“Taviston!” A deeply appalled masculine voice echoed down the hallway.
“Oh, goodness!” A truly horrified female voice trailed off at the end.
“Oh dear!” Another female voice, quieter, but equally taken aback, chimed in.
“Good God, man!” A very deep, male voice shook with outrage.
VICTORIA WENT COMPLETELY still at the cacophony of voices barreling down the hallway. Still tingling with the fervor of their passion, she actually felt a sense of loss when Taviston withdrew his mouth from her breast.
He hung his head over her chest and let loose some very choice curses.
She lifted her head slightly and said with a nervous laugh, “I daresay your curses are more colorful than mine!”
He wouldn’t even raise his head. Apparently now was not the time for humor. Well, they were both idiots not to have heard the others or noticed lights flickering off the walls.
Lord Northfield’s loud voice shot out of the semi-darkness. “I think we should all stop right here.”
“See here, Northfield—” That would be Mr. Browne.
Jane and Louisa began talking at the same time.
“Quiet!” the marquess said with deadly force and the others hushed immediately.
Taviston surreptitiously pulled her bodice back over her breast. Victoria was afraid to take a breath.
“Taviston?” Thankfully his lordship’s voice still sounded as if he were down the hall a bit.
“Yes?” Taviston said with a chill in his voice that made her shiver.
“There is a sitting room right off this gallery. I’m sure you remember it. We will gather there, and you and Miss Forster will join us within five minutes.” Lord Northfield didn’t ask, he commanded.
“Very well,” came Taviston’s quiet reply.
He still lay half atop her and his port-scented breath fanned her face. As humiliating as this was, she still wanted to pull his lips back to hers. Who would have guessed such a wanton nature lay beneath her skin?
She heard the rustle of the ladies’ skirts as they moved off to the nearby sitting room.
The marquess spoke again. “Five minutes, no more, Taviston.” There was not a hint of friendship in his tone. He could have been speaking to a stranger.
“I heard you the first time,” Taviston replied between clenched teeth. His mouth hovered directly over hers.
Victoria couldn’t help herself; she lifted her head and kissed him squarely on the lips, somehow hoping to make all of his tension disappear.
Removing himself from the chaise rather hurriedly, Taviston reached out a hand to help her up. In the dimness she couldn’t make out his expression, but as he stuffed his shirt back into his pantaloons, he never turned his eyes to her and anger hung in the air around him.
She spotted his cravat on the floor as he began working the buttons on his waistcoat. Picking up the linen square, she pushed the cravat into his hand and began buttoning up the shiny green and yellow waistcoat herself. He stood stock still for a moment and she fully expected him to protest. But he didn’t. He quickly tied a simple knot around his neck and tucked the cravat into his shirt.
Victoria finished with his buttons and turned to attend to her hair. Keeping herself as busy as possible, she avoided any semblance of thinking. She didn’t trust herself to do so right now. Taviston’s fury did not sit well with her at all. What right did he have to be angry with her?
He stepped closer to her and gently turned her so her back was to him. After fastening up her gown with steady hands, he walked away and picked up his lamp from the table. He came back to her side and raised it, casting a glow on her face. She lowered her lashes. She had no idea what she was feeling, but whatever it was, she did not want to reveal it to him.
Raising his hand, he tenderly tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers trail down the side of her neck. In that moment she realized he wasn’t furious with her; he was incensed with himself.
Finally, he spoke. “Shall we?”
Still not comfortable speaking, she nodded. He led her a short way down the gallery then flung open a closed door. Victoria stepped around him and entered.
The sitting room was awash in light. Someone had lit every single lamp and candle in the room. Lord Northfield, Jane, Louisa, Mr. Browne, and oh dear, Lady Smitherton, had formed a circle in the center of the room.