ut the past was not destined to remain where it belonged. No indeed, and when the heavens decided to rake a man over the coals in retribution for his sins, they chose to do so in the form of the petulant opera singer he’d last thrown over. Will’s gaze traveled over the woman perched on the edge of the striped silk divan in his drawing room. Her dark beauty was unmistakable, her fashion sense as impeccable as ever. The cloying scent of French rosewater clung to the air, and it rather made him want to sneeze.
What was the phrase? Ah, yes. Curses are like young chickens, they always come home to roost. Here then, was his curse. But she rather resembled a raven at the moment more than a young chicken.
“Signora Rosignoli,” he greeted her coldly. “You must know you aren’t welcome at my home.”
“Amore mio, this can’t be true.” She rose and came toward him, her gloved hands outstretched. “I’ve missed you. Tell me you’ve missed me.”
He hadn’t missed her. Had scarcely spared her a thought, engrossed as he was in his wife and his fragile, newfound sense of happiness. “If you had but written with your intentions, you could have been spared the time and expense of your trip, madam. As it is, you must leave at once.”
“Per favore, do not treat me with so much ice.” She swept closer, her skirts brushing his trousers, and laid a hand upon his chest. “Remember what we shared, my lord. Ti voglio tanto bene.”
He stopped her hand when it would have roamed lower, holding it in a firm grip to still further explorations. “You must go, Signora. I’ll see to it that you have the means to return to London at once. Do not seek me out again.”
“But my lord.” She cupped his jaw with her free hand. “Look at me and tell me I mean niente, nothing. This I do not believe.”
“Believe it.” He caught her wrist, his patience waning. Damn it, he hadn’t wanted to see her at all, but she’d refused to leave when Wilton had informed her he was not at home. He’d been shocked she would travel to the country to see him. Even more shocked she’d have the temerity to appear at Carrington House and demand an audience with him. More than anything, he hadn’t wanted Victoria, who’d yet to come downstairs for the morning, to have any knowledge of Maria’s unwanted presence. “You must leave, Maria. Our understanding is at an end.”
“No, amore mio.” She pouted. “I refuse to believe it. What can this grim old place hold for you? Come to London with me. I’ll do anything you want, qualsiasi cosa.”
Her sexual promises held no appeal for him. He felt instead oddly repelled, both by her and by himself. “The only thing I want you to do is leave. Lady Pembroke is in residence here, and I’ll not have your presence dishonor her another moment.”
“Lady Pembroke.” Maria scoffed. “Your wife means nothing to me.”
“She bloody well means everything to me,” he snapped. “Now kindly leave before my thinning patience deserts me entirely.”
“Mascalzone!” She tugged free of his grasp. “I denied the Duke of Hathaway for you.”
“Yet you’re now free to pursue him,” he observed drily.
“Bastardo! He already has taken the French nightingale as his mistress.” She spun away from him and stalked toward a large portrait of the first Duke of Cranley.
He followed her, intercepting her before she could do any more damage to his family history. How had he ever thought to entangle himself with such a creature? “Damn you, Maria, do I need to throw you over my shoulder and haul you out of here, or will you go on your own two feet?”
Maria’s thunderous expression eased suddenly as her dark gaze lit on something over his shoulder. A feline smile curved her red lips. “Bene.”
Maria possessed a true bloodlust for the destruction of his personal property. For her to so easily be distracted from her quarry meant only one thing. With a grim sense of inevitability, he turned to find Victoria on the threshold.
She wore a maroon silk day dress with gold silk underlay and a velvet bow pinned neatly on her trim waist. Her hair had been schooled into an elaborate braid atop her head with a riot of curls falling down her back. She was lovely, a study in contrast to the tempestuous woman he’d been attempting to remove from their drawing room and his life both.
His wife held herself stiffly, the color draining from her pink cheeks as she took in the tableau he and Maria surely presented. Damn it to hell. “Lady Pembroke,” he bit out.
But she either failed to hear him or ignored him, for in the next instant, she spun on her heel and left in a hushed swirl of elegant skirts. Somehow, her silence was more deafening than any cutting verbal condemnation could have been.
He turned to Maria. “Leave at once, madam. You’ve done enough harm.”
And so too had he.
Victoria stood at the window in her chamber, staring out at the vast, sprawling acres that unfurled before Carrington House. This morning, its breathtaking beauty was lost on her. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her mouth, trying with all the determination within her to squelch the sob that threatened to rise from her throat. She would not cry. She would not shed a single tear.
Signora Rosignoli was as lovely as she’d imagined. Perhaps even more so, with her glossy jet hair beneath a handsome hat and a deep blue silk gown that emphasized her flashing brown eyes and her tiny waist to perfection. Even her voice was lovely, though she supposed that ought not to come as a surprise. The woman was a celebrated opera singer, after all.
When Victoria had come upon Will and the elegant, exotic woman in the drawing room, she’d been stunned. His hands had been upon the woman’s arms. They’d been speaking lowly, their exchange animated and heated. Damn you, Maria, she’d heard him say. And Victoria had known. She’d known the identity of the stranger in her husband’s arms without needing to ask.
She realized with painful clarity that doubt and fear weighed a great deal more than any falling branch ever could, and when those twin monsters walloped a woman, they were enough to immobilize her. The silken skirts and undeniable beauty of Signora Rosignoli was the embodiment of her worries. Indeed, the Signora was the flowering vine of every small seed of misgiving Will’s actions had planted deep within Victoria’s heart.
What a fool she was. What a pathetic coward. She’d stood on the threshold, taking in the scene before her, and so many witty setdowns had tumbled over themselves in her mind. Yet she’d not spoken a single word. Instead, she’d turned and raced back to her chamber to hide as though she were a scullery maid who’d been caught filching a silver spoon.
The door to her chamber rattled, indicating someone attempted to gain entry. She’d locked it on the chance he may tear himself away from his paramour long enough to attempt to placate her. But that he’d followed so closely on her heels still surprised her.
“Victoria.” His voice was muffled, bearing an unmistakable tinge of desperation.
No, she wouldn’t answer. Would not let him in. She hugged herself, eyes trained on the green expanse below. “Go away, Pembroke.”
“Would you care for a scene? I’ll break down the goddamn door,” he warned.
“You would only do so at your own expense.”
A loud bang echoed in the silence. Perhaps it was his palm slamming against the door. She heard muffled footfalls. Very likely he was returning to his mistress’s side now. Maria, he had called her. Jealousy was an unforgiving beast. It made her hate the woman in the drawing room below. Just the notion of Will touching another woman in such tender passion, of doing to her what he’d done to Victoria…she couldn’t bear it if he wanted to carry on with a mistress. She didn’t care what was expected of the wife of an earl. Being a future duchess held no appeal for her. She had wanted only his heart, and that was a dear commodity indeed.
The door joining their chambers together rattled next. She’d locked it as well. Never let it be said that she was not a woman of preparation. “Leave me be, Pembroke. Go back to your strumpet.”
“Open this door, Victoria.” It was an imperious command, one that expected obedience.
Also never let it be said that she was a woman of obedience. “No,” she called, not moving from her watch.
“Open. The. Damn. Door.”
More pounding ensued. It suggested vehement determination. Dear heavens. Was that the sound of splintering wood? At last, she tore her gaze away from the window to find the door flying open and crashing against the wall.
He stalked into the room, his expression hard, jaw tense. In a breath, he stood before her, tall and fierce and handsome, the cad. She tipped up her chin in defiance and faced him, locating her mettle after all.
“You’re quite the actor, Pembroke. First you played the regretful husband, then the charming lover, and now the angry brute.” Her voice was devoid of emotion, and her bravado pleased her. “Tell me, which one of these roles suits you best? I confess I don’t particularly care for the angry brute, but I suppose ruining doors is preferable to being a lying reprobate.”
He caught her when she would have spun away from him, hauling her against him. “The only role that interests me is that of your husband.”
Did he think her an imbecile? She dug the heels of her palms into his chest. “You cannot expect me to believe that after I came upon you with your mistress in the drawing room.”
He refused to release her, his gaze pinned to hers as though he could make her believe him with the sheer vividness of his eyes. She looked away, fixing her vision on the window once more.
“I had no idea she would come here,” he said. “If she’d but sent word, I’d have made it bloody clear to her that she was not welcome nor will she ever again be welcome. What you came upon was me about to toss the bit of baggage out on her ear.”
Not half an hour ago, the bit of baggage had been Maria. No, he would not charm his way out of this. He could not bring his mistress into their home and hold her in his arms without consequence. “Of course you would say so now that you’ve been discovered.”
“I would say so because it’s the truth, damn it. Look at me, Victoria.”
She refused to do so, partly because it hurt her heart too much and partly because he’d demanded it. “Leave my chamber. The door was locked for good reason.”
“Please look at me.” His tone had softened. “Would you have me beg? I’ll beg.”
He dropped to his knees before her, the action so unexpected that she couldn’t help but turn back to him. He’d humbled himself, staring up at her with an expression she’d never before seen on his face. Contrition? Desperation? She couldn’t be sure.
“Begging won’t help your cause,” she said without pity.
“Then tell me what will or I’ll stay here on my knees before you until my legs go numb. I don’t mind telling you I’m rather dogged when the situation merits it.”
She wished he’d been dogged before he’d created all the wounds that seemed determined to keep reopening. “I don’t know that anything can help your cause now.”
But her traitorous heart made her picture him as he’d looked, worried and ashen-faced standing over her bedside. He’d nursed her to health. Hadn’t left her side. The fortnight since the accident had been filled with the first real happiness she’d ever experienced in her married life. However, maybe happiness was not meant to persist. Maybe it was fleeting, life’s way of lulling one into a false sense of contentment until the next runaway carriage came barreling down the road.
She wanted to tear her eyes from him and tell him to go to the devil once and for all, but something kept her trapped in his gaze and his presence. Part of her wanted to believe him. For surely he wouldn’t invite his mistress to the very home they shared after all that had passed between them. Surely their time together had meant at least half as much to him as it had to her.
“Believe me when I say that I’m sorry,” he continued as if he could sense her inner struggle. “I’m sorry for abandoning you here and for hurting you. I’m sorry for betraying our marriage vows. I’ve never been more bloody sorry in all my damn life.”
This was not the first time he’d given her an apology, but she had to admit in spite of herself that it was the first time his apology sounded…genuine. Yes, genuine. Could it be possible that he actually was sorry for his past behavior? That what she’d seen in the drawing room had not in fact been a lover’s embrace with that horrid woman? That he spoke the truth?
“I thank you for the apology,” she relented. “But I’m afraid it’s too little and far too late.”
He took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. “If I could go back and undo all the wrongs I’ve done, I would wholeheartedly do it, and I’d spare you all of this. I’d have cast aside my petty rebellion against the duke and my resentment, and I’d have seen you for who you truly are, a woman who is kind and good and blindingly lovely. I’d have been a proper husband to you. I swear it on my life, Victoria. But the fact is that I cannot change any of my mistakes. You saw one of the worst of them below in the drawing room. Her presence here is my fault and I won’t deny it. But don’t, for God’s sake, believe that I invited her here. I neither want nor need a mistress. You’re all I want.”
How could he vanquish all of her determination by dropping to his knees before her and giving her a pretty speech? She stared at him, feeling the anger lift from her chest, so too the hurt and the fear. Because he’d said exactly what she needed to hear. Because he was the man who’d given her pleasure against the wall of the music room, who’d thanked her for her work at Carrington House, the man who’d revealed his past to her, who’d noticed her dislike of eggs and the scent of her perfume, who’d saved her life and risked his own in the process. The man who’d held her hand as she lay bedridden and unconscious.
This man, the man on his knees before her who’d done all of those things, this man was the man she loved. She wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe him. God help her, if that made her a fool, then a greater fool had never lived.
“Stand,” she commanded him.
He complied with effortless grace, towering over her yet again. “Forgive me, darling. I’m so sorry for everything.”
Their hands were still joined, and she made no move to extricate herself. “Tell me why I should believe you now.”
“Because I love you,” he growled. “Jesus, there you have it. I don’t know when or how it happened, and I certainly didn’t even think such an emotion existed, but it’s the only explanation for the way I feel. Christ, I’m a milksop.”
Had he just said he’d fallen in love with her? Her dazed mind couldn’t even comprehend such a sudden reversal of fortune. Of course, there was the possibility that he merely said the words to make her forget about the sight of his opera singer in their drawing room. Maria. There was a name she could never, in good conscience, like again.
She frowned at him, more bemused than ever before. “Why would you say such a thing to me?”
“Because I’m an evil villain out to bend you to my whims,” he scoffed. “This isn’t a sensation novel, Victoria. I have no motive other than that I want you by my side for the rest of my life, and I’m not about to let a lightskirt or my own pride get in the way of that.”
Good heavens. She felt suddenly faint, as though all the air had been sucked from the room. “You love me?”
“I’ve begun to suspect that’s the odd sensation I’ve been feeling of late.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “You’re in my thoughts night and day. When I saw you felled by that branch, I thought I’d lost you. And I knew then that I never want to lose you. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Will you marry me, my darling?”
She laughed, grateful for the reemergence of his infallible sense of humor in this weighty moment. “We’re already married, you silly man.”
“Are we indeed?” He caught her about the waist, pulling her against him. “How fortuitous, for now I’m free to ravish you.”
An answering warmth pulsed between her thighs. She threw her arms around his neck and tunneled her fingers through his thick hair, holding him still as their gazes met. Before she gave in to what she wanted—what they both wanted—she would have his word. “Promise me you mean what you say, Will. Promise me that you love me.”
“Of course I mean what I say.” He feathered a kiss over her mouth, nipped her lower lip in a delicious little bite. “I promise. I love you, and I assure you that you’re quite stuck with me now.”
She dragged him to her for another kiss. He moaned, his large, knowing hands slipping down to cup her bottom. Too many layers of garments separated them. She longed for his hot, smooth skin, his broad chest against her aching nipples, his cock inside her. She longed for all of him and for everything he would do to her.
She opened for his tongue’s possessive thrust into her mouth. She could only follow her body and her heart where they led her now, and she wanted Will more than she wanted to breathe. Desire and the thrill of his admission vanquished practical thought.
Only feel. His words once more returned to her, and they held more allure than ever before. Perhaps he was leading her astray, but the path to ruin had never felt so glorious. Hurt and doubt fell away. His deft fingers found the hooks of her gown, plucking them from their moorings. He peeled her bodice to her waist. It wasn’t enough, not for either of them. The sound of rending fabric should have appalled her but it somehow had the opposite effect. Her corset cover and petticoats were gone, her silk pooled around her ankles. Her corset was next. All she had left was blind trust and the animal impulse within.
She pulled at the placket of his trousers. She needed to erase all memories of the awful Signora. Never again would she let another person come between them, she vowed to herself. Never again.
He broke their kiss, straightening to look down at her, his expression slack with passion. “Slow down, my dear. I want to make love to you.”
“Yes,” she whispered, need pulsing through her to her core. “Please, Pembroke.”
“Will,” he reminded her. “I find I’m ordinarily ‘Pembroke’ when you’re vexed with me.”
“Will.” When her fumbling fingers couldn’t seem to slide the buttons on his trousers free, she palmed his hard length. He jerked against her hand, his breathing hard. She knew a moment of gratification that he seemed every bit as affected as she.
“You’re still wearing far too much armor, my dear,” he growled, and whisked her corset, chemise, and drawers away in a blink. All she wore was fine silk stockings to her knees. And then he took her into his arms and carried her across the chamber to her bed.
As he lay her upon it, she reached up to frame his beautiful face between her palms. The slight abrasion of his whiskers was delicious upon her hypersensitive skin. He fused their mouths in a searing, open-mouthed kiss as he joined her on the bed after stripping off his trousers, underclothes, and shirt. Warm, wet heat pooled between her thighs. He brushed a tantalizing caress over her breasts, his thumbs toying with her nipples. She arched into him, sucking his tongue into her mouth, unable to get enough. He broke away to suckle the peak of a breast. His fingers went unerringly to the aching bud of her sex, working it back and forth until she was nearly mad.
“Mmm,” he murmured, tonguing the taut nipple of her other breast as he gazed up at her. “I adore the way your body responds to me, my love.”
He slid a finger inside her then. She eagerly opened her legs wider, thrusting her hips into his delicious rhythm. Another finger joined the first. She moaned, her fingers sifting through his silken hair as he tortured her responsive breasts with his mouth.
“I want you desperate for me,” he whispered, his voice a deep, rumbling seduction all its own.
Dear heavens, she was, but he had rendered her incapable of speaking. She moaned again as he kissed a path down over the curve of her belly. He cupped her bottom and angled her to his mouth, gazing up at her across her pale curves. Their eyes locked. He sucked the nub of her sex into his mouth, working it with his tongue and teeth. The sight of him pleasuring her as she wore nothing but her stockings, his wicked mouth upon her most sensitive and intimate flesh, was her undoing. She knew she ought to look away, but she could not. Before, her skirts had covered him. She hadn’t known how pleasurable it would be to watch.
His finger sank deep into her slickness as he worked his magic upon her with his mouth. It was too much to bear. She felt as if she were about to shatter into a thousand tiny, glittering shards. He tugged at her pearl with his teeth. A second finger slipped inside her, deep and angled. Oh, dear heavens. She couldn’t bear another moment. She came undone, shuddering and crying out, grinding her hips into him with shameless abandon.
Yes. This—him—was what she wanted. Was everything she wanted. She shuddered with the aftermath. He rose once more, his powerful body atop hers, pinning her to the bed. She wanted to bring him the same fulfillment he brought her. “Your turn,” she murmured, putting her hands on his shoulders and guiding him down to the bed so that he traded places with her.
She met his gaze, reveling in the unabashed desire she saw reflected in their smoky depths. She had no idea what she was doing, only that she wanted to bestow upon him the same raw pleasure he had given her. It was the ultimate gesture of her love for him. She lowered her head and took his rigid cock into her mouth. He was smoother than she’d expected. She ran her tongue up and down his length, tasting him as she sucked on the thick tip of his shaft.
“Christ, darling,” he groaned after a time. “You’re going to bloody well kill me.”
She smiled against him, continuing to suck and tease his arousal. It was wanton of her, she knew, but she loved giving him the same bliss he’d given her. Suddenly, he caught her shoulders and hauled her atop him. She was breathless as his cock pressed against where she wanted him most.
He guided her limbs so that she was fitted comfortably against him. “Rise up a bit, darling,” he directed, his hands on her waist. “That’s it.”
With one swift thrust, he was inside her. She emitted a startled exclamation. Good heavens, she was atop him. She hadn’t realized lovemaking could be done this way as well. It seemed she had much to learn.
“Ride me, my girl,” he murmured, helping her into a delicious rhythm.
Her unbound curls swept down like a curtain around them. Their gazes locked as he surged inside her again and again. She found she rather liked the feeling of power her position gave her. Leaning down, she kissed him once more. Their tongues tangled, mouths sealed as their bodies rocked together as one.
Passion crashed over her like waves upon a shore until she could no longer resist the pull of the tide. She was swept away, helplessly overcome, her sheath tightening upon him in spasm after spasm of release. He pumped faster, moving deeper until he too let go. The hot spurt of his seed went inside her as she collapsed against his chest, thoroughly spent.
They were both silent for an indeterminate amount of time, the only sound their equally ragged breathing. Will ran his hand gently up and down her back in a soothing motion and gave her a swift kiss. Everything had changed for them now. But this was his final chance. She never again wanted to discover he’d been dishonest to her, and she damn well never again wanted to find one of his courtesans in their drawing room.
“If I ever see the Signora again, I swear I shall tear the false hair right from her head,” she warned him. “You’ll find I’ll not be as forgiving now as I once was.”
He laughed, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Now that is something I’d almost like to see. Your ferocity is one of the many reasons that I love you.”
“Say it again,” she ordered on a sigh.
“Now that is something—”
“No,” she interrupted, giggling herself. “The other part.”
“I love you.”
She sighed again. She believed him, believed in what they’d just shared. How could she not? “I love you too, Will.”
Tangled up in each other’s arms, they went to dreamless sleep.