Chapter Twelve
Supper that evening passed pleasantly enough, even if it was a bit of a slapdash affair with a cobbled-together meal thanks to the unprepared larder and short notice.
Victoria did not blame the staff, however, recognizing that they’d done the best they could many hours after the markets had run out of their freshest wares.
While the meal had been simple, it had been delicious—a sentiment that Victoria ensured was passed along to those responsible for its creation.
Interestingly, she caught Rafe watching her as she’d said as much to the footman in charge of carting out the food and then clearing it away.
“Why are you staring like that?” she’d asked and quickly swiped at her face with her napkin. “Is there something on my face? Why did you say nothing?” she hissed.
Rafe’s lips merely tilted in a soft smile, and he shook his head, turning back to his serving of rabbit stew. She narrowed her eyes at him, but no further response came.
As predicted, the children had remained in the nursery for the meal, so it was only the two of them at the table.
It was absurd, really. Even though the room was far too large for the size of the table at which they sat, it could still have easily accommodated at least three times the number it did that evening.
It had likely been pulled in from another of the rooms or a storage space and placed there along with its mismatched chairs once the dining room had been dusted and cleaned.
It felt like far too much effort for the staff for just the two of them, especially when they were already spread so thin.
Victoria couldn’t help but think it might have felt more worth it had the children joined them—or Dominic, at the very least.
“I was surprised when your nephew informed me that he does not regularly dine with you.”
Rafe’s expression was so similar to the one Dominic had displayed that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
“It is not the done thing,” he answered simply, and Victoria learned precisely where the sentiment Dominic displayed had originated.
Even if they butted heads like bison, uncle and nephew were two halves of the same coin.
Though she had spent only a short time with the two of them, it was already evident to her that Dominic idolized his uncle.
His every word, gesture, expression, and action were committed to the lad’s memory and reflected back with a child’s innocence.
She wondered if Rafe noticed it, or if he was too blinded by the weight of his responsibilities to fully appreciate the honor it was.
“Might we consider having at least Dominic join us soon? I believe he would enjoy being included, and I would like to spend more time interacting with him.” Rafe’s lips parted to form a reply, but she spoke quickly to head him off in case he might put an end to her plans before they could truly begin.
“When I was his age, I would often dine with my father—Luke as well. It was an opportunity for us to come together as a family, share stories, and feel close to one another.”
She watched the thoughts pass behind his eyes, dragging out the seconds far longer than Victoria believed was strictly necessary, but he eventually inclined his head and said, “I will think on it.”
Quite pleased with herself, Victoria tucked into her apple tart with a sigh of pleasure as the sugar crystals melted on her tongue.
Following the meal, Victoria retired to her rooms, and one of the maids who’d earlier helped her set up her chambers was already waiting to assist her in preparing for bed.
She donned another white nightshift and her dressing gown, stretching in relief as she was freed from her stays and the layers of fabric.
She looked forward to sprawling atop the mattress and falling into a restful, dreamless sleep.
The past few days had been overwhelming, to say the least, and she looked forward to a quiet respite.
The maid had just finished gathering up Victoria’s discarded clothing when, following a rapid double-tap on the door, Rafe entered her bedchamber.
He carried with him two glasses of brandy and had stripped down to his breeches and his shirtsleeves—just as comfortable and casual as she was.
At her lord’s arrival, the maid scurried from the room and shut the door behind her, leaving Victoria alone with her husband.
The hearth had been stoked, but the edges of the room were cast in harsh shadow. Rafe, only half visible in the poor lighting, was a specter of sensuality, beautiful in his harshness. Her core clenched with the memories of just how sensual a creature her husband could be.
He glided toward her with his innate grace and held one of the drinks out to her.
The warmed amber liquid within the crystal glass sat comfortably in her palm and gave her something to focus upon other than the way her body reacted to her husband’s nearness.
Hadn’t she been furious with him only hours before?
Hadn’t she considered—if only a moment—walking away from him because of his secrets and omissions?
However, faced with this Rafe—the impossibly charming man with the disarming smile and easy manners, the one who had made her warm to the idea of marriage to an Englishman—she nearly forgot how to breathe, let alone clutch tightly to the shreds of her retained animosity.
And now, aside from how beautiful he was, she also knew what he could make her feel.
His talented hands and lips and body were even more intoxicating than the forgotten drink she held in her hands.
Even if he might have only married her for her wealth and to fill a vacant position in his household, Victoria could feel every inch of her body straining to be nearer to him, as if she were a flower and he, the radiant sun.
What was it about him that drew her against her will?
His unique combination of charm, charisma, and good looks was surely deadly.
It was only with great effort that she was able to turn her eyes down to her brandy.
“I am glad the truth is revealed and we now have some sort of understanding between us, Victoria. I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am,” Rafe began. “The children mean a great deal to me, and I hope, in time, you will become fond of them as well.”
Her reply was a small nod of her head. In truth, she hoped for the same.
She could not hold the existence of these children against them—they could no more help placement in Rafe’s household and under his care than they could the fact that they were orphans.
Victoria’s chest tightened, even more so when she pictured the infant in the bassinet.
A part of her mind had not left the infant since she’d first laid eyes on her tiny form hours earlier.
She’d been like a lost fawn in the woods, impossibly delicate and ethereally fragile.
“What about the baby?” she asked. “Does the physician know what ails her?”
A shadow passed over Rafe’s features, and she realized she’d strode into sensitive territory.
Nan hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said Rafe was very concerned with his youngest ward’s frail health.
The question hadn’t felt intrusive when she’d posed it—were these children not now her nieces and nephew, and did she not have a vested interest in their well-being?
—but the look he gave her made her think twice.
In one swift move, he tossed back his drink and set the empty glass aside.
In less than the span of a heartbeat, he closed the space between them and plucked her glass from her fingers.
She did not see where he’d placed it because, in the next moment, she was swept up into his arms and held high against his chest. On instinct, Victoria wrapped her arms around his neck, and she was instantly enveloped in his heady, masculine scent.
Her eyelids fluttered.
It would be so easy to bury her face in his throat, to revel in the light scratch of his evening beard against her cheek.
No sooner had she been deposited atop the coverlet than Rafe was covering her body and her lips with his.
There was no tentativeness in his touch that evening; his every move was bold and claiming.
His tongue swept into her mouth with reckless abandon while his hips nestled shamelessly in the vee of her parted thighs.
The intimate press fanned her desire, made her ache for more, urged her to spread herself wider for him so his thick, hard length rocked against her rapidly dampening flesh.
Victoria’s carnal knowledge was limited, but she wasn’t foolish. She knew her husband was silencing her with kisses…but she found she did not much care. Not when it ignited such sensations beneath her skin and within her body.
Rafe happily sank into the kisses, devouring his wife. His tongue tangled with hers, licked, and sipped. She was sweeter than the dessert they had shared, headier than the brandy he’d imbibed, and more desirable than was reasonable.
Her pliant curves and gentle softness beneath him made him throb in anticipation. His blood hummed with remembered passion and the excitement of impending completion.
“You feel so good…and you taste even better…” he murmured against Victoria’s lips. The tiny whimper torn from her throat was nearly the end of his control. He had to remind himself that she was still relatively untried—one night in his arms, a worldly woman did not make.
But it was a start.