bite of pastry between her lips, realizing immediately what a poor decision that was because her mouth had gone bone-dry all over again.
She nearly choked, silently struggling to chew and swallow the morsel as Rafe broke the seal on the letter.
Frantically, she poured herself a cup of tea and sipped it, not bothering to add any of the sugar set in the nearby silver bowl for that purpose.
She nearly sighed in relief when the offending bit of food was finally dislodged but cringed when she wondered how much of that blunder Rafe had seen.
Hesitantly glancing up, she realized he wasn’t paying attention to her in the slightest. His attractively bronzed complexion had weakened to a sickly pallor, so bloodless as to be quite alarming.
“Rafe?” she croaked, her throat still slightly scratchy from the pastry incident. He gave her no indication that he’d heard her. “What is the matter? What did the letter say?”
He stood up from the table so quickly that the chair he’d been occupying fell back to the floor with a startling crack.
“We are no longer leaving for the Continent; we must return to London.” The frantic roughness to his tone was more than a little alarming to her, especially when she’d only ever seen him as amiable and charming. “Home. We must return home.”
“Why?” she asked, her tone rising with her unease.
“What has happened?” What could have caused such an abrupt and dramatic change in him?
One minute, they’d been wading into the waters of their first morning of marriage, and the next had made her normally composed, flippant husband so suddenly serious and, daresay, nearly panicked.
Though she tried, she could not make out the address on the letter he still held in his hand.
From what little he’d uttered, Victoria suspected its contents had something to do with the Blackwood estate or responsibilities—something dire.
Rafe had already removed his dressing gown and, now bared from the waist-up, was striding to the wardrobe to retrieve the clothing that had been prepared for that day’s travels.
He was too preoccupied to do anything other than command Victoria to ring for a maid so she might prepare herself. “We leave within the hour.”
Heart thrumming, Victoria stood and did as he instructed. She attributed her silent acquiescence more to her confusion than subservience, hoping that all would be revealed to her as soon as they were in the carriage and on their way back to Town.
After retracing the journey they’d completed only the day before, their hired carriage slowed to a stop before a pretty Townhouse.
Victoria had not amassed a substantial knowledge of London addresses yet, but the neighborhood appeared to be tidy and safe.
Though the homes were not the size of the ones she’d visited in Mayfair, the streets were relatively clean by city standards, and the small front gardens were well-kept.
She suspected this was an area where politicians, second sons of lords, and other respectable men might reside alongside people like Rafe and his family—those who, according to what she’d gleaned from her brother and father, had a respectable title, but not the capital to afford the same lifestyle as other peers.
Regardless, Victoria found the area charming.
Every hope she’d had of prying answers out of her husband during the journey had been very quickly dashed upon her ascension into the carriage.
Rafe had remained anxious and pensively silent for the duration of their journey, which had only served to stretch Victoria’s nerves so close to snapping that they trembled.
She’d made several overtures at questioning him from various angles, but to no avail.
He’d merely held up a few fingers in dismissal or ignored her words entirely in favor of staring unseeingly out the window while alternating between tapping his boot on the carriage floor, rapping his thumb on his thigh, and raking his hands through his thick, dark hair.
It was a wonder Victoria’s sanity hadn’t been lost in a ditch somewhere along the way.
It was almost a relief when the bustle outside the window grew in intensity.
The change in scenery gave her somewhere to focus other than her maddeningly tight-lipped husband.
His steadfast silence had only allowed her mind to wander into unwelcome territory and explode her sense of foreboding.
What had been in that note that was serious enough to cause him to cancel their honeymoon trip?
A death in the family? She knew Rafe’s parents had passed years prior, and she’d never heard him speak of any siblings.
Perhaps it was something with his house or property?
Englishmen could be quite odd when it came to discussing their business and wealth in the presence of a lady; Rafe had never displayed such an inclination before, but perhaps their new status as husband and wife had changed this in his mind.
These and other possibilities had spun through her mind hour after hour, mile after mile, until they’d finally reached that London residence.
A tall, lean footman dressed in dove grey descended the stairs and swiftly unlatched the door before helping Victoria step down to the swept walkway.
She didn’t care to admit that it was a relief to be out of the close and heavy air of the carriage—even if it was for the mixed bag that was the atmosphere in London.
Rafe followed so closely behind that his boot nearly caught in the hem of her raspberry traveling skirt.
She’d had the garment specifically made for their honeymoon trip, but now she felt foolish for being so excited about the gold thread and whimsical buttons along the panel of her bodice, each crafted with nautical symbols to carry a bit of Rockford along with her.
How quickly the tide of their future had changed.
“Have the luggage unloaded and brought in,” Rafe barked without slowing.
Immediately (and much to Victoria’s dumbstruck astonishment), his long legs launched him up the handful of steps and through the front door, both confirming to Victoria that this was his home and leaving Victoria to enter alone.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and confusion as she murmured her thanks to the footman who had helped her to the walk, shook the wrinkles from her heavy skirts, and finally climbed the front stairs.
Rafe’s booming voice echoed through the foyer as she entered, but she could not quite make out individual words; his tone, however, rang with every speck of anxiety he’d kept bottled up on their journey.