Chapter 21
Charlotte’s heart hammered as Victor escorted her through the quiet upper corridor of Mulford Manor.
The house, once so alive with music and laughter from the wedding breakfast, had finally fallen silent now that the last of the guests had departed.
Candlelight flickered against the polished walls while her slippers brushed softly across the thick runner beneath her feet.
She felt suddenly breathless beneath the weight of what this night truly meant.
Victor’s hand rested lightly against the small of her back as he guided her upstairs. “You are quiet, Duchess,” he murmured.
The title sent a strange flutter through her stomach. “I am attempting not to faint.”
A low chuckle escaped him. “That would prove inconvenient on our wedding night.”
Charlotte shot him a nervous glance. “You appear remarkably calm for a man who married only hours ago.”
“I assure you, I am not calm at all.”
The heat in his voice made her pulse stumble.
They reached the corridor leading toward her former chamber, and Charlotte instinctively turned in that direction. Victor immediately caught her wrist gently but firmly. She stopped at once and looked back at him in confusion.
“You are going the wrong way,” he said softly.
Her breath caught. “Wrong way?”
“You reside in my bedchamber now.”
The words settled over her with shocking intimacy.
Charlotte swallowed hard as Victor led her farther down the corridor toward the grand double doors at the end.
The heavy mahogany doors opened into his chambers, and Charlotte’s stomach twisted itself into knots as she stepped inside.
Warm amber candlelight illuminated the luxurious sitting room.
Through another door, dark curtains hung from the enormous carved bed.
Everything about the chamber felt unmistakably masculine and entirely him.
Victor quietly closed the door behind them.
Charlotte turned slowly to face him, and reality struck her all at once with terrifying force.
This is truly my husband. Not a duke pretending to court me. Not a scandalous rogue tormenting for sport. My husband.
The thought left her dizzy.
Victor loosened his cravat slightly as though he suddenly found the room warm. “You look alarmed.”
“I am alarmed,” she admitted honestly.
His mouth twitched faintly. “That is fair.”
Charlotte clasped her hands tightly together. “May we talk a while first?”
“Of course.” His voice gentled unexpectedly. “Come sit down.”
Relief flickered through her as he crossed toward a small sitting area near the fireplace. He poured two glasses of port with steady hands before offering one to her. Charlotte accepted the glass carefully, though she suspected she required something much stronger.
Victor settled into the chair opposite her and stretched one long leg lazily before him. “Now then,” he said, “what are your thoughts, wife?”
Again, that word wife made warmth rise into her cheeks.
Charlotte took a small sip of port before gathering her courage. “I wished to speak about… our union.”
Victor nodded once. “Very well.”
She studied him carefully over the rim of her glass. He looked impossibly handsome tonight, with his dark hair slightly disordered from the long day and the candlelight catching sharply against the planes of his face. It seemed entirely unfair that one man ought to possess such dangerous charm.
“How do you feel about all this?” she finally asked.
Victor regarded her quietly for a moment. “You mean our marriage?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back slightly in his chair. “I think nothing truly needs to change.”
Charlotte blinked. “Nothing?”
“It is a perfect marriage of convenience,” he replied calmly. “You wished security for your family. I wished to protect your reputation and please my grandmother. We have both achieved what we wanted.”
Marriage of convenience.
The words struck her more sharply than they should have.
Charlotte forced herself to smile faintly despite the odd ache spreading through her chest. Of course.
What else had I expected? I had known from the beginning that Victor never intended to marry for affection.
Still, some foolish part of her felt disappointed.
“I see,” she said quietly.
Victor narrowed his eyes slightly as though sensing something beneath her calm expression. “You sound displeased.”
“I am merely… practical,” she replied carefully. “Convenience suits us very well.”
The corner of his mouth curved faintly. “There is the Charlotte I know.”
She looked down at her glass to avoid his gaze. “May I ask something else?”
“You may ask me anything.”
Charlotte hesitated only a moment. “Do you intend to continue seeing other women?”
The question lingered heavily between them.
Victor’s expression immediately cooled, not with anger but seriousness. “No.”
Charlotte looked up quickly.
“No?” she repeated softly.
“No,” he said again. “I would never dishonour our vows.”
Does he truly mean it?
“You say that very firmly,” she said.
“Because I mean it very firmly.” He leaned forward slightly. “I may not have desired marriage, Charlotte, but I take my vows seriously.”
She stared at him quietly.
“I would not humiliate you by taking mistresses beneath your nose,” he continued. “You are my wife now.”
His wife.
The words sent another dangerous wave of warmth through her body.
Charlotte attempted a teasing smile despite her nerves. “How noble of you.”
Victor’s eyes darkened slightly. “You mock me.”
“Only a little.”
“You should be careful, Duchess,” he said as his eyes roamed over her from head to toe.
Charlotte froze slightly at the title.
Victor noticed immediately. “What is it?”
She let out a nervous laugh. “You called me Duchess.”
“Well, that is what you are.”
The truth of it crashed into her anew.
Charlotte set her port aside and rose slowly from her chair. “Good heavens.”
Victor watched her with poorly concealed amusement. “You have only just realized ?”
“I forgot entirely,” she confessed. “Everything happened so quickly.”
She paced a few steps before the fire, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.
Duchess of Mulford.
The title felt impossibly grand upon her shoulders. She had spent years worrying over household accounts and sacrificing comforts so her sisters might eat well, and now society expected her to become a stately duchess.
It seemed absurd.
“I do not think I shall suit the role at all,” she admitted softly.
Victor stood then and crossed toward her. “Why not?”
Charlotte looked at him helplessly. “Because I am me.”
“That explanation lacks detail.”
“I am not elegant like society ladies,” she said. “I speak too plainly and argue too much and become flustered whenever you look at me improperly.”
Victor’s mouth curved slowly. “That last fault is rather charming.”
Charlotte flushed immediately. “You see? Exactly that sort of remark.”
He stepped closer still. “Charlotte.”
Her breath caught at the softness in his tone.
“You underestimate yourself greatly,” he said quietly. “You possess more grace and strength than half the women in London combined.”
She stared at him in surprise.
Victor lifted one hand and lightly brushed his fingers beneath her chin. “My grandmother adores you. Your sisters worship you. Even the servants would march into battle for you.”
“That seems excessive.”
“I assure you, Hannah nearly stabbed me with a hairpin once because she thought I upset you.”
Charlotte burst into startled laughter.
Victor smiled faintly at the sound. “There. That is precisely why you shall make an excellent duchess.”
She shook her head softly. “You say very dangerous things.”
“And yet you keep listening to them.”
The air between them shifted then, growing heavier somehow.
Charlotte became acutely aware of his closeness. Of the warmth radiating from him. Of the way his fingers still lingered lightly beneath her chin. Her pulse fluttered.
Victor’s gaze dropped slowly toward her lips.
“Tell me honestly,” he murmured, “are you frightened of me?”
Charlotte’s breath trembled faintly. “Sometimes.”
His thumb brushed softly along her jaw. “Good.”
Her eyes widened. “Good?”
“I should hate to become predictable.”
“You are insufferable.”
“And you are beautiful when vexed.”
The words sent heat spiralling through her body.
Victor stepped closer until scarcely an inch separated them now. Charlotte could smell the faint spice of his cologne mixed with wine and candle smoke. Every instinct told her she ought to step away.
Instead, she tilted her face upward slightly.
His voice lowered further. “Do you know what I have thought about all evening?”
Charlotte swallowed hard. “No.”
“You.”
Her heart nearly stopped.
Victor’s eyes burned into hers with startling intensity now. “During the vows. During dinner. During every blessed conversation with our guests.” His hand slid slowly to her waist. “All I could think about was finally getting you alone.”
Charlotte’s breath came shallowly.
“You are very dangerous, husband,” she whispered.
A slow smile touched his mouth. “And you, Duchess, are playing with fire.”
Then he kissed her.
The kiss was slow at first, almost teasing, but Charlotte melted instantly beneath the warmth of his mouth. Her fingers curled instinctively into the front of his coat as desire rushed through her in dizzying waves. Victor kissed her like a man with endless patience and very wicked intentions.
Charlotte suddenly understood she was in terrible trouble.
And the most frightening part was that she did not think she wished to escape it at all.
His mouth lingered against hers for one lingering moment before he slowly pulled away.
Charlotte’s breathing had already become uneven, and she could feel the warmth of his hand resting possessively against her waist. She had never imagined that one man could unravel her composure so completely with only a kiss.
Victor brushed his thumb lightly against her flushed cheek. “There is another matter regarding our marriage, Duchess.”