Chapter Twenty
It took Victoria a few moments to process what Rafe had said, and in the end, she was touched by his words.
He might have claimed to have an aversion to love…
but there he was, telling her he cared and appreciated her (as much as his sensibilities and insecurities would allow him to).
He desired to make her happiness a priority, and hearing him admit as much to her made her feel like he was beginning to let her past the defenses he’d built.
But what if he was right?
What if his upbringing had damaged him too deeply for him to ever be capable of loving her?
Victoria liked to think she could be content and secure in the knowledge that he cared for her—that it would be enough in her marriage—but could she forever settle for these tidbits of affection?
How could she prevent herself from believing, from hoping, each scrap meant more than it did?
That felt like perhaps the most impossible task of all because she come to yearn for it.
Victoria wanted Rafe’s love.
After watching him with his nieces and Dom, after seeing how warm he could be, after witnessing the side of him that made her melt, Victoria’s heart ached for it…almost as much as it ached to admit aloud that she was beginning to feel so much more for him.
“And you, Rafe?” Victoria asked instead. “Are you happy?”
He looked down into his glass, examining the fractured light bouncing around within.
“Happier than I’ve felt in recent memory.
” Victoria’s heart stuttered at his gentle admission.
“For the first time in my life, the pieces seem to be falling into place.” He looked up, and his smoldering eyes met hers, almost searing her with their heat.
Suddenly, Victoria was exhausted. She was worn down from fighting her intense attraction to her husband.
She was drained from hiding how moved she was by his kindness, his tiptoeing around the notion of hope.
He made her want to enfold her in his arms and never release him—not because he was pathetic and in need of coddling, but because he deserved to be held and cherished and shown what he’d been missing most of his life.
Whether he realized it or not, he’d been searching out just that in every one of his casual relationships.
He was a man who needed physical touch and comfort.
It was evident in the way the tenseness melted from his shoulders each time she held his hand, each time he accepted her touch.
There needn’t be anything sexual about it, and it still brought him peace.
She ached for her husband on every level, and she was tired of pretending she did not.
Taking a long sip of her brandy, she savored the rich burn of it trickling down her throat and curling sensuously in her stomach, allowing it to bolster her nerves for the next words she spoke. “Will you come to my bed tonight?”
Rafe’s reaction was at once subtle and intense.
She knew him well enough by then to recognize the tightening of his jaw, the slight blanching of his knuckles where he propped himself against the marble mantle, the slow way his eyes swept her seated form and drank her in.
While her choice of dress had been mostly intended to lend an air of formality to Dominic’s birthday supper, she’d have been lying if she’d said she hadn’t considered how Rafe might react to the daring cut.
Currently, he looked as if he were barely holding himself in check when he’d rather toss her to the sofa and take her right then and there.
The image of him throwing up her skirts and having his wicked way with her made Victoria clench her thighs together; however, it was ineffective in staunching the dampness blossoming there.
He nodded easily enough, though his naked need was there in his soulful eyes, as palpable as if he’d declared his desire right then and there like a town crier in the middle of the room.
Hear ye, hear ye! Lord Rafael Hart, Viscount Blackwood, wants nothing more than to tup his wife until she is a quaking mass of raw nerves and pleasure!
Victoria barely resisted the urge to fan her face and, instead, offered him a polite nod in gratitude, as if he had just agreed to accompany her on a walk through the park.
Though her fingers trembled in anticipation, she continued sipping her warmed brandy and watched as he did the same.
The minutes passed slowly, but the delay only stoked the banked desire flaring to life within each of them.
It drew out the anticipation until it was a chord that might snap with a twang, launching them together until they crashed in a heap of writhing limbs and ecstasy.
It gave them both the time to picture with vivid intensity the last time they’d shared a bed, and all the occasions since then they’d longed for the other’s touch.
When she could no longer handle her body’s insistent throbbing, Victoria tossed back the last of her drink, set the glass aside on the low table positioned between her seat and the hearth, and she stood.
As steadily as she could, she shook the wrinkles from her skirt and murmured, “I believe I shall retire. It has been a long day.”
She watched a muscle in Rafe’s jaw tic a moment before he nodded.
“Very well,” he croaked. The evidence that she’d weakened his facade just by inviting him to her bed shot a thrill throughout her body.
Her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips, and her husband’s eyes were riveted to the sight.
She felt sensual and powerful. She felt like a goddess.
With measured steps, she departed and climbed the angular wooden staircase to The Cottage’s second floor.
Her mind was consumed with the possibilities.
She wondered how long she might have to wait for him to come to her.
Would he partake in another drink before knocking on her door?
How should she wait for him? Should she undress and don her nightshift, or was she bold enough to wait for him nude beneath her coverlet?
Which might he prefer? Her skin began to tingle, and that persistent ache between her thighs roared into a full-blown throb.
If her desire wasn’t quenched soon, then she feared she might collapse.
Victoria was so overwhelmed by her thoughts that she didn’t hear the heavy footsteps rushing to catch up to her. She didn’t sense her husband’s presence until her upper arm was caught in a large hand and she was pulled into the room across from hers.
Rafe’s bedchamber.
She gasped, both from shock and the sensation of having his hands on her. In one smooth move, he closed and locked the door behind them before pressing her back against the barrier.
“M—My maid must still assist me in undressing,” she stammered and panted. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage like a trapped bird demanding the freedom of unencumbered flight.
In response, Rafe’s mouth slanted over hers in a kiss that was nearly bruising with the force of its intensity.
Without hesitation, he licked his way into her mouth, parting her lips and teeth with such skill that she hardly realized she was at his mercy until it was too late.
He caught her as she sagged against the door and continued kissing her until they were both breathless from it.
“Forget the maid,” Rafe growled against her lips. “I haven’t yet had the pleasure of undressing my wife…layer…by…layer…”
Before she could catch her breath, Rafe spun her around and proceeded to impress her with his skill and knowledge of ladies’ garments.
With nimble fingers, he deftly undid the long row of tiny buttons along her spine, so the bodice fell around her upper arms; the laces of her stays followed closely behind.
She was nearly boneless by the time he pushed down her chemise and slid her arms free, and she emitted an involuntary whimper of excitement as his lips touched every inch of skin he revealed.
He kissed and nibbled all the way down her back to the curve of her waist and helped her drop her garments in a puddle around her feet.
Victoria’s voice was shaky when she said, “What a talent you have.”
His chuckle reverberated through her every nerve. “I am not a patient man, and waiting for a maid takes far too long for my tastes.”
Her skin prickled beneath his gaze as she was left standing in nothing but her silk stockings and heeled slippers.
She could feel his eyes as they trailed down the nape of her neck, the slopes of her shoulders, the curve of her back, the indentation of her spine before her hips rounded out into her bottom.
She could hear him breathing, rough and harsh like a man who had just sprinted to protect his life.
Victoria was overwhelmed with the need to see his face, to witness what she did to him while he knelt behind her, but his hands grasped her hips and prevented her from turning.
“No,” Rafe rasped. “Place your palms on the door. Yes, like that. God’s wounds, you are beautiful.”
Her heart skipped in her chest as she did what he instructed. She felt exposed and vulnerable to his perusal. And it was thrilling.
Rafe’s fingers began to burn a trail from her ankles up her calves to press against the tender backsides of her knees. He found the edge of her stockings and their garters, and then his large palms were cupping the rounded mounds of her rear.
“Absolute perfection,” Rafe whispered, kneading the muscle, pressing it, spreading it, and groaning in appreciation. She rested her forehead against the door, feeling her face catch fire as she arched back into his touch.
“Please,” she breathed.
“Please, what?”
“Please…touch me…”
“Where?”
Victoria’s tongue couldn’t form the words. She tried again and again, but no sound passed her lips.