ill had given her the most docile mare in the stables. The horse was so calm, in fact, that Victoria would have sworn she was sleeping on her hooves except that she kept plodding along at an exceedingly slow pace. Pembroke, meanwhile, rode a horse as sleek as it was fast. They’d only been riding for a few minutes and already she grew tired of having a view of his mount’s hindquarters.
“Will,” she called.
He stopped and turned back to her. “What is it, my dear?”
“I thought you said you wanted me to accompany you.”
He frowned as she caught up to him and reined in her sluggish horse. “You are accompanying me.”
“Not precisely.” Her mare began nosing through a clump of grass, deciding it was time for a second breakfast. “I’ve been staring at your back the entire time.”
“I’ve been told I have a delightfully broad back. I thought you may have wanted to admire it.”
His tone was deadly serious. Victoria searched his bland expression, trying to discern if he was having her on. She couldn’t tell. Each day with him proved an altogether enlightening experience. Finally, he laughed, the hard planes of his handsome face softening. There was much more to him, she thought, than the stranger who had abandoned her in favor of living a wastrel’s life in London. He continued to surprise her and work his way deeper into her heart. Drat the man.
“I’m teasing you, Victoria.” He grinned at her. “Don’t you Americans ever laugh?”
An answering smile tugged at her lips. “Of course we do.”
He sobered. “I suppose I haven’t given you much cause for levity.” He paused, his gaze intense upon hers. “Let’s dismount and take a walk.”
Without waiting for her response, he dropped from his mount with effortless grace and reached up to assist her. His hands circled her waist as he helped her to the ground. When her feet were safely in the grass once more, however, he didn’t release her from his hold. Instead, his hands lingered upon her, his tall form pressing into her diminutive one.
“You are impossibly lovely,” he murmured, his head lowering toward hers.
She turned her face at the last moment, presenting him with her cheek instead of her lips. He kissed her just the same, but his grip tightened on her.
“Am I being punished for this morning?”
Victoria tore her eyes from his, lest she allow him to charm her into indulging in the passion flaring even now between them. She wanted to show him she could be as unaffected as he by their encounters. Of course, that wasn’t at all true, but she had a suspicion that she shouldn’t allow him to see her entire hand in the game they played.
“What have you done that requires punishment?” she asked in lieu of answering his query.
He released his grip on her waist with one hand and gently touched her chin, forcing her to look at him once more. His gaze was blue, snapping with seductive fire and something indefinable. Penance? She couldn’t be certain.
“I left you in haste this morning,” he said lowly. “I’m aware I was an ass. I cannot make an excuse for myself, save to say that I meant you no insult. My mind was simply weighed down with weightier matters.”
She raised a brow. “Weightier matters?”
He cleared his throat, looking ill at ease. “Estate business,” he clarified with obvious ambiguity.
“Indeed?” It was her turn to raise a brow. “I was under the impression you haven’t ever handled estate matters here at Carrington House.”
“Devil take it, you’re a prying woman,” he groused. “Very well, if you must have it, I was overwhelmed by the realization that I cannot seem to get enough of my lovely wife.”
She didn’t think she believed that explanation any more than his first. But his words sent desire slipping through her wanton body just the same. “Somehow, I suspect you’re mocking me.”
“Not at all, my dear.” His eyes darkened. He caressed her cheek again. “I wouldn’t jest about that.” He traced a path down her throat, stopping at the first fastener on her high-necked riding habit. “Bloody hell, you’re always over-buttoned.”
Victoria laughed at his frustrated observation, partially to dispel the troubling surge of want swirling through her. “It’s the first stare of fashion, you know.”
“Fashion should think a bit more about a man who wants to debauch his wife,” he grumbled, unhooking the top button from its mooring. “There we are. Only eight hundred more to go.”
“Pembroke,” she protested, scandalized that he was beginning to disrobe her in the middle of the day, in the open air.
“I’m back to Pembroke, am I?” He continued opening her bodice. “I shall have to remedy that.”
Taking a fortifying breath, she forced herself to look over his shoulder. His horse was starting to wander. It presented the perfect excuse to regain her ability to resist him. “You may want to tether our horses first. I’m certain mine won’t travel too far from her meal, but yours is another matter entirely.”
“Damn.” Wearing an aggrieved look, he released her and strode after his horse.
Victoria deemed it best to undo the damage he’d wrought upon her smart wardrobe. Quickly, she refastened her bodice. She watched as he secured both horses before turning back to her. The moment was alive with sunshine and possibilities. She had to admit he cut a dashing figure in his riding breeches. He was tall, lean and muscular. The intensity in his eyes made her heart kick up its pace.
He stopped a scant few inches from her, giving her a boyish grin. “Now where were we? You’ve done yourself back up. That’s against the rules.”
She tried not to smile as it would only serve to encourage him. “I wasn’t aware there were any rules involved.”
“Only rules of my making.” He winked.
“You aren’t a fair competitor, my lord.”
He snagged an arm around her waist and dragged her into his hard body. “Is this the first time you’ve become aware of that fact, dearest wife?” He lowered his head, close enough to kiss.
Oh he was tempting her again already, the sinful man. Best to stave him off by any means possible. Her mind fogged. “Perhaps you should tell me what the rules are before I begin playing the game.”
“I must say I’ve always preferred the element of surprise,” he told her before taking her mouth in a crushing kiss.
Her arms wound about his neck of their own volition. She opened for his tongue, reveling in the sensual way he dipped inside her mouth to taste and tease. His hands slid up the small of her back in a possessive brand. Her resolve crumbled as if it were a ship being dashed against a rocky shore. She wanted him, and he knew precisely how to make her give in to her desires.
Victoria pressed closer to him, breathing in his divine scent. She returned his kiss with all the fervor clamoring to life within her. Somehow, it no longer mattered that they’d begun the morning badly. All she could feel was his powerful body, his knowing touch, his claiming kiss.
Dear heavens. What did he do to her?
He broke the kiss at last, making a muted sound in his throat. Her breathing was ragged, her stays cutting into her waist as she struggled to regain her senses. She clung to him, not wanting the embrace to end. He looked down at her, his eyes fierce, sparkling with naked desire.
“I’m beginning to regret I suggested riding instead of merely returning to your chamber.” He sighed. “Let’s take our walk, shall we? If we linger another minute, I fear I’ll take you here in the grass like a common stable boy.”
A mixture of disappointment and relief speared her. She took his proffered arm and started off with him. Thankfully, she’d worn a pair of serviceable boots. Otherwise, her shoes would have been ruined by the uneven, damp ground. At least she could maintain her sanity when he wasn’t kissing her, she reasoned.
“It’s a lovely day,” she murmured, opting for a safer subject. And it truly was. While she’d only grown accustomed to English weather slowly, she was beginning to admire it for its dramatic, often mercurial nature. Everything seemed so much more vibrant, greener, and more alive than New York.
“Fair weather today indeed,” he agreed, his tone light and affable.
One almost wouldn’t guess he had nearly been about to make love to her in the weeds. But Victoria knew, and it still sent a raging fire through her blood. She tried to focus on the scenery, the lush trees and verdant fields. In the distance, sheep grazed in a pastoral setting. The result was quite picturesque, even if she continued to catch herself stealing sidelong glances at her husband’s handsome profile.
“Where are you taking me?” she had to ask. He was guiding her down a path that led into a thick, seemingly ancient copse of trees.
“To the river, my dear.” He patted the hand that rested in the crook of his elbow. “You’ve appallingly little faith in your husband, have you not?”
She bit her lip as she mulled over how to answer that particular question. The truth was that she had faith and yet she did not. Just when she trusted, it seemed she ought not to do so. He was a conundrum indeed.
“On second thought, leave whatever’s rattling about in your pretty head unspoken.” He sighed. “I can tell from your expression that it won’t be anything I’d prefer to hear.”
She cocked her head, considering him as they continued to tramp on. “I won’t say it then.”
“Good.” His grip on her tightened. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
Victoria laughed. “Have you anything in mind?”
“My dear girl, how can I have aught in mind when I don’t know it yet?”
Another burst of laughter escaped her. He could be rather entertaining when he chose, and his charm seemed effortless. “What interests you? That is what I meant to say.”
“Hmm.” He looked down at her, his eyes dancing with merry blue light. “What of your family? How many siblings have you?”
She pursed her lips. He ought to have known. “I told you while we were courting. Don’t you remember?”
His expression clouded. “Ah, yes. There are five of you, aren’t there?”
“Six,” she corrected, her tone tart. He hadn’t listened to a word she’d ever said, had he?
“Just so.” He cleared his throat. “Felicitations on your new sibling.”
“Libby is twelve years old,” she pointed out unkindly.
“Christ,” he muttered, abruptly halting their walk to face her and take both her hands in his. He was very serious as he gazed down upon her, his face stark with masculine beauty. “I have a confession to make, my dear. I wasn’t a good suitor to you. If you were speaking, chances are strong I wasn’t listening. Pray don’t hate me for it, but there it is.”
She had suspected as much by now, but his admission nevertheless stung. “I don’t hate you,” she allowed, “but I must admit I’m not terribly impressed. Am I so boring then?”
“Not at all.” He squeezed her fingers, trapped as they were in his large grasp. “It is merely that I was that much of an ass.”
No point in saving him the shame, she decided. For the first time in his life, he ought to pay what was due. “You were.”
He brought her hands to his lips for a pair of kisses that sent desire skittering through her. “Forgive me, my dear?”
“I suppose so,” she conceded. “But when next I ask you, you had better be able to tell me that I am the eldest of six daughters.”
“Six daughters?” He looked aghast. “Don’t tell me we’re to have all girls as well. I’ll go mad.”
The mentioning of their future children sent an entirely different sort of emotion washing over her. Good heavens. Even though she had reconciled herself to the fact that she was expected to produce an heir for his family, she hadn’t truly given the notion much thought beyond that. She thought of their lovemaking the previous night and earlier that morning. Victoria was certain she was flushing cherry red.
She forced her mind back to the topic at hand. She’d been berating him, not mooning over him, drat it all. “Yes, six girls,” she confirmed. “Take note of their names as well, since you ought to know them by now. There is Rose, Lillian, Edith, Pearl and Libby.”
As she spoke their names, it occurred to her just how much she missed them. They were all younger than she in age but dear in their own ways. Sometimes, New York and her old life there still beckoned her with its cozy familiarity and the comfort of knowing she was well-loved.
“Right,” he interrupted her thoughts. “Roberta, Laura, Edith, Pearl and Louisa.” His tone was hopeful.
“Rose, Lillian, and Libby.” She gave him a good-natured swat. “You’ll meet them all someday, I expect, and then you’ll be able to recall their names. I’m sure they plan to follow in my footsteps.”
“God help them,” he remarked, his voice drenched in self-deprecation.
“God and their sister,” she said, striving to lighten the mood. “I know how to navigate the treacherous social waters on this side of the world.”
“Thank Christ you’re a forgiving soul,” he muttered. “Lord knows I don’t deserve you.”
“No,” she granted, happy he’d noticed but wanting to make him squirm just a bit, “you don’t.”
Rose, Lillian, Edith, Pearl and Libby. Good Christ, he was going to have a gaggle of daughters before he ever had an heir. If he even sired an heir, that was. He should have been suitably horrified. But the devil of it was, he didn’t truly give a damn. If Victoria bore him a dozen daughters, they would all still be theirs, bright-eyed, flaxen-haired little girls to be cherished.
Damn it to hell. He was getting maudlin. He dropped her hands, determined to resume their walk without further sentimentality. He ought to have known better than to have brought up her family, by God. What was the matter with him? Had making love to her addled his mind? Very likely, for his cock was raging just standing at her side.
He’d thought his mad desire for her would dissipate, but it was growing worse.
What to do? Right, he’d been attempting to show her the river before he’d gone hopelessly afield. He offered her his arm once more. “Shall we continue on in our walk, my dear? Have you seen the river here yet? It’s something to behold.”
He recalled splashing about in it as a boy on the occasions his family had taken up residence at Carrington House. They had come often until that awful last visit. His mother had lost a babe, another brother, and had succumbed not long thereafter to childbed fever. While no one had been certain whether the father of the stillborn had been the duke or the duchess’s lover of the moment, the babe’s death had confirmed Pembroke as the sole heir.
Thereafter, the duke had sent him off to Harrow. Carrington House had been closed until he took possession of it as an adult. And now, he was here, his unwanted-turned-wanted American wife at his side. Perhaps he’d overlooked precisely how comforting it could be to know that another soul was his mate for life. He found he rather enjoyed marriage after all.
“Are you well, Will?” Her concerned voice cut through his troubled musings. “Your face is suddenly bereft of color.”
He realized he’d been gripping her arm with too much force, so lost had he become in his tumultuous thoughts. He took a deep, steadying breath, gazing down into his wife’s sweet, heart-shaped face. She was ineffably lovely, her hair artfully piled beneath a jaunty hat, her lips wide and lush, her eyes greener than the grass at his feet. His cock surged against his riding breeches. What the devil did she do to him?
And he’d thought this a game. Bloody hell, he’d thought it a game he’d won.
“I’m not certain if I am well,” he startled himself by revealing. Apparently, she had turned him into a milksop.
“What is it?” She slid a bracing arm around him, leaning into his side as if he could somehow soak up some of her strength.
He didn’t know how she could be so open and kind to him after the beastly way he’d treated her. Even now, he lied to her still, while she remained unwavering in her belief there was good in him after all. There wasn’t good in him. If there was, he would have told her the truth right then and let her choose to leave him as she ought.
Instead, he was too selfish to let her go. He put an arm around her cinched waist, holding her to him as if he could forever keep her there, although he knew he hadn’t the right. “The river is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Wide yet shallow, the river cut through the eastern corner of the Carrington House lands. It was one of the rare treasures of the property, a place one needed to know existed in order to seek it out. As a lad, he’d come here often, never imagining one day he’d stand here with his wife.
“It’s lovely,” Victoria agreed. “But you haven’t answered my question.”
She was a persistent little woman, that much was certain. He sighed, wondering how much he should divulge. No one had ever cared enough to ask him about his past. “Carrington House is where my mother died,” he shared. “She’d lost another babe, her fourth or fifth, I think. It was too much the last time. She took fever and died.”
“I’m sorry, Will.” She turned to him then, taking him into her arms.
“She wasn’t a kind woman, but she was my mother. Watching her wither and suffer was not pleasant, regardless.” He held her tightly, burying his face in the soft, sweetly scented skin of her neck. Her embrace touched a part of him he hadn’t known existed, filling his chest with warmth and something indefinably odd. He felt deeply connected to her in that moment, in a way he’d never known with another person, and it scared the hell out of him. But damn if he didn’t savor it just the same.
“Does it hurt you to be here?” she asked quietly.
“No.” He pressed a kiss to her throat. “Not with you, my dear. You’ve transformed everything, it seems.” He paused, lifting his head to look down upon her. Their gazes clashed, hers filled with sincerity and caring. He tamped down the twinge of conscience that told him to confess everything to her then and there. “Even me.”
She reached up, cupping his cheek with her small hand, a smile brightening her face and rendering her even more beautiful. “Thank you for confiding in me. I hope I can help you to build new memories here.”
Not long ago, he would’ve told her he didn’t want to build new memories with her, neither at Carrington House nor elsewhere. Not long ago, he’d been content to live the selfish life of pleasure seeker, devoted only to enraging and embarrassing the duke. Not long ago, this was the very last place he’d imagined himself, and this ridiculous feeling of emotion swelling inside his chest would’ve been something he mocked and scoffed at.
Something shifted inside him then. The sun glowed overhead and birds chirped, and the river made the same steady rush he recalled from when he was a lad. It was as though time hadn’t passed, as though nothing had altered in all his life, neither man nor nature nor beast. This day, however, was different. Everything was different.
She had made it so. She, his American wife who had attacked him with a book on his first night back, who had begun transforming his dilapidated ancestral home with her keen wit and motivation even as he callously abandoned her. She, who possessed a giving heart and a determination he admired. Yes, she was beautiful, it was true, but she was far more than her freckles, long gilt curls, and luscious curves. She was good and compassionate and forgiving. She was gentle, vulnerable, kind. So easy to crush. He had almost crushed the goodness within her once. He vowed never to do so again.
It wasn’t escape he wanted. It was his wife, and not for any reason other than the way she made him feel. Jesus, the way she looked at him, as if he were a man worthy of her love. He was the least worthy man in all of England. But he wouldn’t think of that. Not yet. He wasn’t willing to relinquish his hold on their fragile bond.
He yanked her against him for a long, possessive kiss. “Let’s begin making new memories right here, Victoria. Right now.”
A sudden, loud crack pierced his awareness. Not thunder. Not a gunshot. A falling branch. He caught her arms and shoved her from him, looking up instinctively to find the source among the centuries’ old trees on the riverbank. It happened so fast, the huge dead branch dropping from the sky above them. No time to think. He shoved her, hoping she’d drop safely out of the way.
There was another crack as something hit the back of his head, then an ominous thud. His vision went black. He dropped to his knees, felled by the blow, arms groping for her. Victoria? Where was she? He couldn’t be sure if his lips moved, if he was capable of speech. Nothingness swirled up to meet him. He fell into the dark, gaping chasm, his last thought that he had to protect her.