Three Times a Bride

Catherine Anderson
Loretta Chase
Samantha James

Contents

Samantha James

Scandal’s Bride

In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady

About the Authors

Other Romances

Copyright

About the Publisher

Scandal’s Bride

Samantha James

One

London, 1820

Had she known what fate awaited her, she’d never have kissed him.

But Lady Victoria Carlton, only daughter of the marquess of Norcastle, did not act out of a mere frivolity of nature. Oh, no. In all truth, she was desperate to seek an end to her predicament.

She was convinced her only hope lay in scandal.

Unfortunately, there was precious little time. Papa had informed her this very morn that she must choose a husband by midnight to night.

Or else he would.

It was not an idle threat—of this, Victoria was very certain. Much to Papa’s vexation, she had passed through several Seasons, turning down each and every one of the marriage proposals that had come her way. But now Papa’s patience had come to an end. He’d received three proposals during the last fortnight. He was usually not a tyrant, but when in one of his testiest moods, he was an imposing figure—there was simply no crossing him. And since she had no engagements other than the Remingtons’ ball that evening, it must be soon. Very soon…

The ball was a typical gala affair. A din of voices rose in the air. Dozens of couples swirled across the floor in time to a lively waltz. The ballroom and adjoining salon had been decorated with huge clusters of pink and red roses.

With a deep curtsy, Victoria laughingly retreated from the arms of her latest dance partner. Her steps carried her to the edge of the salon, near the terrace doors. It wasn’t so crowded there, and she needed time to think. Good heavens, time to act, for only a few hours remained before midnight.

There was a touch on her arm. Victoria turned to her good friend Sophie Mayfield. Two years her junior, Sophie had just come out this Season. Sophie gazed at her, her brown eyes softly beseeching. “Victoria, I beg of you, please do not do this. Perhaps your father is right. Perhaps you should have chosen a husband long ago. Certainly it’s not from a lack of suitors—”

“Pompous and selfish young bucks dazzled by the size of my dowry, and none of whom I cared to spend the rest of my life with.” A finely arched blond brow rose high as she spoke. Though her tone was light, the strength of her resolve was not.

She had entered her first Season with stars in her eyes and romance in her heart—with the dream of catching a dashingly handsome young man, of having him fall madly in love with her. Vivid in her mind was the certainty that marriage would follow, and they would live out the rest of their lives in blissful enchantment.

Another dear friend, Phoebe Tattinger, had shared that very same dream.

It was Phoebe who found her prince first. She’d tumbled head over heels in love with Viscount Colin Paxton the instant they met. Victoria did not envy Phoebe her good fortune—no, not in the least! How could she, for never had she seen Phoebe so happy! She discounted the rumors that Colin’s proposal stemmed from his desire to marry an heiress, though Phoebe was indeed an heiress. Colin loved Phoebe—she was as certain of it as her friend.

Phoebe’s joy had not lasted even three months after the wedding.

A pang swept through Victoria. She tried not to remember, yet she couldn’t help it.

She and Phoebe had been out walking in Hyde Park one day; Phoebe had only recently learned she was with child. For that very reason they’d stopped to rest, sitting on a secluded bench with a view of the pathway, where they could watch the members of the ton strut and parade their fine feathers on this sunny spring morn.

A man and woman passed by. ’Twas very clear both gentleman and lady were of an amorous inclination. One lace-gloved hand lay tucked into the gentleman’s elbow. The other was snugly enfolded within his. Even as they watched, the couple stopped, touching their lips together in a sweet, binding kiss.

Phoebe had laughingly commented. “It must be the air in London, Victoria. Everyone is in love these days—”

But all at once her voice choked off. Victoria’s regard snapped back to the pair in question.

The man was Colin, Phoebe’s husband.

Never in her life would Victoria forget her friend’s expression. She had watched as Phoebe’s heart shattered into a million pieces. She’d held her while Phoebe cried throughout the day. And she had waved good-bye when Phoebe departed for the country two days later.

Colin remained in town, where he continued his association with his ladybird, the Lady Marian Winter, a widow.

Since that day, Victoria had lost count of the women who had been associated with him. For the most part, Phoebe remained in the country. Victoria had seen her only a few times since that horrible day, but the change in Phoebe was sobering indeed. She was no longer lively and vivacious. There was no light in her eyes, no dazzle in her smile, where before there had been sunlight bursting in her heart and soul.

Slowly, her attention was drawn back to Sophie. “Oh, come now,” Sophie was saying. “Victoria, when I think of your suitors—why, none have been so terrible! And this very moment, your father has offers from three prospects. What about Viscount Newton—”

Victoria’s generous mouth had turned down. “A man whose arrogance I cannot abide,” she finished succinctly.

“Well, then, what about Robert Sherwood?”

“A cad, Sophie, and you know it as well as I.”

“But there’s still Lord Dunmire’s youngest son Phillip—”

“Boorish and dull, Sophie. I should grow weary of my own voice were I to marry him. And I’m told he gambles to excess.”

“Victoria, I beg you reconsider.”

“There’s nothing you can say to change my mind, Sophie.”

“But your reputation will be ruined—”

“Quite,” Victoria pronounced grimly.

Sophie sighed. “’Tis because of your friend Phoebe, isn’t it, that you refuse to marry? But I would remind you, Victoria, not all men are scoundrels such as her husband.”

“I’m quite aware of that, Sophie. Indeed, there are times I enjoy their company very much.” It was true. Oh, she laughed. She danced, but she was no longer the innocent she’d been when she entered her first Season.

Her chin came up. “But I would remind you that you are only in your first Season, and I am not so naive as I once was. I have borne witness to countless infidelities—husbands with mistresses, wives with lovers. I’ve seen fortunes lost and amassed with the turn of a card. The ton is filled with despicable men whose vices are exceeded only by their monstrous ego.”

“And so you will never marry?” Sophie remained unconvinced.

Victoria’s gaze turned cloudy. “I would never bury myself in the country as Phoebe does,” she said slowly. “But long ago I abandoned my foolish notions about love and marriage. I’ve learned that marriages are made to gain money, power, position, or land—perhaps to breed an heir—perhaps any and all of these.”

Sophie fluttered her fan in utter distress. “But you will spend your life alone, Victoria, with no husband, no children. Why, I find the thought simply unbearable!”

Victoria said nothing. She couldn’t deny that Phoebe’s painful experience had left its mark, for she had no wish to suffer a betrayal such as Phoebe had done. She would not allow any man to use her as a pawn, for his own gain…

Her heart twisted, for there was a part of her that was torn in two—a part of her that could not disdain love entirely. Her parents had loved each other, something she never doubted for an instant. Though it had been nearly ten years since Mama died, Victoria still remembered shared, subtle glances between them, a lingering touch on the shoulder that spoke with such eloquence…

If she were ever to wed, it must be to a man she could love enough to trust…ah, but could she trust enough to love?

She had no answer.

She knew only that she could not spend her life as Phoebe did, in melancholy despair, hopelessly in love with a man who shared nothing of her feelings…never being loved in return…

She would not.

She would far rather spend her life alone.

But now Papa was insisting she marry…oh, she truly did not wish to defy him!

And so she turned her attention back to her mission, which was simple. Were she embroiled in scandal, her suitors would want no part of her—neither those present nor prospective. As for Papa, surely he would consider her totally beyond redemption and would at last cease his efforts to see her wed.

Twisting her white lace handkerchief between slender gloved fingers, Victoria directed a fervent prayer heaven-ward. Forgive me, Mama. Her poor dead mama would be horrified at what she proposed to do, yet Victoria could see no other way. All she needed was a gentleman to help her carry out her plan, such as it was.

The only problem was who. In all truth, she couldn’t quite summon the nerve to approach a gentleman with whom she was already acquainted. It must be a stranger then, for she knew she’d never have the courage to face him again. With that singular thought high aloft, she scanned the sea of bodies. Faith, but there must be someone…

A figure brushed by, elegantly clad in black. The man was tall, long of limb and broad of shoulder, a study of lean, masculine grace. Victoria caught her breath, for it was as if he’d been lifted from the very essence of her mind—from those dreams she’d cast aside long ago. Her gaze followed him as he passed through the terrace doors and out into the shadows of the gardens.

Something leaped in her breast. There would be no better time. There would be no better man. Anticipation sparked within her. If all went as planned, by midnight her fate would at last be her own.

She turned to Sophie and saw that Sophie had again gleaned her intent. Her friend looked ready to cry.

Victoria lightly squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t look like that,” she scolded gently. “I shall be fine, you’ll see. You have only to come to the terrace in a few minutes’ time, but make sure someone is with you as well. And don’t forget, you must pretend to be horrified at finding us—”

“I will be horrified!” Sophie’s eyes were huge. “Victoria, when I think of what you are about to do…throwing yourself at a gentleman…”

“Shhh,” Victoria cautioned, then summoned a smile and pinched poor Sophie’s cheek. “Wish me luck, love.” With that Victoria turned and fairly flew through the terrace doors.

It was a moment before her eyes adjusted to the dimness. The man stood perhaps ten paces distant. His hands were locked behind his back, his dark head slightly inclined as he stared out into the night. Victoria had to force her feet to do her bidding. But a rustle of skirts warned of her presence. Before she could say a word, the stranger spun around just as she came to a halt.

Wide sapphire eyes met those of steely gray. Victoria’s eyes flew wide, and she clutched at her skirts. It was all she could do to stand her ground. Her heart knocked wildly, both in fear and anticipation. All sense of reason fled her mind. The moment was upon her, yet she knew not what to say. She knew not what to do.

It was he who spoke first. “If you’re looking for someone, I fear you’re destined for disappointment. I’m the only one here.”

“Oh, but I’m hardly disappointed. You’re the very one I sought.” The words tumbled forth before she could stop them. Victoria colored as she realized how rash—and how audacious—she must surely sound. But she couldn’t tear her gaze from his face. She was tall for a woman, yet he was half a head taller than she. And he really was stunningly handsome, with winged brows as black as his hair, and a square, masculine jaw. His eyes were most unusual, like clear crystal with a glimmer of silver. She found herself thinking that he would be quite irresistible if only he smiled…

But now it seemed she was the one who merited a closer look. The stranger proceeded to inspect her from the shining blond coronet atop her head to her narrow, slippered feet. Though Victoria had always prided herself on her ability to remain unruffled no matter the circumstances, there was a sharpness to this man’s gaze that rendered her distinctly ill at ease.

A dark brow hiked upward. “Indeed,” he responded coolly. “To my knowledge, we’ve never met.”

“No,” she agreed. “We have not.” Her mind was turning frantically. However was she to accomplish her mission without sounding like a brazen hussy?

“You sought me out, yet you don’t know who I am?”

“Yes. You see, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“A favor. Of a man you do not know.”

“Precisely. You see, I find myself in a situation only you can help me with.”

His eyes narrowed. “How so?”

Victoria forced a light, buoyant laugh, even as she battled the urge to turn and flee. “Men are very fond of gambling, are they not? Well, you see, my friend Sophie proposed a rather outrageous dare, a dare I simply could not refuse. She dared me to kiss the first stranger I met to night. And so, kind sir, I wonder if you are willing to oblige me.”

The moment was tortuous. Victoria held her breath and waited.

Nor did she have long to wait.

“Oblige you? Ah, but we have not met, have we? You have no idea who I am. I haven’t the faintest idea who you are, and I do believe it’s best we keep it that way.” His smile was cutting. “In short, my lady, I think it best if I remove myself from your silly, schoolgirl schemes.”

Victoria understood; truly she did, for already she had recognized that this man was not a carefree, frivolous young buck like so many others in the ton. He was older, for one, and his bearing was that of a man who knew what he wanted and knew it well.

Panic flared high and bright as he stepped past her. It appeared he had every intention of returning inside.

“Wait!” she cried. “I beseech you, please do not leave!”

He swung back to face her. Victoria cringed inside, for his expression was no less than forbidding.

“Young woman,” he said sternly, “please do not make this more difficult than…”

Victoria never heard the rest. A medley of voices came from behind him, near the terrace door.

She had been polite. She had asked. And now it seemed she must take the matter into her own hands. Quickly, before she lost her courage, she flung her arms around him and pressed herself against him.

Strong hands clamped down on her waist. Victoria felt him stiffen, but she didn’t give him the chance to do more. She tangled her fingers in the hair that grew low on his nape, pulled his head down and levered herself upward in one fluid move.

Her lips met his. Her eyes squeezed shut.

The world seemed to tilt and spin. A hundred different sensations bombarded her. His mouth was soft, while his body was hard. She battled the strangest urge to clutch at him wildly, to press herself against him and feel even more of him against her…In her heart she was appalled at such a wickedly unladylike thought, yet she could not deny the hungry surge within her.

In some distant corner of her mind, she heard his swiftly indrawn breath; she sensed that he was as startled as she. Though his fingers bit into the soft skin of her hips, he didn’t thrust her away. An odd little quiver shot through her, for she’d never thought to find pleasure in this moment—yet pleasure there was, a world of it, intoxicating and sweet. Her lips parted, a silent invitation…

Behind her there was a gasp…That would be Sophie, she thought hazily.

Aware they were no longer alone, Victoria reluctantly broke off the kiss. She levered her heels to the floor and prepared herself for the sight of Sophie standing there, pretending to be horrified. With a breathy little sigh, she opened her eyes…

Only to confront her father’s blistering regard.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered. Sophie was behind Papa, her eyes huge. Their host, Lord Remington, was there as well.

The stranger, too, had turned toward the door. Oddly enough, one lean hand remained anchored on her waist, the gesture almost protective. “Good heavens,” he said irritably. “Who the devil are you?”

Papa straightened himself to his full height. “I am the marquess of Norcastle,” her father said grimly. “And I’ll thank you to unhand my daughter.”

Two

An hour later the three of them filed into her father’s study. Though his features were stoic and tight-lipped, Victoria knew he’d never been angrier. It wasn’t his way to rage and shout. Indeed, she thought half-hysterically, she almost wished he would!

The dark stranger sat stiffly beside her—only now she knew his identity. He was Miles Grayson, earl of Stonehurst. Clasping her fingers in her lap, Victoria dared to steal a glance at him…oh, and how she wished she had not! His shoulders were as rigid as a soldier’s, his profile as cold as the sea.

Yet she couldn’t deny that Miles Grayson had been remarkably civil, and very decent, thus far. Nor was it Papa’s way to make a scene. Papa had quietly requested that the earl accompany him to his town house that they might discuss the matter further.

But a man could only be pushed so far…

The proof was in her father.

Victoria’s stomach was churning. She felt very much like a child about to be punished for some misdeed. But this was no childish prank. She’d been caught kissing a gentleman—scandalous behavior in polite society! She reminded herself that sullying her reputation was what she had intended…yet somehow it had gone terribly awry…she’d never dreamed that Papa would actually see it…

And she had the awful sensation it wasn’t over yet.

“Now.” Papa’s voice rang out. “I will not ask either of you to explain yourselves, since ’tis very obvious what the two of you were about.” He turned his formidable gaze to the earl. “The ton is filled with foolish young wastrels who dally whenever and wherever they please and care not a whit about the consequences. ’Twas my belief that you, sir, were above such outlandish behavior—an honorable, respectable man whom I have held in the highest regard. Frankly, my lord, I am appalled at your behavior.”

Beside her, the earl said nothing. But Victoria did not miss the way one hand clenched into a fist.

Then it was her turn to bear her father’s dis pleasure as he turned baleful eyes toward her. His tone was stern. “As for you, Victoria, there are no words to express my disappointment.”

Victoria could not bear to look at him. In all her life, she had never been so ashamed. “I-I’m sorry, Papa.” Swallowing, she slowly raised her chin. “But indeed, you are right. The ton is filled with wastrels who dally where they may. Well, I have no wish to marry such a man—”

Her father cut her off with a sound of disgust. “And I would never allow you to marry a scoundrel, Victoria. But you should not spend your life alone and—”

“I would rather spend my life alone than marry a man who would further his own interests by marrying the daughter of a marquess, for that is what happened to my dear friend Phoebe—her husband chose her for her fortune.” She spoke with heartfelt candor. “I simply have no desire to marry—not Viscount Newton, not Robert Sherwood, not Philip Dunmire. And that is why I-I did what I did. I thought they would each withdraw their suit when they heard what had happened. And I thought you would consider me beyond redemption and cease your efforts to see me wed.”

“Hmmmph!” Her father’s mouth compressed. He directed his attention to the earl. “Have you anything to say, my lord?”

Victoria interrupted before Miles could say a word. “I assure you, Papa, the earl had no idea what I was about!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the earl stiffen. “I am quite capable of speaking for myself,” he said curtly. One elegantly shod foot tapped on the carpet. “You have my sincerest apologies, my lord. My behavior with your daughter was most reprehensible. Beyond that, I fear I can offer no more.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, my lord.” The marquess drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Because I am not prepared to let the matter end here.”

An ominous foreboding descended over the room. Victoria’s eyes darted between the two men, who beheld each other in rigid silence. Why didn’t Miles Grayson speak up and agree with her? Why didn’t he tell Papa that he hadn’t kissed her—’twas she who kissed him! For in truth, the blame was not his at all.

“Papa,” she said in desperation, “did you not hear? It was I who kissed him!”

“Either way, Victoria”—her father’s tone was biting—“the earl appeared ever so willing. Or am I wrong, my lord?”

Miles Grayson’s jaw might have been hewn of iron. He spoke not a word, neither agreement nor denial.

“Very well then,” Papa went on. “My daughter’s reputation has been compromised, and I will not permit this scandal to go further. The only question that remains is how to rectify the damage.”

He fixed his gaze on his daughter. “Since your mother died, I have provided for you the best I knew how, Victoria. I am proud to say, you have disappointed me in only one thing—your reluctance to take a husband. I have been patient. Through three Seasons I have waited for you to do what is expected of you, I have bided my time whilst you turned up your nose at first one suitor, then another, for I could not bear to see you unhappy. But you are a woman now, Victoria. And you must live with the consequences of your actions.”

He transferred his attention to the earl. “Now then. I believe it’s best if we speak privately, my lord. Victoria, a moment alone with the earl, if you please…”

Victoria needed no further urging. She leaped to her feet and fled.

Miles was furious—with himself, the marquess, and his troublesome daughter. He’d only accepted Lord and Lady Remington’s invitation because Lord Remington had stood as godfather to him. But going to the ball had been a monumental mistake.

His trips to London were rare, usually confined to business only, for he’d grown tired of society long ago—the parties, the false gaiety, the endless gossip, the never-ending pretense of manners and goodwill. He much preferred the solitude of Lyndermere Park, his estate in Lancashire; he enjoyed far more the company of farmers and shepherds…and of course, Heather.

He’d very nearly departed London for Lyndermere Park that very morning. He hated the noise and grime of London—and he missed Heather. His mouth twisted. God, but he should have listened to his instinct. Then this would never have happened…

The marquess’s voice cut into his thoughts like the prick of a needle. “I have a proposition for you, my lord. Would you care to hear it?”

Miles’s smile was a travesty. “Not really,” he drawled.

“Nonetheless,” the marquess stated with icy precision, “you will.”

Miles shrugged.

“Now. What I propose is very simple. I want you to marry my daughter.”

Miles’s smile was wiped clean, his reply heated and instantaneous. “You’re mad.”

“I assure you, my lord, I am not.”

Miles forced a calm he was far from feeling. “What!” he said scathingly. “I heard you say quite distinctly, my lord, that your daughter is in her third Season. I cannot help but wonder what’s wrong with the chit that she’s been unable to find a man willing to marry her.”

The marquess only barely managed to restrain his temper. “I would be careful were I you, my lord. When you insult my daughter, you insult me as well, and that is not wise. And surely you have eyes. Victoria is a beauty, as comely as any. She has had numerous suitors, more than I can recall. And I’ve had in my hand this past fortnight three offers for her hand.”

“Then let one of them marry her!”

Leather creaked as the marquess leaned back in his chair. “Ah, but they did not dishonor her, sir. You did.”

Miles very nearly retorted that the chit had no one to blame but herself. But just as he opened his mouth, a voice tolled through his mind. Papa, did you not hear? It was I who kissed him!

The girl had been remarkably forward—and incredibly fetching. And that kiss…An unguarded taste of innocence, sweeter than ripe summer berries, a hint of heaven…

At first he’d been too startled to move. And then—God above but he couldn’t lie—he hadn’t wanted to. Desire struck the very instant their lips met—strange, for he was not a man to yearn for a woman so quickly—and so intensely. He’d wanted to snatch her against him. Plumb the depths of her mouth with his tongue while his hands explored the lithe ripeness of her body…But something had stopped him. Perhaps the innocence he’d sensed in her…

No, he thought soberly. He hadn’t expected to like it so much. He hadn’t expected to want her sweet, stolen kiss to go on. And on…

He could have stopped it. He could have ended it at any given moment…

His lips tightened. “I accept my part in this. But do you really expect me to marry her?”

“I will make myself very clear, Lord Stonehurst. If you don’t, you will live to regret it.”

Miles clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. “A threat, my lord?”

The marquess shrugged. “Call it what ever you like.” Shaggy brows drew together over his nose. “I understand you have a daughter.”

Miles had been about to tell him to go straight to hell. But at the mention of Heather, he froze. “My ward,” he said curtly. “Heather Duval. She’s been with me since she was a very young child. Her parents were killed in a carriage accident.” His tone was level, as level as his gaze. But his heart had leaped high in his chest. The marquess couldn’t possibly know…

The marquess frowned. “Ah, now it comes to me!” he explained. “You were once betrothed to the former Lady Margaret Sutherland, were you not?”

“What of it?” His voice was clipped and abrupt. Miles couldn’t help it.

“But you broke off the engagement only days before the wedding, as I recall.”

“Marriage between Margaret and I would have been a mistake.” Miles felt compelled to defend himself.

“Ah, but Margaret’s mother was most distressed. I remember her telling me that Margaret had gone to Lancashire to visit you. Did she and your ward not get on well, my lord?”

Miles’s tone was tight. “That, my lord, is none of your affair.”

The marquess paid no heed. He tipped his head to the side. “Who did you say the little girl’s parents were, my lord?”

“I didn’t,” Miles said from between his teeth.

“Hmmm. Odd, but I suddenly find myself most curious, my lord. Most curious, indeed.”

Miles’s eyes glinted. “You bastard,” he accused baldly. “I’ll tolerate no one prying into her past.”

“And there’ll be no need if you marry my daughter.” The elder man’s tone was as smooth as oil. He didn’t take his eyes from Grayson’s face. “Well, my lord? Do we have a bargain?”

Miles was up and on his feet in a surge of restless anger. Damn him. He couldn’t possibly know…Yet he couldn’t take the chance the marquess might find out the truth. Oh, it wouldn’t hurt him. But Heather’s life would never be the same—and he wanted only the best for her. She would have only the best.

“Let it be done,” he muttered.

“Excellent!” proclaimed the marquess. “Now, I think the wedding should take place posthaste…” He rose and opened a massive oak door and called for his daughter.

Victoria walked slowly into the study, feeling for all the world as if she were entering a dungeon of darkest doom. The earl stood near the window, arms crossed over his chest; he made no acknowledgement of her presence. As for her father, Papa’s expression told the tale only too well—he was pleased with the outcome of his discussion with the earl. His words bore out her suspicion.

“The earl has some news for you, my dear.”

Miles Grayson turned and gave her a stiff bow. “It seems we are to marry, my lady. I trust you’ll understand that I am less than overjoyed.”

Victoria’s face drained of all color. “Marry,” she echoed, her tone half-strangled. “No, it cannot be. You—you cannot want this.”

“No.” His mouth twisted. “But your father is a persuasive man.”

Stricken, Victoria looked at her father. “Papa. Papa, please do not make me do this.”

She didn’t acknowledge the spasm of pain that passed over his face. The marquess shook his head. “I warned you, Victoria. I warned you but you would not heed me. And so I have no choice.”

A horrible knot of dread coiled in her belly. He was right. She’d been caught. Caught in a trap of her own design.

Nor had Papa lied. He’d said if she did not choose a husband this very night, then he would. And as she soon discovered, Papa was determined to see the deed well and truly done…

This very night.

A vicar was summoned to the town house. He took his place in front of the massive marble fireplace, his Bible in hand. Smiling and sleepy-eyed, he glanced between the two men. “Shall we proceed, my lords?”

Papa gave a curt nod. Stoic and silent, the earl stepped before the vicar. His posture was wooden.

He spared no glance for his bride-to-be, standing in the shadows at the back of the room.

Victoria stifled the urge to shrink away into the darkness of the night. But then Papa was there, offering his arm. Her steps heavy, Victoria crossed the carpet, feeling as if she were being led to an early grave. As she took her place beside the earl, a feeling of sick dread tightened her middle. Her mind screamed silently. How could this have happened? She was about to marry this man—Miles Grayson, earl of Stonehurst. Sweet heaven, she was to marry him, a man she’d not set eyes on before this very night…

She stole a glance at him, only to regret it. His profile was as rigid as his spine, his expression grim and angry. There was scant comfort in knowing he wanted this marriage no more than she…

She hadn’t wanted to marry, most certainly not this night. And she would never have wanted it like this, in this sterile, lonely room at midnight…Despair pierced her breast. If it had to be, she’d have wanted it differently…Four prancing steeds would have delivered her to the steps of the church. She’d have walked down the aisle in a long, flowing gown of satin and lace. Friends and acquaintances would have filled every pew. Sophie would have been there, beaming at her shyly, and Phoebe, too…

The ceremony passed in a haze. She roused only when her hand was laid within the earl of Stonehurst’s. She nearly snatched it back—his skin was like fire.

Then all at once it was time for the vows. The earl spoke his in clipped, staccato tones.

She whispered hers.

In the corner, the clock began to toll the hour of midnight.

Victoria watched numbly as the earl pulled a gold, crested ring from his smallest finger and slid it onto hers. The ring was heavy…as heavy as her heart.

At the very last stroke, the vicar raised his head and cleared his throat. “I now pronounce you man and wife,” he intoned. “My lord, you may kiss the bride.”

Three

Victoria’s numbness receded. Aware of Miles Gray- son’s burning gaze on her profile, a flurry of panic took hold, swift and merciless. She sought to withdraw her hand but he wouldn’t allow it. His grip tightened. An unpleasantly strong arm slid about her waist and caught her up against him.

His head swooped down.

His mouth crushed hers, fierce and devouring; it was a kiss far beyond Victoria’s limited experience. Oh, she’d allowed a few of her gentleman callers a chaste peck on the lips now and again—and thought herself quite daring!

But this was different. Her husband’s possession of her mouth was far from worshipful. She could feel the rampant, seething fire of his emotions in the hot brand of his mouth on hers, filled with stark, relentless purpose. He meant to defile her—to dishonor her.

Gasping, she tore her mouth free. She knew it for certain then. He raised her head, and both triumph and challenge glittered in his eyes. Victoria’s spine went rigid. She would have slapped him were it not for the sharp rap of Papa’s voice.

“A word of warning, my lord. Although Victoria is now your wife, do not forget she is my daughter. Misuse her and you’ll feel my wrath—and I promise, you’ll wish you had not!”

The earl was undaunted. Instead his mouth curled in what could only be called dry mockery. “My lord, I could hardly forget,” he drawled. “I trust you’ll forgive our hasty departure.” He turned to his bride. “Countess, I suggest you hurry and have a maid pack a bag for you. Our wedding night awaits.”

Victoria’s eyes flew wide, then slid back to her father. This couldn’t be happening! she thought wildly. Miles Grayson had no right to take over her life like this! Ah, but he does, whispered a niggling little voice.

And they all knew it.

Her bag was packed and ready all too soon. The earl’s carriage clattered around to the front of the house. With a steely-fingered hold about her elbow, the earl proceeded to lead her outside. But as he would have handed her up and into the carriage, she broke away.

She rushed back to where Papa stood on the steps. Throwing her arms around him, she clung to him unashamedly. “Papa,” she choked out. “I cannot do this. I cannot bear it!”

The hand that smoothed her hair was not entirely steady. “Shhh,” he whispered. “It will be all right, Victoria. I know it.”

“He is so hard. So cold!”

“I know what he seems at this moment, child. But he is not. Dear God, do you think I’d give my only daughter to such a man?”

An ache rent her breast. In her heart, Victoria knew her father wanted only what was best for her. Yet she couldn’t see what good could possibly come of this marriage.

“Victoria!” From the shadows behind her, the sound of her name sliced through the night.

Victoria paid no heed.

Papa kissed her cheek, then squeezed her shoulder. “Go now, Victoria, and remember. You now have a husband, but I will always be your father—and I will always love you.”

Though her throat was hot with the burning threat of tears, somehow those words gave her the strength she needed to turn and retrace her steps. This time when the earl handed her into the coach, her head was high, the set of her shoulders proudly erect.

The interior of the coach was thick with an oppressive silence. Victoria felt the earl’s gaze on her—dark and angry—like the man himself, she thought with a shiver. Despite her resolve, she was sorely tempted to fling open the door and flee.

Soon the carriage rolled to a halt before a fashionable red-brick mansion in Grosvenor Square.

“Our humble abode, countess.”

Victoria gritted her teeth. The wretch was baiting her—and enjoying it immensely. She disdained his hand and alighted without his assistance. The door was opened by a stoop-shouldered butler and they were ushered inside a wide, flag-stoned entrance hall.

Miles wasted no time imparting the news. “Nelson, meet my wife, the former Lady Victoria Carlton. Would you please show her to the gold bedchamber?”

Nelson was all agog but recovered quickly. “Certainly, sir.” He picked up her bag and inclined his head toward his new mistress. “Please come with me, my lady.”

Victoria brushed past the earl without a word. The bedchamber she was shown into was lovely. The carpet was of pale cream. Deep yellow brocade draperies framed the windows. A matching counterpane covered the bed. Under other circumstances Victoria might have exclaimed her delight aloud, but not now.

What was it the earl had said? Her mind flew like wind across the fields. Our wedding night awaits. She shivered. He hadn’t meant anything by that, had he? No. Of course not. After all, their marriage had hardly been planned. Surely he would not expect her to—to behave like a bride. Or—God forbid—to share his bed…

“I trust this room suits you?”

The voice startled her. Victoria whirled around to see her husband standing in the doorway. He leaned with careless ease against the doorjamb, one lean hand curled around a glass of wine. Despite the lateness of the hour, he looked as elegantly handsome as he had hours earlier.

The room does, she longed to shout. It’s you who does not.

She nodded.

“Good.” There was a small pause. “Will you join me for a drink in the drawing room?”

She politely declined. “I think not. It’s been a tiring night.”

“A tiring night! But you saw the fruition of your plans, didn’t you? I should imagine you’d want to celebrate.” His tone was falsely hearty.

Victoria stiffened. “Celebrate? I fail to see what there is to celebrate,” she informed him archly.

“Oh, come now, countess. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? To trap me into marriage.”

Her jaw closed with a snap. It was all she could do to maintain a civil air. “It’s just as I told my father, my lord. I wished to marry no one—least of all you,” she said cuttingly. “Indeed, it was the very thing I sought to avoid.”

“Ah, and you went about it quite admirably, didn’t you?” Mockery lay heavy and biting in his voice.

Victoria’s face burned painfully. “A mistake, my lord. A costly one for both of us, I admit, for I misjudged my father grievously. But perhaps you may draw comfort from the fact that you stand to gain far more than I. My father is a wealthy man. My dowry is a fortune unto its own. I should imagine you would be celebrating.” Her gaze lowered to the glass of wine in his hand. She smiled with acid sweetness. “But you are already, I see.”

Her barb struck home. His mouth hardened. His grip on the fragile stem of the glass tightened so that the skin of his knuckles shown taut and white; Victoria was certain the stem would snap at any moment.

He straightened. “This seems as good a time as any to tell you of my plan. I suggest we dwell under the same roof for as long as it takes to appease your father. In time, I have no doubt you’ll be able to charm him into seeing this marriage was a mistake. When that happens, the marriage can be annulled and we’ll go our separate ways. Is that agreeable?”

“Quite,” she snapped.

“So be it,” he said. He started to turn away, only to pause.

“A word of advice for you, countess. I shouldn’t force my attentions on a gentleman—let alone kiss him—the way you did me in the Rutherfords’ garden. A man”—his smile was but a travesty—“I fear there is no polite way to put this…a man finds such boldness distasteful.” With that he left her.

Victoria was speechless with rage. She glared at the door through which he’d just passed. Miles Grayson, earl of Stonehurst, was the most odious, hateful man alive!

This was war.

Her pride had been stung, the gauntlet cast. Her husband had insulted her, cutting her down with naught but the lash of his tongue.

Oh, she would do as he said. They would reside beneath the same roof, for the sake of her father. But they would share nothing else—not a single meal. Not a room.

But if he thought to make her cower, he would be sorely disappointed, for Victoria was determined not to wilt away, to hide in the corner.

So it was that the next morning, she summoned the earl’s staff and introduced herself…and promptly rang for the carriage. While she waited in the entrance hall, she stopped before a gilt-framed mirror and retied the satin strings of her bonnet, humming a merry little tune.

“Going out so soon, my dear?”

Victoria very nearly choked herself.

Thank heaven her recovery was mercifully quick, even though her heart pounded and her mind turned wildly. He thought her bold and audacious, so that was what she would give him. Giving a final tug on her bonnet strings, she turned and bestowed on him a smile that would surely melt the hardest of hearts.

But not her husband’s.

“Well, Victoria?” He stood before her, an imposing figure garbed wholly in black. Her stomach fluttered strangely. He seemed taller than ever, lean and muscular. Seen in the full light of the day, she could detect no flaws in his countenance, save the almost wicked slant of his brows. Indeed, he was so very handsome he nearly took her breath away. But there was no mistaking the disapproval inherent in his regard, and that fired more than a twinge of resentment.

She gave a trilling little laugh. “What!” she said breezily. “Did you think I’d be given to vapors? If so, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

His eyes seemed to sizzle. “On the contrary, Victoria”—he spoke with precise deliberation—“you are exactly what I expected.”

She paid him no further heed as she swept out the front door. Minutes later the carriage drew up before Sophie’s house. When the butler announced her, Sophie thrust aside her embroidery and leaped up.

“Victoria! Oh, I’m so sorry…I-I don’t know how it happened…your father followed me onto the terrace and asked your whereabouts. And suddenly there you were…! Oh, I’ve been so worried. Mama rushed home from shopping this morning with the news you’d wed the earl of Stonehurst! Is that who you were with in the garden? The earl of Stonehurst? I told Mama she must surely be mistaken…she is, isn’t she?”

There was no need to answer. Victoria practically fell into Sophie’s arms and collapsed into tears.

Within the day, their marriage was the talk of the ton.

Within the week, the talk of London.

Victoria had feared she would be ostracized, for the ton was notorious for turning a condescending eye to those who committed the slightest faux pas. Yet the ladies sighed with envy, for they thought marriage between Victoria and Miles Grayson grandly romantic—and quite a catch! As for the gentlemen, they merely smiled quietly to themselves, for they were well aware the earl of Stonehurst had captured a covetous prize—a wife who possessed both beauty and money.

All in all, her social calender changed little, for invitations continued to arrive daily. But Victoria felt very much the intruder in her husband’s house; oh, not because of the servants, for they were only too anxious to please. No, it was Miles. She couldn’t forget he disdained her very presence in his home, her so-called role as wife. And so she stayed away as often as she could. On those rare occasions she encountered her husband, he was unfailingly polite, yet chillingly so.

One morning, she accompanied Sophie to a seamstress on Bond Street. While Sophie and the seamstress went back to the dressing room, Victoria idly sifted through a handful of hair ribbons in the far corner of the shop. The doorchime sounded, and she glanced up. Two matrons stepped within; one was Lady Carmichael, the other Lady Brentwood.

Her greeting died on her lips.

“Why, I’ve never met such a gentleman as Lord Stonehurst in all my days,” Lady Carmichael was saying.

Curious, Victoria ducked her head low and listened intently.

“I find him utterly fascinating,” Lady Carmichael went on, “and most charming.”

“Yes, indeed.” This came from Lady Brentwood. “Charles has had numerous business dealings with him. Why, only last evening I distinctly recall he told an acquaintance there’s no man he respects or admires more than Lord Stonehurst—and Charles is not a man to give his praise lightly.”

But Lady Brentwood had not finished. “As for his marriage to Lady Victoria Carlton, why, many a man would have left her to her own devices, no matter the harm to her reputation. The haste with which they married simply proves that he is a noble fellow indeed.” She gave a trilling laugh. “To say nothing of handsome!”

Victoria’s lips tightened. Handsome, oh, exceedingly. That she couldn’t deny. But charming? Noble? They did not have to live with the subject in question. Little did they know—why, the man was a veritable fencepost!

“I do hope Victoria appreciates how lucky she is to have landed such a catch!” said Lady Carmichael. “I find it rather odd that she continues to go about as if she’d never married! Why, my Theodora sobbed the night through when she heard Stonehurst had wed.”

Victoria’s head snapped up. She was sorely tempted to tell Lady Carmichael that her Theodora was welcome to Miles Grayson, earl of Stonehurst!

But she was unwilling to fuel gossip any further, and so she maintained her silence, keeping her presence hidden until the two ladies had left the shop.

But the conversation nagged at her throughout the next few days. Was Miles truly so respected among the ton?

For the first time she began to see her husband in a different light…and reluctantly admitted that to her knowledge, Miles was neither a cad nor a bounder. He didn’t overly frequent the gaming tables. She heard no tales of wild or reckless behavior, nor did he drink to excess. If he had a mistress, he was so discreet she never even suspected. Indeed, it seemed her husband possessed none of the vices she might have despised in a husband…

Soon she began to feel guilty, for neither malice nor spite was in her nature. What need was there to live together as enemies? One morning as she prepared to go downstairs, she decided perhaps it was time to make the best of their situation. On impulse, she tapped on the door of his room. When he bid her enter, she stepped inside…

Only to stop short at the threshold.

Apparently he’d just come in from riding. His riding jacket lay in a heap upon the bed; a rumpled white shirt lay next to it.

All at once her mouth was dry as dust, her gaze riveted to his form. Victoria had never seen a man in a state of dishabille, not her father or any other.

His hips were incredibly narrow, his boots spattered with mud. His fawn-colored breeches were like a second skin; they clung to his thighs, cleanly outlining every muscle. But it was what lay nestled between those iron-hewn thighs that drew her gaze in a manner most unseemly…the swelling there hinted at a masculinity that—were it unfettered and released from constraint—promised a sight to behold indeed…

Egad, what ever was wrong with her! Stunned by such audacious thoughts, she tore her gaze upward, only to realize that his naked torso was no less disconcerting.

His shoulders were strong and wide, the muscles of his arms smooth and tight and sleek. A mat of dark curly hair covered his chest and belly, disappearing beneath the waist-band of his breeches. Her mind ran wild. Oh, but there was beauty in the male form, of a kind she’d not thought to find…most certainly not in her husband!

“Was there something you wanted, Victoria?”

His regard was cool and unsmiling. Victoria swallowed, praying he hadn’t noticed her staring. Quickly she gathered her courage—and her senses. Yet still her voice was a trifle breathless.

“There is a garden fete at the Covingtons this afternoon. I-I wondered if you would care to attend with me?”

His reply was most emphatic. “I am not one of your London peacocks to strut at your side for all to admire you, countess. If you wish to attend, then go. But do not trouble me about such trivial matters again.”

Victoria felt as if she’d been slapped. Stupid, foolish tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back, and somehow managed to salvage her pride. Raising her chin, she matched his disdain with dignified aplomb.

“As you wish, my lord,” she stated levelly. With a swish of her skirts she turned and was gone.

By the time she reached the dining room, a seething resentment had replaced the hurt. So much for her peace efforts, she reflected bitterly. She had tried, and she could do no more.

The next step—unlikely though it was—was up to Miles.

So it was that in the days that followed, Victoria went riding in Hyde Park. She attended birthday parties and routs. She waltzed until the wee hours of the morning at Almack’s. The Lady Carmichaels and Lady Brentwoods of the ton could gossip all they pleased about the state of her marriage. When queried about the whereabouts of her husband, she would simply shrug and say lightly, “It’s hardly the thing to be in each other’s pockets. Besides, what marriage these days is a love match?”

Never had she been so miserable.

One man in particular, Count Antony DeFazio from Italy, was frequently at her side. No matter where she was, more often than not he was there as well. Eventually—unfailingly—he would make his way over to her. Sophie thought he was to-swoon-for handsome. In all honesty, Victoria supposed he was. Yet somehow when she looked into eyes as dark as midnight, she was reminded of eyes the color of storm clouds…

It was most distracting—and highly vexing.

In any case, Antony was charming and warmly attentive. He complimented the rich gold of her hair, the creaminess of her skin, the remarkable blue of her eyes. He was an outrageous flirt, but when it seemed her husband wanted nothing to do with her, his praise was balm to her wounded pride.

But her husband was not as heedless of her activities as she thought.

Miles remained in the background, watching all unfold with mounting dis pleasure. Even before that disastrous night at the Rutherfords, he’d heard rumors of his new wife; in his estimation, she was a lady of fashion who thrived on attention. He couldn’t help but think of Margaret Sutherland, the woman he had very nearly married. Once the toast of London, he’d fallen victim to Margaret’s sultry beauty, her vivacious charm.

He’d not be so foolish again.

His mouth turned down. No, Victoria was no different than Margaret. Indeed, how could she be anything but shallow and vain? In the end, Victoria would prove herself selfish and hurtful, and Miles would not expose Heather to such a woman.

You judge without evidence, whispered an irascible little voice.

Hah! What more did he need? Why, they’d been wed nearly a fortnight and the chit had not spent one evening home!

Still, he was reminded how Victoria had stood up to her father and announced that she had kissed him. Odd, how she’d tried to protect him. Rather honorable, really, to say nothing of noble and courageous…

But Miles was a man who didn’t need the glitter of London to be happy. He’d chosen a more simple life in the country, an infinitely more satisfying life. Margaret would never have been happy anywhere but London. Neither would Victoria, which was yet another reason he was convinced they had no future together.

That very thought was high in his mind as he strolled inside his home that evening. Nelson hurried to greet him.

“Good evening, my lord.”

“Good evening, Nelson.” He handed the butler his gloves and cane.

Now came the inevitable question…“Is the countess home?”

…and the inevitable answer. “No, my lord.” The butler’s eyes flitted away.

“I see. And where is she this fine night?”

“My lord, she mentioned something about a ball at Lord and Lady Raleigh’s. I believe the invitation arrived last week.”

It was then Miles saw it—a calling card on a silver tray. He picked it up and read the name—count antony defazio. Sheer red misted his vision, for Miles had also heard the count’s name bandied about—in conjunction with his wife’s!

“The count was here?”

“This afternoon, my lord. He and the countess took tea together. Then he returned to escort my lady to the ball.”

So now the chit was entertaining her admirers in his very house! A stark, blinding fury came over him. He damned himself for giving in to it, even as he damned his errant wife for her part in it.

He jutted out his jaw. “Nelson, have the carriage brought round.”

In all her days, Victoria didn’t know when she’d been so bored. The lilting music all sounded the same. The crush of faces around her had blurred to indistinction, and she found the scent of fresh flowers almost cloying. If she had to attend one more wretched affair like this, she would surely scream.

Whirling around the dance floor with Antony, she prayed he would unhand her. Her head ached and her feet hurt. All she wanted at this moment was to go home…

Home, she thought with a pang. There was a painful catch in her breast. She no longer knew where she belonged. Papa had foisted her off upon the earl, and the earl would just as soon be rid of her…

The dance ended. One hand possessively at her waist, Antony would have led her from the floor. But Victoria gently broke away. “Oh, there’s Sophie!” she exclaimed. “Please excuse me, count, but I must have a word with her.” She gave him no chance to protest, but breezed away in a swirl of skirts.

Across the room, she kissed Sophie’s cheek. “Thank heaven you appeared when you did, Sophie. Antony is sweet, but he can be a bit much at times.”

“Oh, Victoria, but he is so dashing and handsome! And just think, he is quite entranced with you.”

Victoria smiled slightly. She found two seats at the edge of the dance floor and sank into one of them, wriggling her toes gratefully. “Granted, he is quite pleasant to look at, but there are times when he’s really quite full of himself, Sophie.”

Sophie gave a wistful sigh. “Still, that I could be in your slippers to night…” She had yet to sit, and her gaze drifted out to the dance floor once more. All at once she gasped.

“Victoria, look! He—he’s here!”

Victoria accepted a glass of champagne from a tray. “Who, love?”

“Your husband!”

Your husband. Victoria’s heart lurched. She very nearly dropped her glass of champagne.

“Victoria, what if he saw you dancing with Antony? Do you think he’ll be angry? Do you think he’ll be jealous?” Sophie gasped. “He’s coming this way and…oh, dear…I don’t think I wish to be in your slippers after all! Victoria, I could almost swear…he does look rather jealous.”

Her gaze tracked Sophie’s. Sure enough, Sophie was right. Miles was there, already bearing down on them. But judging from the expression on his face, she guessed he wasn’t jealous at all…

He was positively livid.

Four

Yet no trace of it showed in his demeanor as he stepped up before them. He bowed low, a gesture of graceful elegance. “Victoria, I had no idea you were here.” He turned to Sophie, chiseled lips drawn into a devastating smile. “Who is your companion, my dear?” Victoria saw a dreamy appreciation enter Sophie’s eyes and nearly groaned.

She hastened to her feet, and lay her hand on Sophie’s arm. Her stomach twisted in dread but she was determined not to show it. Lifting her chin, she matched his smile. “My lord, this is my dearest friend in all the world, Miss Sophie Mayfair. Sophie, my husband, Miles Grayson, earl of Stonehurst.”

“Miss Mayfair, I do hope you don’t mind if I steal my wife away. Can you imagine, married nearly a fortnight and we’ve yet to dance together.”

He allowed no protest, but set aside her champagne, captured her hand, and pulled her onto the dance floor. Victoria glared her outrage. “‘Married nearly a fortnight and we’ve yet to dance together,’” she quoted. “I wonder, my lord, whose fault that is.”

“The opportunity could hardly present itself when you were not present, countess.”

“My lord,” she said sweetly, “I could say the very same of you.”

He chose to be silent for several moments. His arm was hard about her back. He held her close—far closer than was proper!—so close she fancied she could feel the muscled breadth of his chest. She felt suddenly giddy…from the way he whirled her around, she told herself.

It was then she noticed they had attracted more than an idle number of glances. “We’re being watched,” she murmured. Her gaze caught his. “Should we give them something to talk about?”

“My dear, I do believe you already have.” He sounded almost angry.

Shuttered behind his oh-so-pleasant facade was an anger even deeper than she’d realized. Her heart bounded clear to her throat.

“In fact,” he went on, “I do believe we should continue this discussion at home.” He whisked her off the dance floor.

Victoria was suddenly not at all eager to leave. She tried to twist away without making it appear she did so. “But I came with—”

The arm about her waist tightened like a band of steel. “I know who escorted you. Nonetheless, you’re leaving with me.”

There was a tap on Miles’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” said a thickly accented voice, “but Victoria promised this next dance to me.”

Victoria held her breath while Miles squared off to face the count. But he only shook his head and said easily, “Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck, old man. Because my lovely wife has promised the night to me—along with every other night.”

A very red-faced count fell back, murmuring his apologies.

Victoria clamped her mouth shut. When they were alone in the carriage, she vented the full force of her wrath. “I do not recall promising the night to you, my lord. Not this night or any other.”

“Ah, but I beg to differ with you, countess. Or do you forget our wedding vows so soon?”

Victoria lapsed into silence. Drat the man and his facile tongue, she decided furiously. Why must he always have his words so ready at hand?

Once they were inside his home, he ushered her into the salon and closed the doors. Ignoring her, he removed his coat and unwound his cravat, dropping them onto the back of a chair. Her stomach dropped clear to the floor when he proceeded to undo the top buttons of his shirt. She balked. Surely he would not…But no. Why, the thought was ridiculous. He’d made no secret of his distaste for her. Of course he had no intention of asserting his husbandly rights…

Stifling a pinprick of hurt, she seated herself in a velvet wing chair while he poured two glasses of wine. He turned to face her.

Silence mounted, thick and heavy. Victoria’s heart lurched, for he stared at her most oddly. Why, she could almost believe that he was jealous…But no. She was mistaken. That familiar glacial coolness was very much in evidence as he presented himself before her. He wordlessly extended a glass of wine.

Victoria opened her mouth to decline but he cut her off abruptly.

“I suggest you take it, countess. You didn’t get to finish your champagne, remember?”

She would rather not, she decided uneasily. Indeed, she would far rather put this entire night behind her and pretend it hadn’t happened, for there was an air of danger about her husband that sent warning bells ringing all through her.

He wasted no time. “You had a caller this afternoon, did you not?”

Her chin lifted a notch. “What, my lord? Am I not allowed to have callers?”

“Of course you may. It’s this particular caller I have a problem with, countess. So tell me, who was he?”

Lying was not an option. He already knew. “Count Antony DeFazio,” she ventured calmly.

“It’s my understanding you’ve been seen with the count on numerous other occasions. Are you aware of his reputation?”

Her smile was as false as his had been earlier. “Why, yes, indeed I am. Antony is a wonderful dancer. An engaging conversationalist, to say nothing of being an immensely charming escort—”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Victoria shrugged. “Men have mistresses and ladies have lovers,” she stated daringly. “’Tis the way of the world.”

“Well, it’s not my way.” Suddenly he was there before her. For the second time in just a few short minutes, her glass was set aside. Without further ado, she was hauled up and out of her chair. Strong hands imprisoned the fragile span of her shoulders.

“You’ve had free rein these past few weeks, Victoria, but no more. I will not have you behaving in a way that will cause embarrassment or dishonor to my name—to your name,” he emphasized.

Temper flared but she held it in check. “And what behavior might that be?”

“Dancing with Count Antony DeFazio. Receiving him in our home when I am not present.”

“Our home?” she retorted archly. “This is your home, my lord.”

“It is also yours,” he countered, “at least until such time as your father ceases to peer over our shoulder.”

The soft line of Victoria’s mouth thinned with suppressed fury. “Is there more, my lord?”

“Indeed there is. You will not cavort with the count—nor any man—for all to see.”

“Why, my lord,” she stated with acid sweetness. “I could almost believe you’re jealous.” She mocked him. She knew it, and was secretly appalled at her daring. But another part of her, deep in the recesses of her being, yearned to hear him say it was true—that he was jealous of DeFazio. And—God help her—that very same part of her desperately wanted the strength of his arms hard around her back—the brand of his mouth upon hers, hot and searing, banishing these angry words so that nothing else mattered.

Oh, it made no sense! She wanted to be rid of him—and he of her…

“Well, my lord. Are you jealous?” She was aching inside. Quivering. Praying as never before…

“Of course not. Why, the very idea is nonsense.”

He denounced her baldly—heaven help her, a knife in the heart. But she wouldn’t let him know it, not in a thousand years.

“Nonetheless,” he went on, “I mean what I say, Victoria. I won’t allow you to meet DeFazio again.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You forbid me?” she said pleasantly.

“Call it anything you like. Either way, you won’t be seeing him again. Nor will you stay out till dawn.”

Anger flared at his imperious tone. “Till dawn,” she sputtered. “Why, I did no such thing!”

“Nor will you.”

“You can’t stop me!”

“Oh, but I think I can.”

“What will you do? Lock me in my room like a child?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” He was deadly serious. “You need a firm hand, Victoria. You are wild and reckless and I’ll have no more of it.”

Victoria gasped. “You presume to know me quite well when you know me not at all.” She wrenched herself free. Her eyes smoldered, twin flames of pure fire. “Why do you even care what I do—and with whom I do it?”

He stood before her, a pillar of stone. “A ridiculous question, countess. I care because you are my wife.”

“The wife you didn’t want.” Victoria spoke bitterly. Odd, but it burned inside to hear the words aloud.

“Regardless of the circumstances, we are wed. And you will mind your manners and your tongue—”

“I need no lessons in manners, my lord earl. Certainly not from you—a man who’s been too long in the country!”

“I mean what I say, Victoria. I’ll not have you making a spectacle of yourself, running wildly about town with a man like DeFazio—”

Victoria cried out indignantly. “Why, I do believe if it were up to you, I’d stay here in this house and—and mold!”

His smile was utterly maddening. “A vast improvement, I daresay.”

Tears stung her eyes, tears she blinked back furiously. “I’m going home to Papa,” she announced. She sought to step past him, only to find herself snared by the elbow and whirled around to face him.

She flung up her hands between them. “Let me go!”

He caught her up against him. His smile had vanished; his expression would surely have curdled cream. “You are not leaving this house, Victoria.”

“Oh, yes, I am. I’m going home! Papa did not dictate to me like this.”

“Well, perhaps he should have. Perhaps then we would not be in this wholly untenable predicament.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Miles knew it the instant the words left his mouth, for Victoria’s face whitened. For an instant, she looked as if she’d been struck. And then she did the one thing he never expected.

She burst into tears.

For the space of a heartbeat, Miles could only stare. He’d been prepared for a fiery rage. A spiteful defiance—anything but this.

She sobbed as if her heart were broken.

He wrapped one arm around her slowly. Her body was pliant and limp as he directed her to the small divan just to his left. He sat, cradling her against his side, her head nestled against his shoulder. He spoke not a word, but stroked the shining cap of her hair, holding her as he might have held Heather.

In time, the sobs eased to deep, jagged breaths. He stilled the movement of his hand, resting it between the narrow plane of her shoulder blades. “Now,” he said quietly. “Would you like to tell me what distresses you so?”

Oddly, she made no move to distance her person from him. “It’s…everything.”

He studied her as she glanced up at him. It struck him how exquisite she was, even with her features ravaged by tears. “Everything?”

She expelled a sigh, her breath misting warmly across the line of his jaw. “I hate knowing how I displeased Papa. And I—I regret that I chose to involve you in my foolish scheme. But I did and—and now you’re utterly miserable.”

Miles wiped the pad of his thumb across her cheek, then held it up for her inspection. “I beg to differ with you, Victoria. I do believe you’re far more miserable than I.”

She smiled. Oh, a shaky smile, at best, but a smile nonetheless.

But all at once her breath caught audibly. She withdrew from his arms and sat up. She didn’t meet his regard; it was as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “It’s just that I…I feel like I don’t belong here.” A tear traced a lonely pathway down her cheek as at last she lifted her head. She spoke, her tone very low. “I-I know you hate me for ruining your life—”

“Stop right there. I don’t hate you, Victoria.”

Her eyes clung to his. “Truly?” she whispered.

“Truly.”

And indeed, Miles had never been more certain of anything in his life. His eyes darkened, roving over her face. Her skin was flushed, her eyes still damp and bluer than ever, her lashes deeply spiked and glistening. God, she was sweet. Yet this was not a disobedient child he’d held in his arms. He could still feel the soft, womanly imprint of her curves against his. He wanted to kiss her again, he realized suddenly. But a kiss was what had got them into this mess…

And indeed, he wanted far more than just a kiss.

These last weeks had been hell; knowing she slept beneath his very roof sheer torment. He had only to walk into a room and the lingering scent of her perfume sent him into a tailspin. He lay awake long into the night, his manhood rock-hard and nearly bursting. His dreams were as wantonly erotic as a youth’s; he indulged his every fantasy.

Ah, yes. In his dreams he knew her body as well as he knew his own. He felt her come alive beneath his hands; with lips and tongue he teased the tips of her breasts to quivering erectness. The soft down between her legs hid flesh that was damp and sweetly wet. And when at last he came inside her, she moaned into his mouth. God! but she was like warm silk around his turgid shaft.

But it wasn’t only the pleasure of the flesh that Miles envisioned. He imagined what it would be like to hold her through the night while she slept, their passion in check. He longed to wake with her sleep-flushed and warm, her sweet curves tucked against his own.

But he’d not force himself on any woman, let alone his wife.

And so he held himself very still, uncertain of himself in a way he liked not at all. He watched as her fingers plucked at her skirts. “We haven’t tried to make this situation more palatable, either of us,” she said.

She was right, he realized. He was not an ogre, though he’d behaved like one thus far. A sliver of guilt stabbed at him, for he disliked knowing he was responsible for her unhappiness.

“It’s true we don’t know each other very well,” he said slowly. “I admit, I’ve behaved rather abominably these past weeks.”

“And I rather shrewishly.”

“No.” They looked at one another, for they spoke at the very same time.

Victoria had caught her lip between her teeth. All at once the tension was no longer quite so evident.

“Nor have we chosen to rectify the situation, either of us,” Miles went on. “But…perhaps we should.”

This was crazy. Dangerous. She was no different than Margaret, a voice in his head warned. They simply did not suit. And God knew, he wasn’t the only one who would end up hurt. There was Heather to think of…

“I-I would like that, my lord.”

“So would I,” he heard himself say…and knew it for the truth. “Your social calendar, countess. I suspect it’s quite full?” His tone was deliberately offhand, yet his heart was suddenly thudding.

“Indeed it is. For the next week, in fact.” Her reply was rather breathless.

“Then I fear we have a slight problem, for I am at a distinct loss as to how I might persuade you into crying off for just one evening—to have supper with your husband.” As he spoke, he reached for her hand where it lay atop her silk-covered thigh. He felt her start of surprise. Slowly, giving her time to withdraw if she wanted, he laced his fingers through hers.

But she didn’t pull away, as he thought she might. Instead, she stared at their hands, at his fingers entwined with her own. Then she raised her head and smiled, a smile that held him spellbound.

“My lord,” she said softly, “you have only to ask.”

Five

Odd, that such a simple thing as supper with her husband could bring about such excitement.

By seven o’clock the next evening, Victoria was happier than she’d been in days—why, weeks! She labored over her toilette in a way that she hadn’t even done for her come-out ball. Indeed, she could scarcely sit still as her maid dressed her hair, twisting it into a smooth gold coil atop her crown. Her gown was of pale blue silk, long and flowing; beneath the high-waisted, low-cut bodice it fell in dozens of tiny pleats.

At last she was ready. As she descended the stairs, Miles was just exiting the library. When he saw her, he stopped short at the foot of the stairs. Victoria held her breath, for his gaze was riveted upward. She was half-afraid to glance at his face yet neither could she stop herself.

But then she could have pinched herself in sheer delight, for though he spoke not a word, it appeared he very much approved of what he saw.

She was suddenly very glad she had taken such pains with her appearance.

When she reached the last step, silently he extended his arm. Lightly she placed her fingers on his sleeve.

In the dining room, Nelson had seated them opposite the other, at each end of the long table. Miles frowned and said something to the footman. Plate, silver, and glass were hurriedly swept up and placed directly to the left of his.

Victoria could never quite remember exactly what she ate. Dishes were set before her, then removed. It might have been straw, for all that she knew.

It was over dessert when she finally tipped her head to the side and regarded him.

“Why have you never wed?”

“My dear, correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe I am wed.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You know what I mean. Why did you never wed before now?”

A dark brow arose. “Why do you ask?”

“Well”—her tone was earnest—“you’re a bit old to have never married.”

She had shocked him. It was only then she realized she must have reached for her wine glass just a bit too often. Her fingers stole to her lips. “Oh, dear me, I can’t believe I dared to say such a thing. I-I did not mean to be so rude, truly.”

Miles shook his head. “It’s quite all right.” There was a brief pause. “It was several years ago, but I was, in fact, engaged to be married.”

“Then why didn’t you?” This, too, emerged before she thought better of it.

“It simply wasn’t to be.” Though his tone was light, his features had turned rather solemn. “And since that time, well, I never found a woman I wished to wed.”

And he still hadn’t, she acknowledged with a pang. He would never have married her if his hand had not been forced. The realization caused a sharp, knifelike twinge in her chest.

Why it should hurt so—why it even mattered—she didn’t know.

But she didn’t allow it to show when supper ended and they arose. She was surprised but pleased when he invited her to play chess, and then all was forgotten. Victoria had always prided herself on her skill at the game—Papa had taught her when she was barely out of short-coats. But like Papa, Miles was a clever opponent, and it took all her concentration to pose a substantial challenge.

Miles won, but Victoria didn’t mind. This was the most enjoyable evening she’d passed in weeks.

A short time later, he escorted her upstairs to her room. At her door, they stopped. He stood close, so close were she to draw a deep breath her breasts would have brushed the lapels of his coat. There was an odd tightening in her chest. The evening had passed in such accord, she wondered almost frantically if to night would be the night he would make her truly his wife. And if it were, how would she feel…? She was afraid—oh, not of him, but of what he would do—to be sure. And yet, a shiver of excitement coursed along her veins.

“Victoria.”

The sound of her name startled her. Eyes like silver dwelled on her upturned face. She glanced up, swallowing a gasp.

“Yes?” The word was but a breath. All the world seemed to totter on this one moment.

A half-smile curled his lips. “I merely wished you goodnight, countess. And—sleep well.”

With that he was gone. Her hopes plunged. She gazed into the shadows after him, her spirits forlorn.

It seemed she had her answer after all.

A week passed in much the same fashion. Supper, then chess. Sometimes a glass of wine in the salon. Victoria gladly put aside other engagements to sup with her husband.

Just being near him made her stomach clench—not that he was unsightly. Lord, no! The sweep of his neck was long and corded, his jaw taut and strong. His brow was broad and regal, his lips beautifully chiseled. No longer was his mouth so sternly set as it was during those first days of their marriage. He didn’t smile often, but when he did…

But it wasn’t enough to be with him. She wanted him to touch her. She ached for him to hold her as he had the night she’d cried, to feel his arms snug and tight about her once more.

She couldn’t deny what her heart was telling her.

Something was happening. Something strange. Something wonderful.

Something…impossible.

Oh, there was no doubt that Miles’s reserve had thawed. He was unfailingly polite, occasionally teasing, no longer coolly remote. With every day that passed, he treated her with an ever-increasing familiarity. But Victoria wanted more. She longed to be treated like a woman.

She longed to be treated like a wife…his wife.

It was a point that caused her no end of frustration. Other gentlemen had been drawn to her. Other gentlemen had found her face and form attractive. Why not Miles? And perhaps most difficult of all, what was she to do?

Painful though it was, she couldn’t forget what he’d said the night they wed.

A word of advice for you, countess. I shouldn’t force my attentions on a gentleman—let alone kiss him…a man finds such boldness distasteful.

Perhaps it was time she did something she’d never dreamed she would do. Something she’d never thought she would have to do.

Seduce her husband.

She’d indulged in mild flirtations now and again. But to go about seducing a gentleman was something she’d not dared to consider.

So how did one go about seducing one’s husband?

Miles was different than the men she knew. It was apparent almost from the start that he was not a man to spend his evenings dining and gambling at the various gentleman’s clubs. No, he was not a bold and strutting London peacock.

So, Victoria determined, she must be industrious in her efforts, without being obvious. Persistent, without throwing herself at his feet. Sophisticated, like a femme du monde, for perhaps that was the sort of woman he wanted.

With that in mind, she knocked lightly on the door to his study one afternoon. Without waiting for him to bid her enter, she strolled within, as if she’d done so a hundred times before. Miles sat behind a huge mahogany desk, his quill poised over the open pages of a thick ledger. His head came up at her entrance.

His eyes flickered. Clearly he was startled to see her.

“Victoria. What brings you here?”

She positioned herself directly before him. “I’m here to take you away from such drudgery as this.” She nodded at his ledger. Her tone was airy and gay, or so she hoped. Inside she was a quivering mass of nerves.

Leather creaked as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh?”

“I thought we might take the curricle, you and I. I know a lovely spot just outside the city, and I thought we might have luncheon there.”

“This afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” There was no bite in his tone, just blunt curiosity.

Her face felt stiff from smiling. “Because it’s a lovely day outside.”

He hardly looked convinced.

“And because I-I’d like to share it with you.” So much for sophistication, she thought dryly. But at least it was out, though all in a rush.

But she had captured his undivided attention. He looked at her then, and in a way that had never happened before. Something kindled in his eyes, something she dared not name for fear it was otherwise. She thought surely her heart would burst the bounds of her body when he put aside his quill, arose, and came to stand before her.

Time hung suspended, a never-ending moment. A lean, dark hand lifted toward her face. His lips parted, as if to speak.

But what ever he was about to say was not to be. The doors were swept wide and Nelson stepped in.

“Your lordship, we’ve just received a note from your tailor asking if he may stop by this afternoon, if at all possible.”

“It will have to wait.” Victoria’s heart skipped a beat, for his gaze never wavered from hers. “I’m spending the afternoon with my wife.”

Several hours later they lounged beneath the shade of a stout oak tree, replete from the meal Cook had packed. Victoria sat upon a soft down blanket, her skirts spread out around her.

There was a farm house nearby. A low stone fence traversed the fields. Errant shafts of sunlight winked through the branches, bathing them in warmth and sunshine. As she had just told Miles, this place was one she knew well. When Mama was still alive, she and Papa had brought her here often. Even when Mama was gone, she and Papa had continued to visit.

Miles lay stretched out beside her, leaning back on an elbow. He’d removed his neckcloth and discarded his jacket. In polished boots, skin-tight breeches and shirt, an aura of undeniable masculinity clung to him. Conversation was like the stream that flowed nearby, lazy and idle and meandering.

“There’s a place much like this near Lyndermere Park,” he murmured.

“Lyndermere Park?”

“My estate in Lancashire.”

“Lancashire! What a long way from London. I didn’t know you had an estate there.”

There was a brief pause. “Actually, I live there most of the year. I usually stay in London only a month or so while attending business matters.”

“Well, I can certainly see why. London becomes quite tiresome at times.” She pulled a face. “Hot and smelly in summer. So dreary and cold in winter.”

Miles made no comment.

“So,” she went on lightly, “if you were in Lyndermere Park this very moment, what might you be doing?”

The makings of a smile tugged at his lips. “I might well be mucking through a field in search of a lost sheep.”

Victoria chuckled. “You? I can’t imagine you chasing after lost sheep.”

“And I can’t imagine you in anything but silk and ribbons, the toast of the Season.”

His voice was so quiet, almost somber, that she glanced at him sharply.

“Miles?” She probed very gently. “What is it?”

His lips continued to carry the slightest trace of a smile. “Nothing, Victoria. You needn’t concern yourself.”

Something was wrong. She couldn’t see it in his features. But she could feel it.

Unthinkingly she placed her fingertips on his sleeve. “Miles,” she pleaded softly, “if something is troubling you, I wish you would tell me.”

His gaze dropped to her hand, then returned to her face. “Do you, Victoria?” Slowly he sat up. His tone was almost whimsical. “And what would you say if I told you I lusted after my wife—now. This very moment.”

A smile grazed her lips. “I would say…you need lust no more.”

In one swift move she was caught up hard against him. For the space of a heartbeat, his eyes blazed down on her. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Do you?”

Her fingertips splayed wide across his chest. Beneath she could feel the strength of muscle and bone. “Yes,” she whispered recklessly. Dangerously. Uncaring that all she felt lay vivid in her eyes. “Yes.”

That one word was like a trigger being pulled. His arms locked tight around her back. Then his mouth came down on hers, and it was just as she’d imagined it. His kiss was fierce, yet wondrously so. She could taste passion, heady and sweet, and a driving need that matched her own.

Her heart rejoiced, for nothing had ever felt so right—nothing.

Blindly she clung to him, caught in the tempest of emotions gone wild and rampant. She felt herself seized by a strange, inner trembling. Her breasts seemed to ache, for what she didn’t know. Lean male fingers traced the deep rounded neckline of her bodice. Victoria’s heart slammed to a halt, but she didn’t pull away.

The pad of his thumb just barely grazed the peak of her breast.

Fire seemed to blaze from the place he touched so fleetingly, but now she knew what she so longed for. Time stood still while those devil fingers circled and teased first one nipple, then the other, until those soft pink crests stood thrusting and erect. Her breath was but a ragged tremor. Miles, she thought yearningly. Oh, Miles…

But there was more. No protest found voice as he tugged loose the drawstring of her bodice. The neckline of her gown was swept from her shoulders, exposing the rounded softness of her breasts. He stared down at her, at pink swelling flesh that no man had ever seen before.

Victoria’s eyes locked helplessly on his face. She prayed that she would find favor in the eyes of her husband. But all at once his features might have been carved in stone.

“No,” he muttered, as if to himself. And then again, with a fierce bite in his tone: “This isn’t right. Dammit, this isn’t right.” He nearly flung himself from her.

She felt his withdrawal like a blow. Stunned and confused, Victoria sat up slowly. “Of course it is,” she said faintly. “We—we’re married!”

His jaw clenched hard. His gaze veered away from her. “It’s time we left,” he said curtly. His profile was stark and unyielding.

Her fingers were shaking as she tried to retie the strings of her bodice. He didn’t want her, she thought numbly. She’d made a fool of herself for nothing. She had thrown herself at him for nothing.

At last she was ready. Through eyes that were painfully dry, she stared at him. At a loss for words, for understanding, she struggled for both. “Miles,” she said, very low. “Miles, please tell me—”

“We’re leaving, Victoria. We’re leaving.”

His voice sliced through her as cleanly as a knife. Despair clamped tight around her breast, raw and bleeding. Choking back tears, Victoria picked up her skirts and ran toward the curricle, her heart in shreds.

Not one word passed between them the entire way home.

Once there, Victoria fled to her room. Only then did the tears come, slow and scalding.

Six

At first Victoria was devastated…little wonder that she avoided Miles over the next few days—or did he avoid her? It was only later, when she could react to the incident with her mind and not her heart, that she realized…

His kiss had not lied. He had felt something for her. She hadn’t imagined the fire in his kiss, the longing in his arms.

Something was holding him back. That was the only answer. Yet what could it be? What? Another woman? She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t.

Her husband was a quiet, private man, a man who would not reveal his every side for all to see; she had concluded that Miles was not one to trust lightly. Yet neither would she have deemed him a man of secrets. So why was it only now that he had spoken of his home in Lancashire?

It was odd…or was it? Perhaps it was only that the days had swept aside the boundaries between them.

Only now the barriers were back, as staunchly formidable as ever.

Still, she was determined not to sit home and wilt away. When an invitation to a ball given by Lord and Lady Devon arrived one morning, she decided she would attend the event, to be held the next week.

Supper that night was a dismal affair. Yet Victoria took quiet note of Miles’s attention upon her, his regard unsmiling—and enigmatic. Yet once—once—she caught the flare of some unknown emotion on his face…He stared at her with eyes that seemed to burn her very soul.

Hope burgeoned within her. As a footman removed the roast hare she’d hardly touched, she managed a bright smile.

“We received an invitation today from Lord and Lady Devon. They are giving a ball the Thursday after next. I should very much like to attend.”

His reply was brief and to the point. “Then do so.”

A pang swept through her. Gone was the man who had held her fast against him, whose mouth had covered hers with a passion unbridled and uncontrolled, a hunger fierce and un-checked. Everything within her cried out the injustice—she hated the cold, indifferent stranger he had become.

Her smile slipped. Icy-cold fingers linked together in her lap, for she was not prepared to let the matter rest so easily. “Miles,” she said softly. “Will you attend with me?”

“I think not, Victoria. You are fond of such affairs. I am not.”

They spent the rest of the meal in strained silence. Victoria pleaded tiredness soon thereafter. She excused herself and fled to the sanctuary of her bedchamber, blinking back tears.

She did not sleep. In anguished turmoil, she paced the length of her room, back and forth. But one thing was clear…This could not go on. They could not go on like this.

It seemed she had but one choice.

Miles had come upstairs some time ago; she could still hear him stirring in the room next to hers. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she tapped on his door.

He opened it. A winged black brow arched. “What is it, Victoria?” His tone was gruff, his manner impatient.

Her eyes were riveted to his face. His expression was remote and scarcely encouraging.

“May I come in?” she ventured.

He wanted to refuse. She could see it in the flicker of his eyes, yet he opened the door so she could step within. She advanced several paces, then turned to face him, thankful he couldn’t see her knees trembling.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” she said quickly, “but I thought we might…talk.”

“Oh? And what is on your mind, Victoria?”

Her eye ran over him nervously. She was still fully dressed, while Miles wore only a maroon velvet dressing gown. Loosely belted at the waist, there was a generous slice of bare chest exposed. Her stomach fluttered, for she had the oddest sensation he wore not a single stitch beneath. Her mind balked. Did he sleep naked? Victoria couldn’t help it; her imagination ran away with her. His body would be like his chest, all long, hair-roughened limbs. And all she could think was that he would be as breathtaking without benefit of clothes as he was in his most elegant attire…

She gestured vaguely. “I know our marriage did not start off well,” she said, her voice very low. “But I’d begun to think it was not such a mistake after all—and not so very long ago.” She paused, but Miles said nothing. He merely remained where he was, his hands at his side, his expression impassive.

Victoria swallowed, forcing herself to go on. Faith, but this was the hardest thing she’d ever done! “Indeed, Miles, I-I thought things were progressing quite well. I-I thought everything had changed between us. That day in the country, when you—you kissed me. Or”—her voice fell, no more than a wisp breath of sound—“have you forgotten?”

His tone was harsh. “It should be forgotten.”

In but an instant her wistful longing was shattered. Her control grew perilous. It was all she could do not to run crying from the room. “Why should it be forgotten? You—you act as if you are ashamed of what happened.”

The cast of his jaw was rigid. “It shouldn’t have happened, Victoria. Need I say more?”

Pain was like molten fire in her lungs. “Yes,” she said raggedly. Recklessly. “Yes! Why is it wrong to—to desire me? To kiss me? To hold me? Miles, I-I don’t understand.”

Her voice caught as she struggled for words, for composure. Then suddenly it was all coming out in a rush. “I-I wanted you to kiss me, Miles. I wanted you to touch me and—and never stop. I wanted to be your wife in…in every way. Oh, Miles, I-I thought you wanted me, too!”

His features were cast in stone. “I think you forget, Victoria. If I had not stopped, there could be no annulment. Did you consider that?”

Victoria stared at him unblinkingly. Her lips were trembling so that she could hardly speak. “Is that it?” she whispered. “You still wish an annulment?”

Miles said nothing. He merely stood there, his posture wooden, his eyes downcast.

She persisted. “Do you want an annulment, Miles? Do you?”

Time slipped by. And in that deepening silence, she could almost hear her heart breaking…

Her throat clogged painfully. “You do. You do, but you don’t have the courage to tell me to my face. Look at me, damn you.” Her chin climbed high. Tears shimmered in her eyes, tears that betrayed the cost of her jagged cry. “Look at me and tell me!”

He looked at her. For one heart-stopping, frozen moment, their eyes collided…and what she saw there—what she didn’t see there—shredded the last of her control.

He didn’t need to tell her. It was over, she thought brokenly. She meant nothing to him. She never had…

She never would.

She rushed forward with a low, choked sob. Escape was her only thought. But in her headlong flight, her fingers were clumsy. She twisted the doorknob frantically, but it refused to open…

Then suddenly he was there, a looming presence at her side, a hand on her arm.

“Victoria—”

“Don’t!” she cried. She tore herself away and whirled on him. Suddenly her eyes were blazing. “Just leave me be,” she whispered fiercely. “Do you hear, Miles Grayson? Just leave me be!”

The latch finally lifted. The door opened. Victoria fled blindly down the hall to her chamber. She flung herself on the bed, her heart bleeding.

In the morning her pillow was still wet with tears.

But she was dry-eyed and determined. She was a woman scorned, a woman who would not offer herself again. No, she would not beg or plead…

She, too, had her pride.

Nor would she wile away in misery.

She saw little of her husband, and soon the day of Lord and Lady Devon’s ball arrived. In an attempt to boost her spirits, she had indulged herself with a new ball gown. Though she was not given to pettiness, it had proved immensely satisfying when she’d informed the seamstress the bill was to be sent to her husband.

She was waiting in the entrance hall for the carriage to be brought around when Miles suddenly appeared.

Eyes the color of storm clouds flickered over her. Only moments earlier her maid had commented that she’d never seen her mistress appear more entrancing. The gown was of white satin shot through with shimmering silver threads that brought out the highlights in her hair. The style was off-the-shoulder and daringly low cut; it emphasized the pale fragility of her neck and shoulders.

Her heart quavered, for despite the odds, she had prayed nightly that he would tear down the barriers he’d erected between them; that he would choose to alter their stalemate.

But all he said was, “Going out for the evening, countess?”

Summoning an icy strength, Victoria met his regard head-on. “Yes. If you recall, we were invited to Lord and Lady Devon’s ball. You told me you didn’t wish to attend.”

Miles made no reply, but he did not appear pleased.

She took a deep breath and prayed she wasn’t about to make a horrendous mistake. “Do you disapprove of me going alone, Miles?”

“It’s hardly the first time you’ve done so. Why should I disapprove?”

But his expression revealed otherwise.

Some devil seized hold of her. “Oh, and by the way”—she smiled sweetly—“please inform the staff there’s no need to wait up for me. I shall undoubtedly be quite late.”

She experienced a certain grim pleasure at seeing the lightning change in his expression. She could almost hear the crack of thunder in the air. Relishing her brief moment of triumph, she picked up her skirts and swept outside to where the carriage now awaited her.

“Damn!” With an exclamation of disgust, Miles pushed himself away from his desk. He’d just spent the last few hours tending to his correspondence—or trying to. His efforts had proved quite futile.

He strode to the side table where he poured himself a generous glass of port. He grimaced as the brew slid down his throat.

No doubt Victoria was having the time of her life. He had no trouble picturing the scene that was surely even now taking place at Lord and Lady Devon’s ball. No doubt she was surrounded by half a dozen young pups, eagerly fawning over her. Or perhaps she was with that cad, Count DeFazio!

The thought that DeFazio might be helping himself to his wife made him clench his teeth. Not that Miles could blame the oily-tongued Italian rake. When Victoria had come down the stairs to night, he’d felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Her gown set off to perfect advantage the gleaming slope of bare, slender shoulders. She’d looked particularly delectable, and he’d felt a stab of pure possessiveness—along with no little amount of male pride—that this woman was his.

That’s right, you pompous ass, sneered a voice in his head. She’s yours. So why aren’t you with her?

His lips twisted. “Why indeed?” he said aloud.

He had no one else to blame but himself. He could be with her now, this very moment. He should be with her. Moreover, he wanted to be with her.

But it wasn’t so easy, he argued silently, for he was still struggling with his dilemma.

Do you want an annulment, Miles? Do you?

His insides twisted in dread remembrance. Dear God, he couldn’t say yes. He couldn’t say the words. Yet how could he say no…

I-I wanted you to kiss me, Miles. I wanted you to touch me and—and never stop. I wanted to be your wife in…in every way. Oh, Miles, I-I thought you wanted me, too!

The memory of that night still haunted him. He could still hear her, her voice raw. And he could still see Victoria, her face so pale, fighting back the tears she thought he didn’t see.

His heart squeezed. He’d never meant to hurt her. God, if only he could, he’d make it up to her…

You were so convinced she was shallow and vain, jabbed a voice in his brain. But you were wrong. You know it and still you refuse to see it!

Long fingers tensed around the glass. He was a fool, he admitted at long last, for these last few weeks had been a revelation. Victoria was strong-willed and spirited, even a bit headstrong, but not wild. A bit reckless perhaps, but most assuredly not rebellious. The admission provoked a slight upward curl of his lips. She had a bit of a temper, but no less than his own.

His smile withered. She wasn’t like Margaret. She wasn’t!

But experience had left him wary, and it was that which held him back. There was so much at stake—too much to allow for another mistake.

A pang of guilt shot through him as he thought of Heather. He’d been gone from Lyndermere Park too long already. It was time he returned home to Lancashire. To Heather. Oh, he’d sent letters and gifts he knew would entertain and cheer her, but he knew how terribly she missed him when he was away…

Which only brought him full circle. What was he to do with Victoria?

Take her with him to Lyndermere? Or leave her here in London? Everything within him rebelled at leaving her behind. But it wasn’t just her reaction to country life that he feared. What about Heather? What would Victoria think of Heather? That was his foremost concern—he could not allow Heather to be hurt as Margaret had hurt her.

He should have told her, he thought heavily. Perhaps he should have told her long ago and let fate take its course.

His gaze sought the clock on the wall. Just after eleven. The ball was in full swing. Victoria wouldn’t be home for hours…What was it she’d said?

Please inform the staff there’s no need to wait up for me. I shall undoubtedly be quite late.

Lord, but she’d been so cold…but no colder than he had been to her.

It was then that an awful thought crowded his mind—and his heart.

Had he lost her? Had he? You fool, the voice inside him chided. You’ve no doubt driven her straight into the arms of that scoundrel DeFazio. And you have no one to blame but yourself.

No. No. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t.

His glass slammed down on his desk. He strode to the corridor and threw open the door. “Nelson!”

The servant hurried out from the kitchen. “Yes, my lord?”

“Please see that my evening jacket is laid out. I shall be joining the countess at Lord and Lady Devon’s ball.”

“Very good, my lord.” Nelson smothered a smile and trotted away. There was a considerable amount of wagering going on belowstairs regarding the outcome of lord and lady’s current state of affairs. He had the sudden feeling a rather tidy sum would soon line his pockets…

Victoria didn’t care if she had provoked Miles—all the better if she had! Yet several hours later, her defiance had given way to something else entirely. Oh, she danced and laughed, chatted and smiled. But all in all, it was the most tiresome affair of her life. As she confided to Sophie, were it not for her friend’s company, she’d have quit the affair long since and gone home. Indeed, as she stood on the edge of the ballroom with Sophie, she was just about to voice that very intention.

There was a tap on her shoulder. It was Count Antony DeFazio.

“Dance with me,” was all he said. His arm snug about her waist, he whisked her onto the dance floor.

Dark eyes roamed her face. “I’ve missed you, cara.”

“Have you?” Her tone was polite but detached. Manners alone dictated a reply.

“Oh, yes, cara. Never have I been so lonely!” he proclaimed grandly. “Did you not hear my heart call out to you?”

Lonely? How Victoria stopped herself from rolling her eyes, she never knew. Why, he must believe her a dimwit to fall for such drivel!

“But enough of me. Where have you been these past days?”

“Actually”—she spoke very demurely—“I’ve spent many a delightful evening at home with my husband.”

He laughed. “Oh, but I can make you happy as he cannot.” The arm about her waist tightened. His voice deepened to intimacy. “I can make you forget any man but me. Shall I show you, cara?”

Victoria was speechless. How had she ever thought this man charming? Apparently he was convinced she was joking, the cad! Such ego deserved a dressing-down.

“Rubbish,” she said forcefully.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Rubbish,” she stated baldly. “You see, Count, there is only one man who can make me happy. Of a certainty that man is not you.”

Her partner was left standing in the middle of the ballroom. He gaped at her, stunned and open-mouthed.

Amidst gasps and whispers, Victoria strolled across the floor. Oh, she was fully aware her conduct was scarcely commendable. No doubt her name would be on every tongue the rest of the night and well into the next day. Still, it was worth it, she decided rebelliously, and she didn’t regret that she’d given Antony the dressing-down he deserved. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so arrogant in future.

The thought kindled a smile, a smile she maintained as she breezed her way across the ballroom, intent on fetching a breath of air in the garden.

There was a touch on her elbow. Thinking it was Antony, she spun around, prepared to loose on him the full force of her disdain.

“I thought I made myself quite cl—” she began.

The rest died unuttered in her throat. Because it wasn’t Antony at all…

It was Miles.

In an instant she was whirled back onto the dance floor. “You mustn’t look so shocked, countess.” Miles’s eyes were somber, but his voice held a trace of mirth. “Lord knows you’ve just given the gossipmongers a juicy little tidbit. I should hate to give them another.”

“My very thought, my lord,” Victoria echoed faintly. Her heart pounded a bone-jarring rhythm. Her mind was all agog. What on earth was he doing here?

Miles glanced toward Count DeFazio, who glared at the pair, then pointedly turned his back. “Your tongue is rapier-sharp to night, I take it. I pray you’ll not turn it against me to night.”

He bent his head low. Warm breath rushed across her skin…

He kissed the side of her neck.

Victoria’s pulse was clamoring, her emotions a mad jumble. “To-tonight?” she stammered.

“Yes, sweet,” he said softly. “To night.”

And then he said the words she’d never thought to hear. “You were right, Victoria. I was jealous, jealous of every moment you spent with DeFazio. But I have the feeling you made another assumption—only a quite erroneous assumption, I fear.” His gaze pierced hers. “I don’t want an annulment, Victoria. Not now. Not ever.”

Her heart stopped—along with her feet. Was she in heaven? Surely it was so, for this couldn’t be happening…

He kissed the tiny hollow before her ear. “Did you hear me, sweet?”

Her eyes clung to his. His regard was so tender, his words so sweet. She nodded, for she could do no more.

“Good,” he said gently. “Now dance again, love.”

Hope flowered in her breast, hope that warmed her like the heat of summer sunshine.

“Are you…certain?” She ventured the question cautiously, then held her breath.

“Very.” Quiet as his tone was, beneath was a gravity that left no doubt he meant what he said.

Yet even while hope burgeoned still further, a pang rent her breast. Never had she been so afraid!

Her eyes slid away. “Why,” she said, her voice very low. “Why not?”

“The reason is simple, Victoria. I am your husband.”

“A reluctant husband,” she said unsteadily. “And as I recall, you made your feelings for me quite clear. You—you found me distasteful.” She fought to keep the hurt from her voice and wasn’t entirely successful.

The arm about her back tightened. His gaze was unerringly direct. “No, Victoria. Never distasteful. Never that.”

But Victoria could not forget so easily. A rending ache seared her breast. “What then if not distasteful? You wanted nothing to do with me,” she said haltingly. “You said it…it wasn’t right.”

“And what if I was wrong? What if I was a fool? What if I told you that I wanted you then? That I want you now. That I will always want you.”

The music and voices around them faded into oblivion. There was a note in his voice she’d never before heard; it might have been just the two of them. She was half-afraid to speak, lest it be a dream.

“Then you must show me,” she whispered.

And God above, he did.

She scarcely noticed they had glided to a halt. She had one paralyzing glimpse of glowing silver eyes before his dark head descended.

He kissed her then, there before all the ton to see. Slowly. Leisurely tasting, as if they had all the time in the world. Victoria couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. It was as if he had some strange power over her. The pressure of his mouth on hers was magic. Bliss beyond reason.

By the time it was over her head was spinning. Her hands had come up to clutch at the powerful lines of his shoulders. As he raised his head—reluctantly, it seemed to her—she realized the room had gone utterly quiet.

And every eye in the ballroom was turned to the two of them.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, dear,” she murmured, catching her lip between her teeth. “I do believe we’ve caused yet another scandal.”

Miles hiked a brow in sardonic amusement. “Scandal be damned,” he said baldly, “for I should very much like to escape this crowd and take my wife home—if that meets with her approval, of course.”

Victoria wanted to weep with relief and happiness. She raised shining eyes to his. “It does indeed, my lord. It does indeed.”

He pressed her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Then let us be off, countess.”

Together they strolled from the dance floor. But it seemed Miles was not yet ready to leave, for he snared two glasses of champagne from a passing footman.

Heedless of the gazes which had yet to leave their figures, he touched the edge of his glass to hers.

“To my beautiful wife,” he stated for all to hear, “and to a long and happy marriage.”

His head came down. He rested his forehead against hers. As his gaze captured hers, heat shimmered between them, as hot and blazing as a fire. Only now his words were a velvet whisper, for her ears alone…

“And to the night ahead…”

Seven

Miles’s bedroom door clicked quietly shut. Victoria had stopped in the middle of the room. She was quick to flash a beaming smile at him, but he knew she was nervous. Nor had he missed the way her eyes flitted to and from the four-poster on the opposite wall. His own dropped to where the creamy skin of her breasts swelled above the lace of her bodice. Blood rushed to his head and loins, firing his desire into a raging need, swelling his manhood to an almost painful fullness.

He tightened his shoulders, fighting to hold himself in check. Slowly he expelled a long, pent-up breath. He could wait, he cautioned himself. He must wait, for he knew full well Victoria was a virgin, well born and gently bred. He didn’t want to shock her, nor did he want to frighten her.

He extended his hand. “Come here,” he said softly.

There was a rustle of skirts as she breached the distance between them. Shyly she placed her hand within his. Her fingers were ice-cold.

Raising his free hand, he curled his knuckles beneath her chin and tipped her face to his. His tone was very quiet. “You know where this will end, don’t you? There will be no annulment after this night.”

Her eyes clung to his. “I-I know.”

“And this is what you want?” He searched her face intently.

She didn’t retreat from either his gaze or his question. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yet still I wonder, my lord, if you are certain that is what you want.”

In bringing her here, Miles realized he had made not one, but two choices. The first was to make her truly his wife. He wanted that, he realized. He wanted it so much he could taste it. As for the other…

He could no longer hide the truth from her. But there was time enough to tell her about Heather. For now, Miles wanted the moment to stay just the way it was—the two of them alone, secluded from the world, with no one to think of but each other.

“Do not doubt me, Victoria. My choice was made when I came after you to night.” He spoke very quietly. “I have no regrets and it’s my hope you will have none either.”

The wispiest of smiles touched her lips. “I’ve known for quite some time what I want, my lord. I am here…and I am yours.”

Miles needed no further encouragement. He caught her up in his arms and carried her to the side of the bed. Lowering her to the floor, he let her body slide against the hardness of his, then turned her mouth up to his. He fed on it endlessly, like a feast before a starving man. His fingers slid into her hair. It tumbled about his hands, thick and heavy and silken.

It was he who dragged his mouth away. Holding her gaze, he shrugged off his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

He saw the way her eyes widened at the sight of his naked chest. Two spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. He sensed her uncertainty, but her fingers fluttered to the neckline of her bodice.

His hand engulfed hers. At her questioning glance, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Let me.”

He undressed her down to her shift, so sheer the outline of her body was clearly visible beneath. He pulled her close, suppressing a groan, letting her grow used to the feel of him. His mouth sought hers, at first slow and exploring, then with mounting urgency.

But suddenly she drew back, burying her face against his shoulder.

He smoothed the tumbled gold of her hair. “What, Victoria? What is it?”

The breath she drew was deep and uneven. “Oh, I know ’tis silly, but…we have been a long time coming to this moment. What if I should do something foolish? What if I should do something wrong?”

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You need not worry, Victoria. You are perfect. In every way. In all ways.” There was a small pause. “And now, countess”—it was his turn to tease as he tugged slender arms up and around his neck—“I would very much like for you to kiss me.”

Her head came up, only now there was a faintly teasing light in her beautiful blue eyes. “What is this, my lord? Why, I do believe you told me once I should not force my attentions on a gentleman—let alone kiss him!—for a man finds such boldness distasteful.” It was her turn to arch a slender brow. “Your exact words, if I recall.”

He smiled, his expression tender. “I think I will go quite mad if you do not kiss me. Besides, I am not just a gentleman. I am your husband.” His smile faded. “And your husband would very much like to make love to his wife.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, yet she was smiling, a smile he knew he would carry in his heart forever. Her arms tightened around him. The dewy softness of her mouth hovered just beneath his, a provocative invitation. “And your wife wishes you would wait no longer, my lord.”

And indeed, Victoria knew beyond any doubt that this was all she wanted—he was all she wanted. With infinite gentleness, he kissed her, then lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. When he stretched out beside her, she pressed herself against his length, eager for all he would teach her.

Her shift was soon but a flimsy pile on the carpet. With her palms she skimmed the sleek outline of his shoulders. She could feel the knotted tension in his muscles, yet he did not hurry her. The touch of his hands on her breasts was a divine torment. With his thumbs he teased the sensitive peaks until they throbbed and stood up hard and erect. His head lowered. His tongue touched her nipple, leaving it shiny and wet and aching. She gasped as he took one deep coral circle into his mouth, sucking and circling, sweeping across that turgid peak with the wild lash of his tongue.

His hand drifted lower, down across the hollow of her belly, sliding through dark gold curls. Victoria’s heart began to hammer, for there was a strange questing there in the secret cleft between her thighs. Surely he would not touch her there, she thought in half-panic, half-excitement. Surely she did not want him to, for such a thing was scandalous…

It was heaven. A jolt of sheer pleasure shot through her. The gliding stroke of his fingertips was boldly undaunting, skimming damp folds, dipping and swirling against the pearly button of sensation centered within.

Her eyes widened. Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Oh, dear,” she whispered faintly. “Miles, I do not think—”

“It’s all right, sweet.” He stared down at her, his features were strained, his voice thick. “All I want is to please you.” Sweat beaded his upper lip. His blood pounded almost violently. As she gave a muted little whimper, his shaft swelled still further, straining his breeches until he felt he would surely burst the bonds of his skin.

Her lashes fluttered closed. One long, strong finger slipped clear inside her, a blatantly erotic caress. Blistering flames leaped deep in her belly, for his thumb now worshiped that sensitive kernel of flesh. Her hips began to move. Seeking. Searching for something maddeningly elusive. And then it happened. Her body seemed to tighten, then explode in a blinding flash of ecstasy.

Her eyes opened, smoky and dazed. Miles had pulled away, but it was only to strip away his breeches. Lamplight flickered over his body, turning his skin to burnished gold. He looked like a god, she thought wonderingly, strong and proud and irresistibly masculine.

Tentatively, she touched the hair-matted plane of his chest. He sucked in a harsh breath. Emboldened, she dared to explore still further, brushing the grid of his abdomen with the backs of her knuckles. His eyes half-closed.

“Touch me, Victoria.” His voice was taut. With his own hand, he dragged hers where he wanted it most.

Her cool fingers curled about his shaft. He was enormous, hot and thick. A fingertip traced the velvet-tipped crown. Even as she marveled that something so steely hard could be so soft, she swallowed, for she could not imagine how she could accommodate something so immense…

His breath rushed out. “God, Victoria. Oh, God…”

Then he was there between her thighs, kneeling between them. He levered himself over her, his features heated and searing. His belly was hard as stone against her—as was his manhood. One swift, stretching stroke of fire and virginity was no more; his shaft pierced hard and deep inside her, to the very gates of her womb.

A ragged sound broke from her lips. Above her, Miles went utterly still. Victoria blinked, for he lay buried to the hilt within her. Her velvet heat clamped tight around his  swollen member, the pressure of his shaft stunningly thorough.

“Oh, my,” she said shakily.

He braced himself above her. His lips grazed hers. His voice was but a breath of air. “Do I hurt you, love?”

She was stunned to find her body had yielded. Already the stinging pain was but a memory. She shook her head, wordlessly offering her lips…her body…

Her very soul.

He kissed her then, a lingering, binding caress. His shaft  withdrew, only to return with a deft, sure plunge that stole her very breath. Pleasure, dark and heady, swirled all around her. The flame was back in her belly, burning higher and higher as their hips met again and again. His hands slid beneath her buttocks. Guiding even as she blindly sought…Lifting as she arched to meet each downward plunge…

The rhythm of their love dance was hot and driving, frenzied and urgent. She felt herself swept high and away, deep into a white-hot vortex of sheer rapture. She was only half-aware of crying out. Above her, Miles gave one final, piercing lunge. She could only cling to him while his climax erupted inside her, a fiery rush of molten heat.

The tension eased gradually from his body. His lips nuzzled the baby-soft skin behind her ear. “Sweet,” he whispered. “So sweet.”

Without warning she began to cry.

Warm fingers brushed the dampness from her cheeks, a touch of infinite tenderness. “Victoria. Victoria, love, what is this?” He froze, propping himself on an elbow and staring down at her. “Never say I hurt you!”

“It isn’t that.” She buried her face against his chest. “It’s just that—I thought you did not want me,” she sobbed. “I thought you didn’t want me—I thought you would never want me!”

In some strange way, she knew he understood. A possessive arm locked around her, drawing her close and tight against him. A hand beneath her chin, he brought her gaze to his. “Never doubt that I do want you, sweet. Never doubt me.”

And in that moment, she didn’t.

Eight

A soft rapping on the door woke the pair the next morning. Miles rose and reached for his breeches, then walked barefoot to the door. From the depths of the bed, Victoria stirred, vaguely aware of a low-voiced exchange.

The door shut. As he retraced his steps, she peered at him sleepily. “Miles? Who was it?” Her voice was still blurred from sleep. “Is something wrong?”

His features grave, he sat on the edge of the mattress. With his fingers he smoothed the tumbled hair from her shoulders, leaning forward to kiss her before he spoke. “I’m afraid so, sweet. I’ve an estate and holdings in Cornwall, and it seems a vicious storm has just swept through the area. It destroyed a number of tenants’ homes and also damaged the manor house.”

Victoria sat up, tucking the counterpane over her bare breasts. Despite the night just past, she was still a bit shy about Miles seeing her naked. Gently she touched his forearm. “Oh, no. I do hope no one was hurt.”

“Luckily, there were no serious injuries.” His gaze snared hers. “But I’m afraid I must be off as soon as I can to assess the damage.”

She spoke quickly. “Would you like me to go with you?”

He considered but a moment. “I think not. It’s a long, arduous journey in the best of times, and frankly, I’m not sure what I’ll encounter when I arrive. If the manor house is damaged extensively, it might well be a hardship for you.” He paused. “Will you wait for me here?”

“Of course,” she said promptly.

His lips quirked. He patted a rumpled portion of the coverlet. “I mean here, love”—his gaze warmed—“in this very spot.” The pitch of his voice grew seductive. “Preferably, dressed as you are, though perhaps I should say undressed as you are.”

Victoria blushed furiously. Miles chuckled, then rose to hurriedly bathe and pack. She remained where she was, content to watch him lazily.

At last he was ready. He looked dashing and handsome, and as he returned to the bedside, a tiny little thrill went through her. She slipped her arms around his neck. “Hurry back,” she whispered.

He rested his forehead against hers. “Oh, I will, sweet,” he murmured huskily. “Of that you may rest assured.”

The kiss they shared was long and passionate.

Victoria spent the next few days quietly. Though she longed for Miles’s return, her heart was filled with burgeoning hope. Their marriage was not the disaster she had feared. Miles had made her feel cherished and special in a way she’d never dreamed possible. Indeed, she was suddenly quite certain marriage could be all her heart had ever wanted…

Late one afternoon she returned from tea with Sophie. Nelson greeted her at the front door. “My lady, while you were out, a messenger arrived from Lyndermere Park.”

Victoria frowned. Lyndermere was Miles’s estate in Lancashire. “A messenger?”

“I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him myself, my lady. But he brought with him this note for his lordship.” Nelson picked up a small missive from a silver tray, extending it toward her. Victoria hesitated before picking it up.

“The maid who took it said the messenger was directed to deliver it in all due haste, my lady. Unfortunately, she neglected to tell him his lordship was in Cornwall at the moment.” Nelson cleared his throat. “That’s why I thought it best to direct it to your attention, my lady. If it should be a matter of importance…”

“Yes. Yes, of course. And thank you, Nelson.” Victoria dismissed him with a smile.

Upstairs in her room, she laid the letter on the bureau, then stripped off her gloves and untied her bonnet. Laying the bonnet aside, she bit her lip.

Her gaze was drawn to the letter.

Should she open it? Despite Nelson’s concern, she was reluctant to do so. She couldn’t help but feel she would be trespassing where she should not. Yet that was silly, wasn’t it? After all, she was Miles’s countess. And if the contents should indeed be urgent…

With a sigh she went to retrieve it. Uncomfortable as she was, she decided it was best to open it after all. Before she could change her mind, she broke the seal.

The letter was short. It contained but a few sentences. Quickly she scanned it.

You’ve been gone a very long time. I miss you dreadfully. Please, please come home…

Love,
Heather

A faint, choked sound escaped her throat.

It was written in a precise, flowing…and unmistakably feminine hand.

Love, Heather.

There was a crushing pain in her chest.

Love, Heather.

How could he do this? she screamed silently. The memory of their night together rose swift and high in her mind. He had been so sweet. So tender. God! she thought brokenly. She had been almost certain that he cared—and cared deeply—for her. That perhaps he’d even begun to love her…

What was it he’d said? Never doubt that I do want you, sweet. Never doubt me.

It was all a lie. A lie.

Only one thing could have made it worse—oh, how great her humiliation would have been if she’d told him she loved him.

Because she did.

She just hadn’t known how much…until now.

But his betrayal was too much for her wounded heart to bear. So Victoria did the only thing she could think to do. She ordered her bags packed and went home to Papa.

The marquess of Norcastle was quite astonished when his daughter appeared in the entrance hall, bags and baggage in tow.

“Victoria! Good heavens, girl, what is this?”

Victoria took one look at Papa and burst into tears.

Enfolded snugly in his ample arms, Victoria cried her heart out against his shoulder. Little by little, the story came out. How, against all odds—against all reason!—she had fallen in love with her husband. How she had only just discovered there was another woman in his life…

Her lips were tremulous. “’Twould have been silly for me to expect to be the first, nor did I expect it. But he gave me every reason to believe that”—her voice caught—“that he truly cared. Papa, I believed him! And now I feel so—so foolish!”

The marquess sighed and touched her hair. “Victoria,” he said slowly, “I have always taught you to judge fairly and without bias, have I not?”

Victoria nodded, her face still ravaged by tears.

“Then I ask you now to be fair, child. Give him the chance to explain.”

Slowly she drew back. “Papa, no! You—you would defend him? Against your own daughter?”

He gestured vaguely. “No, of course not. But remember the night you were wed? I told you that he was not so cold as you believed. I was right, wasn’t I?”

He detected a faint layer of bitterness in her tone. “Only yesterday I would have agreed wholeheartedly, Papa. Now I am not so sure. Indeed, I think he is cruel beyond words! He held me in his arms, knowing all the while that this woman named Heather awaited him in Lancashire! Perhaps she is his mistress. Or perhaps she is the one he meant to marry, for it was his intention that in time our marriage should be dissolved. He was only biding his time and awaiting the right moment.” Her eyes blazed as she announced, “Either way I-I do not care. I shall consider myself well rid of him!”

The marquess cocked a shaggy brow. “You deceive no one, daughter, least of all yourself. You love him. You love him or none of this would matter.” He studied her for a moment. “And it may not be as it seems, Victoria. Have you even considered this?”

“What need is there to—” she began, then stopped abruptly. Her eyes narrowed. “You confuse me, Papa. Why, I could almost believe that you know something you refuse to tell me—”

“No.” He quelled her swiftly. “I know very little, except that I would never entrust my daughter to a man I thought to be a scoundrel.”

“And you believe Miles is not a scoundrel?”

“I do.”

“Papa, you are a traitor!”

The marquess winced. “No, daughter, I am not, and I can say no more, for it is not my place.” He sighed. “These doubts must be laid to rest, Victoria, and only Miles can do that. Go home. Go home and await your husband’s return.”

“I don’t want to go to Miles,” she cried. “I don’t want to see him ever again. I-I am home and I want to stay here!”

The glaze of tears in her eyes was almost his undoing. The marquess spoke softly, yet there was no doubting his conviction. “No, Victoria. This is no longer your home. You are the countess of Stonehurst and for now, your home is with your earl. Look to him for answers. But know this, child. If all is as you believe, I will do everything in my power to see this marriage ended, for I could not bear to see you unhappy. But first you must find out the truth—and that must come from your husband.”

Her shoulders drooped. Her anger fled as suddenly as it had erupted. Papa was right. Deep inside, Victoria knew it. But that didn’t make it any easier to bear. Battling a feeling of helplessness, she kissed him good-bye and returned to Grosvenor Square. For the second time that day, a parade of servants traipsed through the house carrying an array of trunks and baggage.

Sleep eluded her that night. But by the next morning a righteous resolve had fired her blood—as well as an unfaltering purpose.

Papa had advised her to wait for Miles. Well, that was all well and good. But Victoria remained convinced that she fully understood why Miles had been so reluctant to speak of Lyndermere. Perhaps it was folly. Perhaps it was sheer foolishness…

But she would see for herself this woman named Heather—the woman she’d come to consider her rival.

She set out for Lyndermere the next day. By the following morning, she was rolling along the hills of Lancashire. It was a part of England she’d never before visited. Had her mood been more lively, she’d have exclaimed with delight over the brilliant green valleys and flower-strewn fields. Before long, the coach turned down a long lane bowered with dozens of gracefully arched trees. Soon the coach rolled to a halt before an E-shaped stone building.

Her stomach knotted and tight, Victoria peered through the carriage window.

Naturally the coach was emblazoned with the Stonehurst crest. Apparently it had already been spotted, for a dozen or more servants had filed out the front doors and down the wide stone steps. They stood in a scraggly line, beaming nonetheless.

Those smiles froze when Victoria descended from the carriage. Daniel, the driver, quickly introduced her.

“His Lordship’s wife, the new countess of Stonehurst. She and the earl were married last month.”

This was news, indeed, judging from the openmouthed expressions. But the servants quickly surrounded her, bowing and bobbing curtsies, their manner all warm friendliness. To Victoria, there was just a blur of faces and names.

“I’m delighted to meet all of you,” she said crisply. She seized on the one name she could recall, that of the house keeper. “Mrs. Addison, I would very much like to meet someone I believe is in residence here, someone named Heather. Could you please direct me to her?”

“Of course, ma’am. If you’ll just follow me.” Victoria was right behind her as the house keeper trekked up a grand staircase and turned to the right.

She stopped at the first door and tapped lightly upon it. “Miss Heather? Someone to see you,” she called. She stepped back toward Victoria, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You’ll have to forgive her, my lady. I’m afraid she’s very disappointed that it wasn’t His Lordship in the coach.”

Victoria’s spine had gone stiff. I should imagine, she thought blackly. When the house keeper withdrew, she reached for the door. Pushing it open, she braced herself. No doubt Heather was a beauty, for she couldn’t imagine Miles with anything less.

Boldly she stepped within the room.

The room’s sole occupant was perched on a window seat across the room. Indeed, she was a beauty, with hair like the darkest night tumbling down her back. And those huge, thick-lashed eyes…somewhere between blue and purple, like the flower for which she was named.

But in that mind-splitting instant, Victoria also received the shock of her life…

Heather was just a child.

Nine

Shame coursed through her, for she had harbored such venomous thoughts! Fast on the heels of that was a relief which left her weak in the knees, yet a dozen questions flooded her mind. Who was this child? And why had Miles never mentioned her?

Gathering herself in hand, Victoria ventured a smile. “Hello, Heather,” she said softly. “May I come in?”

The child hesitated, then nodded. As Victoria moved forward, something caught in her chest, for only now did she glimpse the unshed tears in the little girl’s eyes.

She stopped several feet away, not wanting to upset the child any more than she was already. “Heather”—she tipped her head to the side—“is it all right if I call you Heather?”

Again that silent nod.

Carefully she felt her way. “Well, Heather, I understand you were expecting the earl. It was you who sent the note to London, wasn’t it?”

The girl seemed to hesitate, then nodded. “Actually, I-I asked Mrs. Addison to write it for me. Her writing is so much better than mine.”

“And I arrived instead of the earl,” she said with a nod. “Well, Heather, I’m very sorry I disappointed you.”

The girl dashed a hand across her cheek. “It’s all right. It’s just that I—I thought you were Papa.”

Papa.

Victoria’s mind reeled. So Heather was Miles’s daughter? This was news, indeed. He’d never been married, or had he? Or was the child illegitimate? Yet none of that seemed to really matter in that moment, for Heather sounded so woeful that Victoria knew a sudden urge to gather her close against her breast and turn those tears to laughter.

“Well, Heather, your papa would be here if he could. But I’m afraid he’s gone to Cornwall, where a storm damaged one of his estates there. But I am certain that as soon as he is able, he’ll return here to Lyndermere.”

“Soon, do you think?”

She sounded so hopeful that Victoria very nearly laughed. Yet she knew that to do so might well be a mistake. “Very soon, I daresay. And I daresay you don’t have the foggiest notion who I am.”

For the first time the merest glimmer of a smile tugged at  the girl’s rosebud mouth. “To be perfectly honest, my lady, I don’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” Victoria held her breath and moved closer. She eased down to her knees so that her eyes were on the same level as the little girl’s. “Heather, your papa and I were married in London last month. I am Victoria, his wife.” She spoke very gently, hoping she wasn’t making a terrible mess of this. “I have the feeling I’m going to like Lyndermere very much, Heather. And I should like to stay on here because I’d very much like for you and I to get to know each other.”

Heather gazed at her unsmilingly. “Are you quite certain you wish to?”

Victoria found the question quite baffling. “Of course I am.”

“But why? Why would you wish to?”

“Because I suspect we’re going to be spending a great deal of time together.”

“Lady Sutherland didn’t want to be with me. She wanted to send me away.”

Victoria’s smile froze. “Lady Sutherland?”

“Yes. Papa was going to marry her—oh, a long time ago!”

Lady Sutherland…So this was the woman he’d told her of, the woman he’d intended to marry.

“Oh, but surely you must be mistaken, Heather.” Victoria strived for a light tone. “Lady Sutherland couldn’t possibly have wanted to send you away.”

“She did, my lady. She did. She hated me.” Heather’s tone was notably fierce.

Such strong words…from one so young. Gazing across into that somber little face, Victoria was struck by the fleeting sensation that Heather was old beyond her years. But before she could say a word, Heather’s gaze slid away. Her voice very small, she added, “I heard Lady Sutherland with Papa one day. She called me a cripple.”

“A cripple. Good heavens, why on earth—”

And in that moment Victoria discovered precisely why. Heather slid from the window seat and started across the room.

This bright and beautiful, charming little girl…walked with a limp.

Halfway to the door, she stopped and turned. She stood silently—waiting, Victoria knew, for her reaction. The child’s expression was half-defeated, half-defiant.

Something caught in Victoria’s chest, something that hurt as surely as Heather had hurt in that moment. But she didn’t allow herself to pity Heather; she suspected Heather would never accept pity. And so she didn’t flinch from those wide-set violet eyes. Instead she swallowed her anger at Lady Sutherland…and swallowed her heartache.

She held out her hand. “Heather, please come here.”

The little girl returned to stand before her.

“Heather, I want you to understand something. Normally I do not presume to judge someone I do not know—and I confess I do not know Lady Sutherland. But ’tis my opinion that Lady Sutherland was quite addle-brained—and should have been taken out and whipped for daring to say such a thing!”

It was Heather’s turn to blink. “That’s what Papa told me,” she said slowly.

“Good for him. Heather, Lady Sutherland had no right to judge you so harshly, especially without knowing you.” Victoria’s regard was steady, her tone firm. “Heather, I will not make that mistake, for I am nothing like Lady Sutherland. It doesn’t bother me in the least that you have a limp. I shouldn’t care if the entire world should limp! And now, I would ask something of you, Heather.”

“Yes, my lady?”

Was it her imagination—or was Heather standing a bit taller? Yes, she most definitely was!

“Please, do me the honor of not lumping me in with the likes of Lady Sutherland!” A faint twinkle in her eye, Victoria smoothed the muslin shoulder of Heather’s gown. “Do you think you can do that for me, love?”

Heather’s head bobbed up and down.

Victoria wanted very much to reach out and hug the little girl close, but she sensed it was too soon.

“Now,” she said crisply, “on to the business of getting to know one another. I suddenly find I’m quite thirsty. Why don’t we go downstairs and have a spot of tea and biscuits in the salon, just you and I?”

For an instant Heather seemed uncertain. Then she leaned forward. “Can we ask Mrs. Addison to use the best silver?” she asked in a whisper.

“An excellent idea, Heather. I’m glad you thought of it!”

Heather’s face had begun to glow. “Papa says Cook makes the best plum cake in all of England, and I know she baked some just this morning. Do you think we could have plum cake, too?”

Victoria rose to her feet. “Do you know, I’m really quite famished! Plum cake sounds quite the thing. Why, we’ll have a tea party!”

Heather’s eyes had grown huge. “A tea party?” she breathed. “Like a grand lady in London?”

“Like the two grand ladies of Lyndermere Park,” Victoria chuckled. Holding her breath, she held out her hand.

When Heather took it with no hesitation whatsoever, Victoria felt her heart turn over.

“It was quite odd, my lord. A messenger arrived from Lyndermere Park with a letter for you. He said it was quite important, so I gave it to my lady. Then my lady packed her bags and left for her father’s, only to return that very evening! Then not two days later she set out for Lyndermere. It was really quite odd,” Nelson repeated.

Miles had set a breakneck pace back to London in the pouring rain. He was exhausted, drenched, and ached from head to toe. All that had sustained him was the certainty of a warm, loving welcome from Victoria.

But now an awful tightness gripped his heart. “Where is this letter?” he demanded.

Nelson coughed. “I believe my lady took it with her.”

“Damn!” Miles tore up the stairs, but Nelson was right. There was no letter in either his bedroom or Victoria’s.

He stood in the middle of the floor, his mind racing. He could only guess at the contents of the letter, but he had the terrible feeling Victoria had found out about Heather. God, but he should have told her the truth long ago!

For now the truth might very well mean his downfall.

He set out for Lyndermere within the hour.

For the most part, Victoria spent the next few days quietly, coming to know Heather…but it was also a time of deep reflection.

She came to realize that she was no longer the desperate young woman who sought to avoid marriage at all cost; for in truth, marriage had changed her. Or perhaps more precisely, love had changed her.

It was odd, how she had come to want all she had dismissed with such disdain, all that she’d been so convinced was not important…

And it was here at Lyndermere Park that Victoria made a great discovery indeed.

She didn’t want to spend her life alone, as she had proclaimed to Papa—and Sophie. She wanted a home—a home such as this!—that echoed with the sounds of laughter and love and life. She wanted children to cherish and nurture and protect…

And she wanted it with Miles.

She had thought he cared. She’d even thought he loved her just a little…She was furious with him. She felt betrayed—and so very confused as well! But it pained her unbearably knowing that Miles had chosen not to tell her of Heather’s existence. It was as if he had some—some secret part of him that he would keep forever hidden from her.

Why? Why hadn’t he told her? It was a question that caused her no end of torment. Miles loved Heather deeply; the way Heather spoke of him—and his behavior toward the child—left Victoria in no doubt that it was so. At first she’d thought Heather was his by-blow. But she’d learned from Mrs. Addison that Heather was Miles’s ward; how and why it came to be, Victoria had yet to learn. Yet few men would have taken in another’s child, and in Victoria’s estimation, it was an act of tremendous generosity. So it was that she couldn’t imagine that Miles was ashamed of Heather because of her limp; it was not in his character to be so petty.

Victoria was left with just one conclusion. He hadn’t wanted her to know about Heather.

Did he trust her so little? Did he think she wouldn’t care about this sweet, young child who waited so anxiously for her papa to come home?

It hurt to realize he thought so little of her—that he chose to share so little with her. But Victoria stifled her hurt and hid her troubled state of mind whenever Heather was near.

On this particular day, Victoria sat with Heather in the drawing room, one arm around the child’s narrow shoulders. Heather’s dark head was nestled against her shoulder, her expression quiet and tranquil, her eyes ever alert. The pose was reflective of all the pair had shared these past days. For both it was a time of discovery. At eight years of age, Heather was an extremely thoughtful, intelligent child. She also had quite a talent for watercolors. But she also possessed a maturity—and sensitivity—far beyond her tender years.

For Heather, it was a time of learning as well—learning to trust someone other than her papa—the way she trusted her dear Papa.

Though she was quite capable of doing so herself, she loved it when Victoria read to her. And she listened raptly when Victoria told her stories.

“Tell me the story about the scandalous bride,” Heather pleaded on this particular evening.

Victoria smothered a grin. The story about the scandalous bride was one which Heather never tired of hearing—one which Victoria was altogether familiar with…and for good reason.

“There once was a young woman whose father was a marquess. Like all fathers, the marquess was anxious for his daughter to make a suitable marriage. The young lady, however, had a mind of her own, you see, and had no wish to marry the boorish and foppish young men who offered for her. If she were to marry, she wanted to marry a man she could love, and who loved her in return. But after several Seasons in London, she’d begun to give up hope that such a man existed.

“But by now the marquess had grown ever so impatient with his daughter. The young lady knew this, but she’d decided it was better to live her life alone than to marry a man she didn’t love. And so she concocted an outrageous scheme, a scheme she thought would put her beyond the pale.”

Heather snuggled against her. “What did the young lady do?”

“She followed a man into a garden and kissed him—can you imagine, she dared to kiss him! But you see, Heather, the young lady was not quite so clever as she’d thought, for her father demanded she marry the fellow, a man who happened to be of good family—an earl, in fact. So it was that she ended up a bride, though as you can imagine, a rather scandalous bride.”

Heather peered up at her. “Was her husband handsome?”

“Oh, yes, this lord was so handsome he made her heart flutter madly and she tingled clear to her very toes just looking at him! But you see, they both were a stubborn pair, and rather resentful of each other for being forced to wed.”

“They didn’t like each other, did they?”

“No, love, not at first.” The corners of Victoria’s lips lifted. Though she didn’t realize it, her voice had gone all soft and dreamy. “But do you know, strange as it may seem, the young lady ended up falling hopelessly in love with her handsome young lord.”

“And what about him? Did he love her?”

Victoria’s heart twisted. If only I knew, a voice inside cried. If only I knew…

“Yes, pet, he loved her quite madly.” Though she still smiled, her eyes were full of wistfulness. “He loved her, and they were happier than either dreamed possible.”

Usually Heather was content to move on to the next story. But today, she was silent for a moment. Her dark head dipped low. It spun through Victoria’s mind that she seemed troubled. Then all at once she spoke.

“I will never marry,” she said.

Quiet as the child’s voice was, there was a ring of finality that stunned Victoria. She frowned. “Heather, sweet, why on earth would you—”

“Lady Sutherland said I would forever be an encumbrance around Papa’s neck. She said no man would want me for a wife. I-I heard her.”

Victoria gritted her teeth. Lady Sutherland again. Anger simmered within her. She could cheerfully strangle the woman!

“Heather,” she stated firmly. “I thought we’d established that Lady Sutherland hasn’t a brain in her head.”

Heather still had yet to look at her. “I think she is right. I think I will never marry. The boys in the village. They stare at me. They stare because I’m different than other girls.”

Victoria’s throat grew thick with tears. She wrapped her arms around Heather and pulled her close. “Oh, darling, I know it may seem impossible now, but nothing could be further from the truth! You’re a beautiful little girl and you’ll grow into a beautiful young woman. It may take some time, but someday there will be a man who loves you very much and you will be happy, I promise you.”

Slowly Heather raised her head. Victoria nearly cried out when she saw that the little girl’s eyes shimmered with tears. “As happy as the lord and lady in the story?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Something broke inside Victoria then. She ducked her head and rested her cheek against Heather’s dark, shining cloud of hair. “Yes,” she choked out, only barely able to speak. The ache in her breast was nearly unbearable.

Not wanting to distress Heather further, she gathered herself in hand and gave Heather a quick hug. Raising her head, she offered the little girl a shaky smile.

Heather regarded her curiously, tipping her head to the side. “Do you know,” she said after a moment, “I’m still not certain what to call you. ‘My lady’ is so formal.”

“I agree,” Victoria said promptly. “What would you like to call me?”

Heather pondered a moment. “Well,” she murmured, “Papa isn’t really my papa. I’m his ward, you know.”

Victoria nodded. “Yes, I know, dear. Mrs. Addison told me.”

“Still,” Heather went on thoughtfully, “I call him Papa.” A tiny frown furrowed her brow. “My mother died when I was very young. Mrs. Addison and my nanny are very nice, but…” Her voice trailed off. She bit her lip, opened her mouth as if to speak, then abruptly closed it.

Victoria encouraged her gently. “Yes, love, what is it?”

A small hand stole into hers. “May I call you Mama?” she whispered.

“Heather. Oh, Heather, of course you may.” Touched beyond words, Victoria pulled the little girl onto her lap and hugged her fiercely. She was laughing; she was crying, tears she couldn’t withhold and didn’t try to.

It was the faint click of a door that alerted her…They weren’t alone. Someone else was in the room…

And that someone was her husband.

Ten

Conscious thought was but a blur. Despite everything, all she could do was stare, as if he were a veritable feast for the eyes.

Heather had spied him as well. “Papa!” she exclaimed. She slipped off Victoria’s lap. But before she could take more than a few steps, Miles was there. He caught her high in his arms.

“My black-haired little poppet. I missed you, love.”

Heather giggled. “Did you bring me a present?”

Miles’s mouth quirked dryly. “I brought you a whole trunkload of presents, poppet.”

“Can I see?” She fidgeted eagerly.

Miles kissed her cheek, his eyes tender. “In just a bit, love.” He paused. “I see you’ve met my wife.”

Heather glanced shyly back at Victoria. She curled her fingers around Miles’s collar and bent her forehead to his. “She said I could call her Mama.”

Miles’s gaze rested on his wife. “So I heard,” he said softly.

Victoria’s eyes flitted away. She linked trembling hands together in her lap. Her heart lurched. What else had he heard?

When she finally found the courage to glance back at him, she was disconcerted to find herself the object of his attention.

“I’d like to spend a few minutes with Heather and get her settled for the night.” His eyes cleaved the distance between them. “Will you wait for me here?”

Victoria’s nod was jerky; she could manage no more. To Heather, she called a wobbly goodnight.

The time passed all too quickly. Victoria sat and then paced. She paced and then sat. Then suddenly Miles was there before her, and it was just as she’d said in her story—he was so handsome her heart fluttered madly. The very sight of him made her tingle all the way to her toes.

He moved to stand directly before her. One corner of his mouth curled up in a half-smile. “I must say, Victoria, this is the last place I expected to find you.”

Her head came up. “No doubt,” she snapped. She was up and on her feet, her eyes blazing. She’d suddenly remembered how angry she was with him—and she was, so furious she was shaking with it.

“You’re aware a letter came for you from Lyndermere?”

“Yes. Though I’ve yet to discover the contents.”

“I opened it only because Nelson thought it might be urgent.” She defended herself fiercely. “It was very brief, my lord. Something on the order of…‘I miss you terribly. Love, Heather,’” she quoted.

“And you thought Heather was a woman, didn’t you? A woman I kept here in the country? A mistress perhaps?” When she glared at him, his lips quirked. “And that was what sent you packing to your father’s?”

“Oh, I can see you find it vastly amusing,” she flared hotly. “And I had every intention of never seeing you again, Miles Grayson! But Papa had the audacity to tell me you might not be such a scoundrel after all. He knew about Heather, didn’t he?”

Miles’s grin had faded. “Yes—and no. He was aware of her existence—that she was my ward—but I had no way of knowing if he knew the truth…” He sighed wearily, running his fingers through his hair. “Victoria, it’s a long story. And I know you’re angry that I didn’t tell you about Heather—”

Tears burned her throat. “Yes, I’m angry. Angry because in all the weeks we’ve been married, not once did you see fit to tell me about your ward! Why, when I came here, I had no idea Heather even existed—I’ve never felt so foolish! And I’m angry because all the time you were in London, this poor, neglected child was here alone—”

“Neglected? Come now, Victoria, you exaggerate. I have never neglected Heather, nor will I. And she was hardly alone, for there is a house full of servants who love her and care for her every need—”

“But it was you she needed, Miles. She wanted her papa, and you should have been here with her! For that matter, she—she needs a mother, too, though apparently it’s never occurred to you that your wife could be the mother she needs.”

Guilt flickered across his face. “Did you think it was easy for me? I stayed because of you, Victoria.” His tone was intense. “Because I wanted to be with you. That’s the truth.”

“The truth!” The breath she drew was deep and shuddering. “How am I to believe you when you hid the truth from me—you didn’t tell me about Heather! How am I to trust you when you refused to trust me? Because you didn’t, did you, Miles? You didn’t trust me with the truth about Heather, did you?”

Miles’s face had gone pale. “No,” he said very quietly.

Victoria began to cry openly. “Why?” she cried. “Why didn’t you trust me? Did you think I’d fly into a rage? Did you think I wouldn’t understand? Did you think I’d want to send her away like—like that witch Lady Sutherland?”

She saw him flinch, as if he’d been struck. And she knew then…

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Pain slashed through her, like a rapier through the heart. Her words were a trembling, broken whisper. “You—you thought I was like her…”

Miles’s body had gone stiff.

“You’re right,” he said, his tone wooden. “I did think you were like Margaret. You see, I’d heard of you, even before that night at the Rutherfords, the beautiful—and much sought-after—daughter of the marquess of Norcastle who refused to choose a husband. Victoria, how can I explain…? The next thing I knew we were wed. I knew you didn’t want to be a wife…why would you want to be a mother, and to a little girl who wasn’t even your own…

“I never loved Margaret, not really. I want you to know that, Victoria. I admit, I was swept away by her beauty and charm. I proposed to her because I thought Heather needed a mother—because I thought she could make us happy. I-I thought I was doing the right thing. Margaret came from an impeccable family. She loved the glitter of London, the parties, the gossip.

“But as the wedding date drew near, I’d begun to have doubts—to think her shallow and vain—but I kept them to myself. I brought Margaret to Lyndermere to meet Heather. Victoria, she was…horrified when she saw Heather. She looked at Heather as if she were a—a monster.”

Tears coursed down her cheeks. Everything he said was like a knife turning inside her. “I know that, Miles. But you must have known later that I wasn’t like her. I-I could never be so cruel! Yet still you didn’t tell me. You refused to believe in me. God, and I”—a jagged cry tore from her lips—“I thought you cared for me.”

He seized her hands. She tried to snatch them back but he wouldn’t let her.

“I do. Victoria, I do.” His tone was low and fervent. “But I was still afraid, sweet, and you must admit, you were scarcely at home those first weeks of our marriage. It seemed you thrived on the parties, the crowds, the adoration from those silly young bucks in London. I-I didn’t think you could be happy with a simple life in the country. I didn’t think you could be happy with me!”

His voice grew raw. “But above all, I had to protect Heather. I’ve remained here at Lyndermere in order to spare Heather the pain of gossip and whispers among the London highbrows. I couldn’t let her be scorned or disdained by anyone. I couldn’t let her be hurt again the way Margaret hurt her! Victoria, the night we made love…I knew you were different or I wouldn’t have let it happen. My God, I wouldn’t have wanted it to happen. But I did, Victoria. I wanted you so much it hurt inside. And then the next morning I intended to tell you about Heather, but the news from Cornwall came and I had to leave…”

He pulled her shaking body into his embrace. “I’m sorry, sweet,” he said achingly. “I’m so sorry. I knew how wrong I’d been when I saw you with Heather. I was so relieved and yet so ashamed!”

Victoria searched his face. The depth of emotion reflected in his eyes nearly took her breath away. It was going to be all right after all…With a tiny little cry she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung.

“I want you to know everything, sweet, how Heather came to live here…everything. There was a carriage accident nearby some years ago. The coach carried three passengers—a man, a woman, and a child of about three.”

Victoria’s tears had begun to slow. She turned her tear-stained face up to his. “Heather?” she whispered.

Miles nodded. “The driver and the man were killed immediately. The woman lingered for several days.”

“Heather’s parents?”

“I believe so. I know for certain the woman was her mother. I brought her here to Lyndermere.” An odd note entered his voice. “Victoria, never in my life have I heard such vileness! Her mother knew she was dying. She heaped curses on her daughter and spewed the crudest of obscenities—because Heather would live and not her!”

Victoria went cold inside. “The accident. Is that how she came to be lame?”

“No. Her injuries were serious, but her knee was already scarred and malformed. The physician said it was likely some other accident. She was too ill to be moved—and she was so small—that I kept her here with me to recuperate. By the time she was well—oh, I know it sounds strange—but I loved her too much to let her go.”

Victoria rubbed her cheek against the soft wool of his jacket. “It’s not strange at all,” she whispered. “I feel the same already.”

His arms tightened. “There’s more, Victoria. Heather was an orphan. I do not condemn them, but her parents’ clothing was ragged and unkempt. Had I let her go, she would have been called a guttersnipe. I couldn’t let that happen. Nor could I let her go to an orphan house—my God, the conditions in those places are deplorable!”

Victoria felt him swallow.

“I lied, Victoria. I asked the courts to declare her my ward. I told the magistrate her parents were very dear friends of mine; that her father was an impoverished lord from France—Heather’s mother told me her name was Duval—who’d married an English lady. I said they were on their way to see me, to resettle here in England, when the accident occurred.”

His palm was warm upon her nape. With his thumb he urged her face to his. “Heather believes herself to be the daughter of a French aristocrat and an English lady. Until this moment, no one knew the truth but me.” His eyes darkened. “It’s a secret I will guard with my life.”

For an instant Victoria couldn’t speak. Her throat was too tight. “Why? Why do you tell me this? Why now?”

“Because I trust you with my heart, sweet. I love you, Victoria. I love you.”

To her utter shame, she began to cry all over again. Miles swept her close, so close their hearts beat together as one. “Shhh,” he soothed. “I didn’t mean to make you cry again, sweet. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

Her smile was tremulous. “It’s all right. It’s just that I—I never thought to hear you say that.”

His gaze had fallen to her lips. “No? What about the story you told Heather?” he teased. “The lord loved his lady quite madly, did he not?”

“That was just a-a fanciful dream,” she confessed.

His expression was incredibly tender. “It’s no dream, sweet. I do love you. But I fear I must know—did the lady truly fall hopelessly in love with her lord?”

Victoria pressed her hand into his cheek, her smile misty. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Quite hopelessly indeed…”

Epilogue

Nearly a year had come full circle, and fragrant spring breezes rippled across the broad fields of Lancashire. It was late May, and on this warm spring eve, twilight cast a purple haze across the western sky.

Victoria and Miles had remained at Lyndermere Park for much of the year. She had come to love Lyndermere as much as her husband. Trips to London were few—a necessary nuisance, Miles called them. But while Victoria occasionally found herself missing a night at the opera or an evening of waltzing at Almack’s, it was here at Lyndermere—with Miles—that her heart and hopes and dreams resided…

She could imagine no other life…nor a life more perfect.

But there had been an addition to the family. They were no longer three, but four…

Beatrice Louise Grayson had made her entrance into the world on a wild, stormy night in late February, much to her father’s delight…and her mother’s relief.

Beatrice had now reached the ripe old age of three months. Her belly had grown round and firm, her cheeks pink and plump. A cap of pale gold curls covered her head, and her eyes were as blue as sapphires; her grandpapa proudly proclaimed Beatrice the very image of her mother.

Now, having finished nursing the babe, Victoria smoothed a tender hand over the fine gold fuzz covering her daughter’s scalp, then handed the babe into the waiting arms of her husband so that she could adjust her gown.

Miles pressed a warm kiss on that tiny brow. He chuckled when Beatrice flashed a sunny little grin, for such was her nature. He laid her in the cradle, his hold on her immeasurably gentle.

Heather looked up eagerly from where she sat reading in the window seat. “May I rock her, Mama?” she pleaded. “And tell her a story, too?”

Victoria’s eyes softened. “Of course you may, love.” Smiling, Victoria pulled a small chair next to the cradle so Heather could sit.

When Heather flashed her a beaming smile as she took her place, Victoria felt her heart squeeze. It was her most fervent wish that Beatrice would someday come to be like Heather, for there was no sweeter child on the face of this earth; and indeed, for Victoria there was no greater privilege than hearing this beautiful, dark-haired child call her “Mama”…

Heather extended a finger toward the babe. Beatrice curled a tiny pink fist around it and held on fast. “Now then, Beatrice. Here is the story I will tell you. There once was a young lady who was all the rage in London. But this young lady…I think we shall call her Lavinia, yes, Lavinia!”

Beatrice stared at Heather raptly, as if she understood every word.

Victoria’s lips quirked, for Miles was shaking his head, an indulgent smile on his lips. When he held out his hand, she accepted it wordlessly.

Heather continued. “Well, Beatrice, Lavinia was very opposed to marriage, but she came up with a most unusual idea in order to lay to rest her papa’s insistence that she marry. Can you imagine, Beatrice, Lavinia followed a man—an earl—into a garden and kissed him! But her plan failed, you see, for her papa demanded she marry this man!”

Hand in hand, Miles and Victoria quietly retreated. At the threshold, they paused to listen once more.

“Oh, but this scandalous bride was at wit’s end, being forced to marry this earl, for though he was quite handsome, he was a wicked one indeed!”

Miles was taken aback. “Handsome, yes,” he concurred in a whisper. “But wicked?” He shook his head in mild affront. “I think not!”

Victoria’s eyes were dancing. “A woman’s perspective,” she informed him gravely. She pressed a finger to her lips, for Beatrice was yawning, and her eyes had begun to droop.

Heather hastened to finish. “And so, Beatrice, the scandalous bride Lavinia set about taming her wicked earl and making him fall quite madly in love with her…”

Miles pulled his wife into his arms. “She did indeed,” he murmured against the smooth skin of her temple. He drew her into the hallway where he claimed her lips in a long, ardent kiss that sent their senses soaring.

When at last he released her, a teasing smile curled her lips. “Ah,” she said playfully, “but the scandalous bride does have one regret.”

One dark brow arched roguishly. “And what might that be, countess?”

Victoria twined her arms about his neck. “Had she known what fate awaited her that long-ago night, she’d have kissed her wicked earl much, much sooner…”

It was SAMANTHA JAMES’s love of reading as a child that steered her toward a writing career. Among her favorites in those days were the Trixie Belden and Cherry Ames series of books. She still loves a blend of mystery and romance, and, of course, a happily-ever-after ending. The award-wining, bestselling author of eighteen romances and one novella, her books have ranged from medieval to Regency to  the American West. Please visit her on the web at www.samanthajames.com.

Turn the page for a sneak peek at

IN PURSUIT OF A SCANDALOUS LADY

The first in a new series from USA Today bestselling author Gayle Callen

The biggest secret in London is about to be…revealed.

Every gentleman is wondering: Who is the beauty in the scandalous nude portrait hanging in one of London’s most fashionable clubs? Is it true that she’s a member of the ton? Who would be so daring? So reckless?

Julian Delane, Earl of Parkhurst, has a good idea. So good, in fact, that he’s willing to make a wager on it. If only the bet were all that’s at stake…

Determined to clear the family name from a scandal that claimed his father’s life, Julian believes the ravishing model will lead him to answers. Rebecca Leland—spirited, adventurous, with a bit of a wild streak—is just as determined to evade his questions. But when Julian finally corners his quarry, he may find Rebecca well worth the pursuit.

Rebecca felt a secret little thrill. She saw the way both women and men stepped out of Lord Parkhurst’s way. He ignored them all, his every focus on her. Awareness was a prickling flush that started at the nape of her neck and spread along her body. She barely felt Susanna’s fingers clasping hard on her arm, as she had to look up and up as the earl came closer and closer. Good lord, he made her feel positively dainty.

She’d been longing for something different to happen to her—and now here he was, large and bold and threatening beneath a veil of civility.

Lady Rosa beamed at her daughters. She had the same shade of dark brown hair as Rebecca, with only a little gray to betray her age. Susanna had inherited her warm brown eyes. She was a striking woman, displaying the easy elegance of her birth, yet at the same time showing her compassion and strength. She’d endured the fear of losing Rebecca to countless childhood illnesses and suffered through a year believing her son dead. Her marriage had almost floundered under the weight of a lifetime of scandal, but Lady Rosa had emerged victorious. Now the only triumph she seemed to truly want was to see her daughters well—and happily—married. And Rebecca almost regretted that she could not appease her mother in such a way.

“My dear girls, how pleased I am to find you together,” Lady Rosa said, beaming. “Lord Parkhurst, allow me to introduce my daughters, Miss Leland and Miss Rebecca Leland. Oh dear, I’ve already gone on so long about them, you probably feel as if you know everything there is to know!”

Rebecca’s smile stiffened. Everything there was to know, indeed. Lord Parkhurst probably did think such a thing, especially after the way he’d studied the painting for what seemed like forever.

And then it was as if she were in the dark, candlelit saloon again, standing too close to this giant of a man, meeting his intelligent, assessing gaze. He should seem out of place in this false garden, where people talked with little substance. Instead, she could imagine him one with the forest, hunting a beast of prey.

And she realized that she was the prey.

A flush of heat had her wondering if he could see her blush.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies,” the earl said, bowing his head politely. His voice was mild rather than challenging, though still deep and rumbling.

She and her sister curtsied. Rebecca could feel some of Susanna’s tension subside. Up close and by the light of day, he seemed a bit…different. There were lines of strain across his forehead, as if he regularly frowned. His eyes were hooded, almost tired.

Had he spent much of the night thinking about her, as she’d thought about him?

No, she wasn’t worth that to him. He was a bored aristocrat who’d found something to amuse himself for a few days—a month at most, she reminded herself. Though he might look different, he was surely the same as every other man of her acquaintance.

“Is this truly the first time we’ve spoken, Lord Parkhurst?” Rebecca asked politely. “I feel like I’ve seen you at several events.”

“And I have seen you, Miss Leland.”

He spoke with all politeness, but she heard another meaning in his words, and barely withheld a shiver.

“I wish to congratulate you all on the miraculous return of Captain Leland,” he continued.

“Thank you, my lord,” Lady Rosa said with a happy sigh. “I was…quite devastated by the loss of my son. With his return, my husband and I are restored in spirit and in our hearts. The captain is spending time with his cousins this month.”

“Ah, so I heard,” he said, glancing at the Leland sisters. “The captain himself told me. We have had several shared investments recently.”

Why hadn’t he said that he knew her brother last night? Rebecca wondered with annoyance. She was feeling more and more deflated. The earl was not so removed from Society. She only wanted him to be.

“Did you meet my son at university?” Lady Rosa asked.

Lord Parkhurst linked his hands behind his back, his appearance casual—far too casual. Rebecca sensed…something beneath the surface.

“No, I did not, my lady.”

“Ah, then you must have gone to Oxford. My husband lectures at Cambridge.”

“I came into my title at eighteen,” Lord Parkhurst said. “I did not have time for much else.”

Lady Rosa’s expression turned momentarily pained. “Do forgive me, my lord. I had forgotten that your father died so many years ago.”

Rebecca looked between them, curious at what wasn’t being said. But if she asked her mother for details later, Lady Rosa would think her interested, and never let her hear the end of it.

To cover the vague unease she sensed in her mother, Rebecca said, “Our cousin, Madingley, did not attend university either, for exactly the same reason.”

He nodded. “I remember that.”

“Even though you are without an advanced education, my lord,” Lady Rosa said, “I hear men talking with much admiration of your knowledge and skill.”

“Admiration is it now?” His wide mouth quirked in a faint smile. “That is putting it kindly. But yes, there is education to be had, even if it is self-motivated. Yet formal education is something that should be taken advantage of—as I keep telling my brothers.”

“How many brothers do you have, my lord?” Rebecca asked.

He glanced at her, those gray eyes impassive. “Two, Miss Rebecca, eighteen-year-old twins.”

“Young then,” Susanna said, nodding. “I feel like my eighteenth birthday was so long ago.”

Lady Rosa flashed her a mortified frown, as if Susanna should never allude to her advanced, unmarried age of twenty-seven.

“Youth does not excuse common sense,” Lord Parkhurst said.

“Perhaps they see that you do not have a university education, my lord,” Rebecca said, “and yet you seem to have survived.”

They looked at each for a moment—a moment too long, for Lady Rosa’s brows rose.

“Susanna, do escort me to the dessert table,” Lady Rosa said. “I am suddenly quite famished. Enjoy your afternoon, my lord.”

Wearing an apologetic look, Susanna was led away.

Julian watched the gaze exchanged between the two sisters and withheld his amusement. Susanna thought she was leaving Rebecca with the devil himself—and who could blame her, after their evening together?

But Rebecca…he did not quite understand her mood. Last night, she’d been bold, in command, even fearless, though three men held her and her relatives practically captive. Today she was a subdued lady of the ton, patiently allowing her mother the lead, as any daughter who expected to be led to the altar would.

“Lady Rosa did that quite neatly,” Julian remarked.

“She has had much practice,” Rebecca said dryly.

“Then I suggest we reward her.” He held out his arm. “Would you care to walk?”

She eyed him, her eyes faintly devilish, her lips curved in a lovely smile. Then she placed her hand lightly on his arm. “I imagine I cannot come to harm in a conservatory.”

“You could always scream,” he countered.

“And find myself married before the week is out? I think not.”

“Ah, you are crushing my self-esteem. Would not many young ladies wish to be married to an earl?”

“Perhaps not many, for you are not married.”

“By choice. And neither are you.”

“Stating the obvious, my lord.”

They walked quietly for several minutes, weaving their way out of sight of the other guests, although the murmur of voices never quite went away. At the rear of the conservatory, the glass separated them from the walled garden outside. They paused as if to admire it, but Julian knew she must not be thinking of the view.

He was thinking of his view…of her. Her lovely rose-colored gown hugged her torso, revealing herself to be shaped much as she’d been painted. She was slender but not fragile, small, yet rounded. Her hair was styled artfully, curled, with carefully placed ribbons. Her bodice was high enough that he found himself wondering if she hid the Scandalous Lady beneath her garments.

Patience, he reminded himself. He’d spent the morning speaking with people about her family. Though he’d heard of several of the family scandals, the Lelands and the Cabots certainly did not seem like thieves. And Rebecca was far too young to have stolen the diamond herself almost ten years before. So how had she come by it?

He’d realized during the long night that the best way to discover answers to his questions was to earn her trust. He had diligently tried to be unassuming at the luncheon, wanting her to believe that his intensity of the previous evening was more about his overindulgence. And to some degree, that was true. He shouldn’t have intimidated her, standing too close, looking so menacing, which was always rather easy for him to do.

She didn’t seem intimidated. She inhaled the scents of the flowers all around them, then exhaled almost on a sigh—but not a sigh of resignation. There was something very…unusual about her nonplussed reaction to the wager.

But then again, only an unusual woman would pose for a nude portrait. He wondered how unfettered her morals truly were.

And that aroused him far too much, he realized. He could not let himself dwell on her nudity, her lack of inhibitions. He had to focus on the Scandalous Lady, and bringing it back to its rightful owner—him.

He began the hunt for information. “You and Miss Leland seem close to your cousin Lady Elizabeth.”

She eyed him, a smile touching her full lips. “We are of an age, and we were raised together at Madingley Court.”

“Your families all lived together?”

“Have you seen Madingley Court?” she asked, amused.

He nodded. “Ah, I see. The palace of a duke, of course. So you were not too crowded living together.”

“Not at all,” she answered, searching his face with the faintest confusion.

He knew she wondered at his motives, why he didn’t bring up the wager. And his talk of crowded living conditions revealed too much of his own childhood issues.

“So the three of you were like sisters,” he said.

“We still are,” she answered, her voice firm. “We support each other through anything.”

“Obviously,” he said. “They risked much for you with their declaration last night.”

“We would risk anything for each other.”

“You’d risk exposure and humiliation?”

He thought she’d drop her hand from his arm, but she didn’t, only looked up at him coolly.

“Are you threatening such a thing?” she asked. “I would have thought you a gentleman.”

“I am a gentleman, Miss Leland. But that painting does not make a gentleman remember the civilized part of his brain.”

He felt her stiffen.

“But then you knew that would happen when you posed,” he continued mildly. “Or did you not think beyond a momentary thrill? Why would you do such a thing?”

“Are you lecturing me, my lord? A true gentleman would protect a lady’s sensibilities, would forget the things he’d seen.”

“You have not displayed a lady’s sensibilities, have you?”

She dropped her hand and faced him now, speaking in a low voice, her hazel eyes flashing. “Now you’re offending me. You know nothing about me.”

“I would like to.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You want to win a wager with your silly friends.”

“Which you and your silly female relatives made possible by your behavior last night.”

“How disapproving you sound, my lord.”

“No, I am simply stating a fact. Your guilt makes you believe that everyone is censorious.”

“Guilt?” she cried, then looked down the path and lowered her voice. “I feel no guilt whatsoever.”

“Then why else would you attempt to steal the painting?”

“For the simple reason that it was supposed to be in France, not here where people who know me will see it.”

“Then why pose, Miss Leland? Why risk it?”

She paused, and in her mercurial eyes, he could see her weighing what to reveal. He waited almost impatiently—and he was never an impatient man. Then to his surprise, she stepped closer. He could feel the heat from her body, imagined how it would feel with just another step, as she pressed against him. His logical brain threatened to shut down, and that had never happened to him.

“Did you ever just want to be adventurous, my lord?” she asked softly.

IN PURSUIT OF A SCANDALOUS LADY
by Gayle Callen

On sale now from Avon Books

About the Authors

CATHERINE ANDERSON, the award-winning author of both contemporary and historical fiction, lives with her husband and three canine friends—a mixed spaniel named Kibbles and two Rottweilers named Sam and Sassy, who seem to think they are teacup poodles and that obedience training is for people.

LORETTA CHASE holds a B.A. from Clark University, where she majored in English and minored unofficially in visual art. Her past lives include clerical, administrative, and part-time teaching at Clark and a Dickensian six-month experience as a meter maid. In the course of moonlighting as a corporate video scriptwriter, she fell under the spell of a producer who lured her into writing novels…and marrying him. The union has resulted in more than a dozen books and a number of awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s Rita® Award. You can talk to Loretta via her email address Author@LorettaChase.com, visit her website at www.LorettaChase.com, and blog with her and six other authors at WordWenches.com.

It was SAMANTHA JAMES’s love of reading as a child that steered her toward a writing career. Among her favorites in those days were the Trixie Belden and Cherry Ames series of books. She still loves a blend of mystery and romance, and, of course, a happily-ever-after ending. The award-wining, bestselling author of eighteen romances and one novella, her books have ranged from medieval to Regency to  the American West. Please visit her on the web at www.samanthajames.com.

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Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THREE TIMES A BRIDE. Copyright © 2010 by Avon Books. “Fancy Free” copyright © 1995 by Adeline Catherine Anderson. “The Mad Earl’s Bride” copyright © 1995 by Loretta Chekani. “Scandal’s Bride” copyright © 1996 by Sandra Kleinschmidt. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

First Avon Books paperback printing: May 2010

EPub Edition © April 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-201175-6

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* See Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase, published by Avon Books.

Table of Contents

Scandal’s Bride

In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady

About the Authors

Other Romances

Copyright

About the Publisher

More Dazzling Romance from

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