Page 54 of The Rake's Bride
“You were my mistress. We enjoyed bed sport for a time. That time is over.” The words were harsh and biting, but Rafe had already tried civility and gentleness with her. That clearly hadn’t worked, and he refused to tolerate this woman putting his marriage at risk because she was unwilling to relinquish him.
Bright spots of anger bloomed in her cheeks. “We were so beautiful together, Blackwood. Are you willing to throw all of that away for a plain American woman?
“I knew that it was fate as soon as my cousin told me you would be coming. I haven’t seen you in so long, and you never leave London. To hear that you were on holiday in this part of Kent at this precise time? That was divine intervention leadingus back to one another.” Her tone was increasing, and one glance around told Rafe they were beginning to draw notice. Before Lady Dallow could cause more of a scene, he grabbed her upper arm and all but dragged her down a set of stairs set into the side of the veranda. They were less noticeable than the main ones in the center that led down into the gardens, so guests had not ventured that way yet and he could take advantage of the seclusion to end the confrontation.
“You are embarrassing yourself,” he whispered harshly, barely able to make out her features now that they’d ventured further from the flickering torchlight.
“There is no embarrassment in the truth.” She flattened her palms against his chest, her fingers slowly curling around the black lapels of his coat. “And the truth is, I miss you. I need you back in my bed,” she mewled, pressing herself against him, rubbing her breasts across his chest as if she were a needy cat.
Rafe tried to place some distance between them, to remove her fists from his clothing, but she held him fast. While he was much stronger than she and one good shove would have resolved the situation, he did not wish to hurt her. He’d never physically harmed a woman before, and he refused to allow her to draw him into doing so. They continued to scrabble, but she had latched onto him with impressive fortitude.
“Don’t you miss me, too?” she breathed. “I know how to please you—I know what you like. There is no wayshecould ever satisfy you asIdid.”
Rafe opened his mouth to tell her how wrong she was, but Lady Dallow chose that moment to yank his head down to meet hers in a rough, possessive kiss.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You’re too kind,Lord Fenton.” Victoria patted the elderly man’s hand after he complimented her attire for the third time that evening. Despite his age and failing memory, she found him sweet. “You are such a charmer.”
“You should have seen me in my youth,” he replied, with a wink of a watery blue eye. “I’d have given that husband of yours a challenge for your affections, fair maiden.”
“Uncle,” his nephew signed and rolled his eyes heavenward. Despite the nearly six decades separating their ages, there was a distinct resemblance in the shade of their eyes, the long, straight noses, and the strong chins. If Lord Fenton had, indeed, resembled his great-nephew in his youth, then he wasn’t exaggerating. In Victoria’s estimation, he wasn’t as handsome as Rafe, but he was remarkably pleasing to the eye.
“It’s a shame you met Blackwood before my nephew,” Fenton added, glancing between them. “You could have been a marchioness instead of a viscountess; he is first in line to inherit my title when I’m dead, you see.”
“Uncle!” exclaimed his nephew in mortification. He scrubbed at his face, clearly wishing he could melt between the bricks beneath their feet.
“What? It is the truth. I’d much rather see you wed to a woman as kind and bright as this than one of those empty-headed ninnies you seem to attract.”
His nephew turned to her. “My apologies, Lady Blackwood. My uncle sometimes forgets himself.”
“No offense taken, I assure you.” She flashed each of the men a warm smile.
The nephew looked grateful. “Come, Uncle. I believe we’ve monopolized Lady Blackwell long enough.”
“Very well,” Fenton grumbled and was able to rise to his feet after only two attempts. He leaned heavily on his cane as he bowed over Victoria’s hand. “It was a supreme pleasure.”
“I agree,” she replied, then added, “My family and I are staying at The Cottage just to the north. We would love to have you visit if you find it in your schedule. Otherwise, we will return to London next month.”
“My uncle does not travel often anymore, but I have a feeling, for you, he would walk from one end of the country to the other.”
The men took their leave and, standing, Victoria began to scan the crowd for her husband. Rafe had disappeared several minutes earlier, but she hadn’t seen which direction he’d traveled. As she scanned the gathering, a servant passed by with a tray of champagne; the crystal flutes with their effervescent liquid glittering in the flickering lighting looked so enticing, and she plucked one for herself. She didn’t normally enjoy champagne, but this one was quite nice.
She sipped her drink and continued surveying her surroundings when she was approached by a woman in a pale green gown draped in layers of aqua chiffon. The color combination was unique enough that Victoria realized she’d glimpsed her down the length of the table at supper. She had hair the color of burnt caramel and wide-set brown eyes framed by impossibly long lashes. What was odd, however, was her smile. By all accounts, it should have been pleasant and warm…but there was something off about it. It did not reach her eyes.
Victoria had become familiar with such smiles during her time in London Society; they had the potential to be venomous.
Pasting on a forced smile of her own, Victoria waited for the woman to close the remaining gap between them.
“Lady Blackwood,” said the woman, making Victoria feel instantly at a disadvantage. This woman knew who she was, but Victoria did not know her.
“My apologies, but have we been introduced?”
Her lips curled into a slightly wider smile. “We have not had the opportunity. I am Mrs. Pfinster.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
The other woman’s eyes ran up and down Victoria’s body as she huffed a small laugh through her nose, telling her Mrs. Pfinster believed it was anything but.
