Chapter Twenty-Three #2
The marquess chuckled. “I can tell you are a tad sensitive to my observations.”
“What I am sensitive to is all these prigs believing I’ve married a bank account rather than a woman with her own merits.”
“You didn’t?” Rafe’s immediate glare made Kempton wince. “Apologies. That was in poor taste. I may have met her only a handful of times, but you must know I like your wife. She’s cheeky and witty; Caro has had nothing but pleasant things to say about her. She’s fit in quite well thus far.”
“This isn’t about her fitting into a role in my life and my world.
” Rafe was hyperaware that this had been one of Victoria’s concerns in the early days of their marriage.
She did not want to be viewed as a faceless puppet brought in to fill a vacancy, and he did not see her that way.
Not in the slightest. No one could have come in and changed his world as she had.
“Of course, I required a wife, but she is more than that.”
“She is your partner,” Kempton said gently, surprising Rafe. “Your friend.”
“Precisely,” Rafe answered.
Kempton nodded as if he was familiar with that sort of relationship, and perhaps he was.
After all, the man had almost made it down the aisle once before.
Something flickered behind his friend’s dark eyes—something haunted—but it was quickly chased away and replaced with his usual sparkle.
He clapped Rafe on the shoulder, “Well, I’m pleased for the two of you.
Truly.” He leaned in and added, “Just don’t forget to tell her how much you love her, and tell her often. ”
“I didn’t—” Rafe started to protest, but his friend had already pivoted on his heel and strode over to another guest who had been signaling for his attention…leaving Rafe to wonder at the fluttering in his chest as he caught sight of his wife across the room once more.
Supper was served late in the evening, as was customary during these events. The estate was much larger and grander than The Cottage, so the impressively long dining table managed to seat every one of the forty-or-so guests—even if they were positioned a bit cheek-to-jowl.
Rafe glanced up from his half-finished bowl of cream soup to glimpse his wife seated across from him.
For the most part, spouses had been seated across from one another in an alternating pattern of male and female, which was considered the preferred arrangement for Society dinners of this size.
It was supposed to promote interesting conversation and facilitate matchmaking.
Rafe thought it could all go hang.
It was almost startling how much he would much rather have had a quiet night back at The Cottage with Victoria. Hell, he’d have enjoyed another supper with Dominic in attendance if it meant he and his wife could remove their shoes and sip brandy by the fire as they reclined in each other’s arms.
Thanks to his wandering mind, he proved to be an unusually poor conversationalist during the meal.
Both the countess and baroness seated on either side of him harrumphed when they were forced to repeat themselves time and time again.
Eventually, they opted to speak to the men seated on their right and left rather than the abnormally silent viscount sandwiched between them.
He couldn’t very well blame them when he found it impossible to take his eyes off Victoria.
He found himself wishing he were invisible so he might quietly observe her without interruption.
Rafe experienced a sudden and unexpected pang of jealousy when the man seated to her left made her smile and laugh. He wanted to be the only man who could do that.
Immediately upon the heels of the thought, he felt the absurdity of it.
His wife could interact with other men if that was what she so chose; those men might try to coax her entrancing laughter and beautiful smile from her, but Rafe was the only man who would make her sob in pleasure, to paint a satisfied smile on those lips.
His cock throbbed beneath the table, and he knew he had to regain his control lest this turned into a very embarrassing party.
Just then, there was a tickle at the nape of his neck, making him feel like a trapped insect. Rafe’s brows twitched in confusion, and he barely managed to stifle a chill of unease as he nonchalantly glanced up and down the table.
It was then that he spotted Lady Dallow.
Her white-blond hair was coiffured to perfection, and her ice-blue eyes stared at him with unabashed intensity.
Her ample bosom rose and fell above the daring neckline of her gown, a purple so dark that it appeared almost black in the golden candlelight of the dining room.
Onyx and amethysts glittered at her throat and ears; a matching bracelet and ring graced her black-gloved left hand curled around her crystal goblet.
The web-like lace of her gown, coupled with the dark color palette she wore, reminded him of a spider.
And she was hunting.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, her cold eyes flicked over to Victoria. Sizing her up. Weighing her.
It had been hours since their arrival, and this was the first time he’d seen his former paramour.
Either she’d arrived fashionably late, or she was keeping her distance.
Rafe could only hope it was the latter and that she would continue to do so, remaining on the periphery for the rest of the evening.
The night had been going well so far, and the last thing he wished was for a confrontation that would sour Victoria’s enjoyment of it.
Hardening his jaw, Rafe returned to his food and determined not to spare Lady Dallow another glance. He would not give her the attention she sought. He would not expend the energy when the woman who truly mattered was seated just across from him.
Victoria’s eye caught his beyond the rose-and-lily centerpiece.
It was funny to him how, with just a slight tilt of her head, he knew she was asking him what had disturbed him.
Not only did she know him well enough to recognize that something had transpired, but he could also understand her query without a single word passing her lips.
Rafe gave a subtle shake of his head and waited for her to turn back to the man on her right before he resumed eating.
Despite feeling the occasional ripple of unease sent his way from down the table’s length, the rest of the meal passed in relative peace.
At the culmination, their hostess stood and, raising her glass aloft, invited the party to adjourn outside for a surprise.
A display of fireworks had been arranged and would begin in a quarter of an hour.
An excited buzz filled the dining room. Men requested additional glasses of port and whiskey from passing staff to take with them to the terrace. By the time Rafe rounded the endlessly long table and returned to Victoria’s side, she, too, was thrumming with the same excitement.
“Have you witnessed a fireworks display before?” she asked him, reminding him a great deal of May when she was unable to contain her joy.
He half expected his wife to begin bouncing on her toes until her dark ringlets jumped free of her intricate hairstyle.
She wrapped her arms around his in a gesture that was more second nature than a show of possessiveness.
He enjoyed it immensely. No matter how the other men had made her smile and laugh during supper, it was obvious that she could not wait to once more return to her husband’s side—that it was as natural for her to touch him as it was for her to breathe.
“I have not,” Rafe replied, barely suppressing a chuckle at the image she presented. She was so full of unbridled joy, his wife. It was infectious.
“I have only once before, and it was both terrifying and beautiful. I feared for our lives, but Luke calmed me by explaining that the coordinated explosions and colors are created through the use of different chemicals and lengths of wick. It was a glorious dance of chaos!”
“I like that description.” He led her along with the flow of the crowd toward the doors and the veranda outside.
The night was comfortably warm, so very few women had taken the time to request their shawls or wraps.
The air was scented with night-blooming jasmine and damp earth from that afternoon’s drizzle, with a hint of acrid smoke from burning torches.
Many guests milled about on the brick veranda, while others had ventured to the manicured gardens and pathways below.
The sprawling crushed gravel paths were illuminated by the occasional torch, allowing couples to meander through the curated beds as they waited for the display to begin.
Rafe turned away from the rest of the party and was surprised to notice Victoria was watching him with, what he could imagine was, a similar level of awe and appreciation he’d been showering upon her that evening.
The way the flickering orange light and silver moon danced across her face caused her swirling green-and-honey-brown eyes to glitter; her lips glistened invitingly.
“I wish you would kiss me,” she whispered intimately, making Rafe’s eyes roll back with a sudden bolt of lust.
“Do not tempt me, because that is precisely the sort of thing I would do.”
“Then do it.” Her voice was husky with need, and it nearly broke him.
“You would not care if we scandalized everyone in attendance?” he murmured, unable to wrench his gaze away when the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten the corner of her mouth.
“Not even a bit.” She leaned in closer until they were breathing one another in. Rafe felt the contents of his chest swell with her nearness, making him experience a buoyant sensation unlike any he’d felt before.
“Take care, or some might believe you are in love with your wife.”