Page 45 of The Rake's Bride
Finally, he allowed Nan to guide him away and up to the bedchamber where his sisters were already sleeping soundly and had been for several hours.
Rafe shook his head. “Wherever did he learn such a thing?” he asked incredulously as he strode over to the sideboard and prepared drinks for himself and Victoria. The staff had quickly learned they preferred to enjoy their brandy warm, so the supplied decanter was already at the proper temperature. He strode over to where Victoria sat and handed her one of the glasses.
She gave a nonchalant shrug and said, “Hedoeshave a consummate rake for an uncle. God only knows what else he’s been exposed to.” The flicker of humor in her eyes reassured him that there was no bitterness in her words. Impulsively, Rafe bent and pressed a kiss to her temple. He took an inordinate amount of pleasure in the shocked widening of her eyes as he moved only a few feet away to stand beside the mantle.
“Thank you for everything you did for Dom today; you truly went above expectations, decorating, planning activities and meals, and arranging supper.” He looked over and met her eyes. “I do not wish to make a habit of having the children join us for supper—however selfish it makes me; I quite like our quiet evening meals together—but I would not be opposed to continuing the tradition on special occasions.”
“You seem surprised to admit that you enjoy when we take our meals together,” Victoria remarked over the edge of her glass.
“I only mean that I am accustomed to eating outside of the home or visiting friends for meals; I never pictured myself pleased to remain at home without any grand plans.” He’d never had a reason to want to be there before.
Victoria’s grin was radiant. “Take care, or you might become domesticated, Mr. Tomcat.”
“Fear not,” he replied with a laugh. “I will likely always be just wild enough to keep you on your toes. It is in my nature.”
“I do not doubt that.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Rafe asked, “Are you happy, Victoria?”
She hummed and nodded affirmatively. “As happy as can be expected.” It wasn’t the glowing response he’d hoped for, but at least it was better than ano.
“I do hope so, because your happiness is important to me,” he admitted, a part of him feeling quite raw when he did so. “I know this marriage has not been everything you expected, but I have been happy to find some peace in it. I hope you have as well.” The words were difficult for him to say, but it felt important to him that she heard them—that she knew she deserved all the support she’d shown to him and the children over these past several weeks.
Chapter Twenty
It took Victoriaa few moments to process what Rafe had said, and in the end, she was touched by his words. He might have claimed to have an aversion to love…but there he was, telling her he cared and appreciated her (as much as his sensibilities and insecurities would allow him to). He desired to make her happiness a priority, and hearing him admit as much to her made her feel like he was beginning to let her past the defenses he’d built.
But what if he was right?
What if his upbringing had damaged him too deeply for him to ever be capable of loving her? Victoria liked to think she could be content and secure in the knowledge that he cared for her—that it would be enough in her marriage—but could she forever settle for these tidbits of affection? How could she prevent herself from believing, from hoping, each scrap meant more than it did? That felt like perhaps the most impossible task of all because she come to yearn for it.
Victoria wanted Rafe’s love.
After watching him with his nieces and Dom, after seeing how warm he could be, after witnessing the side of him that made her melt, Victoria’s heart ached for it…almost as much as it ached to admit aloud that she was beginning to feel so much more for him.
“And you, Rafe?” Victoria asked instead. “Are you happy?”
He looked down into his glass, examining the fractured light bouncing around within. “Happier than I’ve felt in recent memory.” Victoria’s heart stuttered at his gentle admission. “For the first time in my life, the pieces seem to be falling into place.” He looked up, and his smoldering eyes met hers, almost searing her with their heat.
Suddenly, Victoria was exhausted. She was worn down from fighting her intense attraction to her husband. She was drained from hiding how moved she was by his kindness, his tiptoeing around the notion of hope. He made her want to enfold her in his arms and never release him—not because he was pathetic and in need of coddling, but because he deserved to be held and cherished and shown what he’d been missing most of his life. Whether he realized it or not, he’d been searching out just that in every one of his casual relationships. He was a man who needed physical touch and comfort. It was evident in the way the tenseness melted from his shoulders each time she held his hand, each time he accepted her touch. There needn’t be anything sexual about it, and it still brought him peace. She ached for her husband on every level, and she was tired of pretending she did not.
Taking a long sip of her brandy, she savored the rich burn of it trickling down her throat and curling sensuously in her stomach, allowing it to bolster her nerves for the next words she spoke. “Will you come to my bed tonight?”
Rafe’s reaction was at once subtle and intense. She knew him well enough by then to recognize the tightening of his jaw, the slight blanching of his knuckles where he propped himself against the marble mantle, the slow way his eyes swept her seated form and drank her in. While her choice of dress had been mostly intended to lend an air of formality to Dominic’s birthday supper, she’d have been lying if she’d said she hadn’t considered how Rafe might react to the daring cut. Currently, he looked asif he were barely holding himself in check when he’d rather toss her to the sofa and take her right then and there.
The image of him throwing up her skirts and having his wicked way with her made Victoria clench her thighs together; however, it was ineffective in staunching the dampness blossoming there.
He nodded easily enough, though his naked need was there in his soulful eyes, as palpable as if he’d declared his desire right then and there like a town crier in the middle of the room.
Hear ye, hear ye! Lord Rafael Hart, Viscount Blackwood, wants nothing more than to tup his wife until she is a quaking mass of raw nerves and pleasure!
Victoria barely resisted the urge to fan her face and, instead, offered him a polite nod in gratitude, as if he had just agreed to accompany her on a walk through the park. Though her fingers trembled in anticipation, she continued sipping her warmed brandy and watched as he did the same. The minutes passed slowly, but the delay only stoked the banked desire flaring to life within each of them. It drew out the anticipation until it was a chord that might snap with a twang, launching them together until they crashed in a heap of writhing limbs and ecstasy. It gave them both the time to picture with vivid intensity the last time they’d shared a bed, and all the occasions since then they’d longed for the other’s touch.
When she could no longer handle her body’s insistent throbbing, Victoria tossed back the last of her drink, set the glass aside on the low table positioned between her seat and the hearth, and she stood. As steadily as she could, she shook the wrinkles from her skirt and murmured, “I believe I shall retire. It has been a long day.”
She watched a muscle in Rafe’s jaw tic a moment before he nodded. “Very well,” he croaked. The evidence that she’d weakened his façade just by inviting him to her bed shot a thrillthroughout her body. Her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips, and her husband’s eyes were riveted to the sight. She felt sensual and powerful. She felt like a goddess.
With measured steps, she departed and climbed the angular wooden staircase to The Cottage’s second floor. Her mind was consumed with the possibilities. She wondered how long she might have to wait for him to come to her. Would he partake in another drink before knocking on her door? How should she wait for him? Should she undress and don her nightshift, or was she bold enough to wait for him nude beneath her coverlet? Which might he prefer? Her skin began to tingle, and that persistent ache between her thighs roared into a full-blown throb. If her desire wasn’t quenched soon, then she feared she might collapse.
