Chapter 22
“You are staring again, Your Grace,” Charlotte murmured as she adjusted her napkin upon her lap.
“I am your husband now,” Victor replied lazily, “I believe I have earned the privilege.”
The heat that rushed into her cheeks only seemed to amuse him further.
The candlelight glowed warmly across the long dining table, turning the silver and crystal into glittering pools of gold.
Tall arrangements of pale roses and greenery sat between polished candelabras, while footmen moved silently around the room carrying steaming platters beneath silver covers.
Charlotte still could not quite believe that this grand dining room belonged to her now, nor that she sat beside the Duke of Mulford as his wife.
Victor looked entirely too handsome for her peace of mind in his dark evening coat, his green eyes fixed upon her with shameless interest as a servant poured wine into their glasses.
“Sometimes I do forget,” Charlotte said.
“That you are my wife? Well then, perhaps I will remind you tonight,” he teased.
Charlotte felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
The first course arrived, delicate white flavoured with almonds and cream, served with fresh rolls still warm from the kitchens.
Charlotte lifted her spoon carefully while Victor rested one arm along the back of her chair as though he could not bear an inch of distance between them.
“You appear nervous,” he observed quietly. “I am attempting to dine properly whilst being watched like prey by my own husband,” she whispered back.
Victor’s mouth curved wickedly. “And here I thought I was being restrained.”
Charlotte tried very hard to focus on her soup and not on the large warm hand that had settled against the back of her waist beneath the tablecloth. His thumb stroked slowly over the silk of her gown in lazy circles that sent sparks dancing beneath her skin.
“Victor,” she hissed softly.
“Mm?” he answered innocently while sipping his wine.
“You are distracting me on purpose.”
He leaned slightly closer. “Yes, Duchess, I am.”
Charlotte could not focus at all. Since their wedding, the entire manor house had become a place of stolen kisses and intimate pleasures where they could be caught at any moment.
It's thrilling and makes me so nervous all at once.
The second course followed soon after, roasted pheasant with buttered potatoes and an herb sauce. Charlotte barely tasted any of it because Victor kept brushing against her every few moments as though compelled to touch her.
She reached for her wine; his fingers closed lightly around her wrist first, making her breath catch.
“You tremble whenever I touch you,” he murmured.
“That is because you behave scandalously at supper,” she whispered back.
“We are married now,” he replied smoothly. “I intend to behave scandalously everywhere and in every room of this house.”
Charlotte nearly choked on her wine at that. Victor chuckled low beneath his breath and passed her his napkin with entirely too much satisfaction upon his face.
“You enjoy tormenting me,” she accused.
“Immensely,” he admitted without shame. “I waited far too long to have you as my wife not to enjoy the rewards of it.”
Charlotte stared at him in disbelief. “You speak as though I am a prize horse you won at auction.”
Victor tilted his head thoughtfully. “No. I should never place a horse above you.”
She could not help laughing then, though she covered her smile quickly behind her hand.
Victor watched her with such open warmth that her heart fluttered for a moment.
It startled her how much she enjoyed making him laugh in return, how natural it already felt to sit beside him like this. He stole another touch along her hand.
Dangerous man.
The third course arrived with more grandeur still, thin slices of tender beef accompanied by rich gravy, mushrooms in cream sauce, and little savoury pastries filled with cheese and onions.
Victor dismissed the servants for a few moments once the plates were settled before them, leaving the two of them entirely alone in the candlelit room. The silence immediately changed shape around them, becoming heavier and far more intimate.
Charlotte lowered her eyes to her plate. “You sent everyone away on purpose.”
“Naturally,” Victor said. “I wished to speak freely with my wife.”
Charlotte’s pulse fluttered at the word wife.
Victor reached out and tucked one loose curl behind her ear with astonishing gentleness. “You look beautiful today,” he said quietly. “All I can think about is carrying you upstairs and making you beg for mercy as you tremble beneath me.”
Her fork nearly slipped from her fingers. “Victor,” she whispered weakly.
“We promised honesty in our marriage,” he replied. “I am merely being truthful.”
The warmth in his gaze made her skin burn hotter than the candles surrounding them.
Charlotte tried desperately to regain some dignity. “You are impossible.”
“And yet you will lie with me anyway.” His fingers trailed lightly over the inside of her wrist now, where her pulse fluttered wildly beneath her skin.
“You call me impossible, yet perhaps you are the impossible one, Charlotte. You somehow managed to make me enjoy being married.”
She stared at him then, startled by the sincerity beneath the teasing. For one fleeting moment, she thought he might say something more serious, something dangerous and real.
Something like… love?
Instead, his expression shifted back into wicked amusement as he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles slowly. “Though I confess,” he murmured against her skin, “I enjoy the kissing most.”
Charlotte made a strangled sound of outrage that only caused Victor to laugh properly this time.
“You rogue,” she muttered.
“You knew precisely what sort of man I was before marrying me.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she said.
“And yet you still agreed.” His eyes darkened slightly as he held her gaze. “I wonder if perhaps you desired me more than you wished to admit.”
Her face burned so fiercely she feared she might faint dead away at the table. Charlotte attempted to pull her hand free, but Victor merely tightened his hold enough to keep her there.
“Answer carefully, Duchess,” he warned softly. “I may become insufferably pleased with myself.”
Charlotte lifted her chin stubbornly. “Your Grace is already insufferably pleased with himself.”
“True,” he admitted. “But hearing you confess how much you desire me might make me even more unbearable.”
The final course arrived before she could think of a proper response. Sweet pastries dusted with sugar sat beside bowls of strawberries and thick cream while a servant poured fresh tea.
Victor finally released her hand, though his foot brushed hers beneath the table as though he could not stop seeking contact entirely. Charlotte tried to compose herself while stirring sugar into her tea.
“You are quieter now,” Victor observed.
“I am attempting to recover from being relentlessly harassed through four courses of dinner.”
He looked entirely unapologetic. “I thought husbands were meant to dote upon their wives.”
“There is doting,” Charlotte informed him, “and then there is whatever it is you are doing.”
Victor leaned back in his chair, looking deeply satisfied with himself. “I see. Then I shall endeavour to continue doing precisely this.”
Charlotte shook her head helplessly, though laughter tugged at her mouth once more. The strange thing was that beneath all the teasing and shameless flirtation, she felt happy.
Truly happy.
As Victor watched her across the candlelit table with heat and amusement tangled together in his green eyes, she realized something far more dangerous than attraction had begun growing quietly inside her heart.
And that terrified her far more than his wandering hands ever could.
* * *
Morning sunlight filtered softly through the heavy curtains of the bedchamber, casting golden streaks across tangled sheets and bare skin. The fire had burned low during the night, leaving the room wrapped in a pleasant warmth that matched the languid satisfaction humming through Victor’s body.
Charlotte lay beside him with her curls spread over his pillow, her cheeks pink from sleep and affection, and Victor found himself staring at her in quiet disbelief.
My wife.
The word was still strange and dangerous inside his mind.
Charlotte stirred beneath his gaze and slowly opened her eyes. “You are watching me again,” she murmured sleepily.
Victor brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face and kissed her forehead with surprising tenderness. “I am beginning to think I rather enjoy it.”
Her lips curved softly as she shifted closer beneath the blankets. “You are very smug for a man who only woke a moment ago.”
He chuckled under his breath and leaned down to kiss her properly.
The kiss was slow and warm, lacking the fevered desperation of the night before, yet somehow it affected him more deeply.
Charlotte sighed softly against his mouth and rested her hand against his chest, her fingertips brushing lazily over his skin.
Victor nearly groaned at how easily she touched him now, as though she already belonged there.
“You kiss differently this morning,” Charlotte whispered once their lips parted.
Victor arched a brow. “Do I?”
“Mm,” she said softly, studying him with sleepy brown eyes. “Less like a wicked rake attempting to ruin me.”
He smirked faintly. “That is unfortunate. I had quite enjoyed ruining you.”
Charlotte gasped and lightly smacked his shoulder. “Victor.”
“Charlotte,” he mocked gently in return. She tried to look scandalized, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her entirely. Victor felt something dangerously close to peace settle over him as he watched her laugh quietly beside him.
He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow while tracing idle patterns along her bare arm. “Tell me something about yourself I do not know.”