She had made it.
She had trudged the mired road for two hours. Not really, of course. But it had certainly felt as though hours had passed her by. Innumerable coaches had. It had obviously been a well-used highway. Probably only ten or fifteen minutes had gone by before a coach stopped. A jewel-encrusted, very unconventional lady had poked her head out the window and offered her a ride to London. Victoria had accepted without hesitation, as she had no time to consider safety or consequences if she wished to arrive at St. George’s before Taviston left in disgust.
The lady turned out to be the eccentric Countess of Portsmouth. A raucous and brash woman, the countess had ignored Victoria’s bedraggled appearance and inquired about her destination. The lady willingly agreed to take her to St. George’s and then launched into a disjointed account of her recent visit to her estate in Bedfordshire, requiring only an occasional nod from Victoria. Soon enough they had arrived in Mayfair and her ladyship had finally questioned whose wedding Victoria was to attend. The lady had accepted an invitation to attend with outright glee.
Victoria fell back across the bed. Lady Portsmouth had made a loud and somewhat ill-mannered guest at the breakfast, but Victoria did not care. Her ladyship had conveyed her to the church just in time. It had been twenty minutes past ten and Victoria did not doubt that Taviston had been contemplating leaving.
While the trial of the kidnapping and the rush back to London had strained her nerves considerably, the actual joy and relief of finding Taviston still standing at the altar had been her emotional undoing. At that moment her fondest desire had been to collapse at his feet and reveal her heart to him. But greater wisdom had prevailed, and she had gathered as much dignity as she could, leaned on Mr. Browne as much as possible, and made her way up the aisle.
Oddly enough, the last thing she had wanted to do upon arriving at the church was to marry Taviston. She wanted to hold him, kiss him, stroke his hair, generally anything that would allow her to cling to him. Instead, she had been trapped in her own wedding ceremony, in a soiled and torn gown. Next to her, Taviston had looked the debonair, polished groom, ever so handsome in his blue coat and snug white pantaloons.
Once they were officially married and in the landau outside the church, their kiss had settled her nerves like nothing else could. Until she had spotted Anthony Ripley in the cheering throng. Her publisher had not been celebrating. He had been watching her intensely. He had recognized her. There was no way he could not know who sat beside her in the carriage. Therefore, he knew she was now the Duchess of Taviston. He knew she’d lied.
The question was, what would he do with that knowledge? Ruin her? Unleash another scandal upon her and Taviston? Victoria didn’t know whether to confront him or wait until he made a move. Or had he already made a move and had her kidnapped?
But no, Mr. Ripley was a solid citizen who ran a profitable printing house. Why would he stop her from marrying? If he had even known the truth before today.
Oh, what a mess. A duchess shouldn’t have such problems.
She sat up at the sound of scratching on her door. After pausing, she jumped up with a grin and threw open the door. Arthur marched in, tail high.
“Hello there, sire!” She gathered him up and carried him back to the bed. “I have missed you so, Arthur. I assume I shall be seeing much more of you now that we both will reside with Taviston.”
“Meowwww.” Arthur rolled onto his back and offered her his belly.
Victoria complied, petting him softly. Something loosened inside of her. The day hadn’t been all terrible. Towards the end of the ceremony, she had inspected Taviston’s clothing more closely and discovered his garments were not as pristine as he had most likely thought. A fine layer of grey fur clung to the soft white fabric of his muscled thigh.
“Thank you for keeping him company, Arthur.”
He gave her a baleful look and commenced washing himself.
Sliding off the bed, Victoria went to her dressing table. She sat down and took one pin out of her hair. When she had come up to change her gown, she had done her best to rearrange it. Her eyes traveled down to the sea-blue silk she had donned. The vibrant color complemented her light hair and blue eyes and had boosted her spirit as well. Taviston had been right. Drat him.
Did he have to continue to be so nice to her? She had anticipated him being standoffish, indignant, and thoroughly irritated with her. But no, he had offered her strength during the wedding and had even coaxed a smile from her with his wiggling ear. Throughout the last twelve hours he had been nothing but solicitous and supportive. Granted, much of his behavior was for the benefit of their guests, but she had sensed an underlying sincerity.
She glared at herself in the mirror. So, what was wrong with having such a kind husband? Her shoulders slumped and she pulled another pin from her hair.
The problem was that she loved him all the more for his attentive and gracious behavior. As he unwittingly took larger and larger pieces of her heart, what remained behind filled with even greater pain. She brought her elbows up to rest on the dressing table and buried her face in her hands.
A door clicked open and she turned to look at the mahogany door that gave onto the main hallway of the west wing. It remained closed. Taviston cleared his throat and she whirled around to find him standing in the far corner of the room, on the other side of the fireplace.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Good evening.”
More pleasantness. Victoria stifled a sigh. After all, what did she want him to be? Nasty?
She gestured toward the door behind him. “Where does that lead?”
“To my bedchamber,” he replied while striding across the floor towards her.
Not quite certain she was ready for her wedding night, she quickly spun back around to the mirror and began pulling pins out, giving her nervous hands something to do. Within seconds though Taviston stood behind her and did the same. Her hands tangled with his as they both tried to accomplish the same goal. She found his grey eyes in the mirror and lowered her hands to her lap when she saw their intensity.
He finished with the pins and then drew his fingers through her hair like a comb. Victoria suppressed a delighted shudder. Her eyes drifted shut and she savored the decadent caresses.
He abruptly stopped, though, and said in a casual tone, “Do we have time to discuss this morning’s events?”
Her eyes flew open and connected with his questioning gaze in the glass. Did she detect a speck of amusement in there as well? She rose and turned to face him.