Moonspun Magic (Magic Trilogy 3)

When he wasn’t with her, as he wasn’t now, she remembered well his nastiness on their wedding night and her two feet were firmly planted in blunt reality. And his afternoon charm had worn off a bit, like rice powder.

Victoria knew she wanted to believe Rafael had changed from a bitter and vindictive man to the charming and loving man she’d ridden with all afternoon. After all, an olive branch was an olive branch, and he’d offered it so charmingly. She sighed again as she slipped her blue silk gown over her head. And she had unbent so completely to him, grabbing that olive branch with great alacrity. And for more than just a little while. He quite simply blinded her with his charm.

At least now, away from him, she thought, viciously forcing the last button through its small opening, she could see things more clearly. She sat at her dressing table and picked up her hairbrush. She frowned at her face. Why? Why had Rafael changed?

It was miserable to be constantly at war with each other. But he had started the war. Since that was the case, she supposed he believed he could just as easily and quickly end it.

She leaned closer to the mirror as she threaded a dark blue velvet ribbon through the curls atop her head. In the soft candlelight, flashing beacons of red and blond and deep brown shimmered through her chestnut hair. She decided that she looked well enough.

She paused a moment, turning slightly toward the mirror behind her dressing table. Perhaps it was the candlelight or the high ceilings of her bedchamber that gave off strange shadows and shades, but she realized with a start that she looked not just well enough. She looked well beyond acceptable. She stared a moment at her bare shoulders and nearly bare bosom, pushed upward by the stiff band of material beneath her breasts. White, she thought. She looked very white and soft and very female. And Rafael would think so.

And that was why he wanted to make peace with her.

He wanted to take her to bed.

He wanted to know if she was a virgin.

How could a man know that? she wondered, turning away from the mirror. Could a woman tell if a man were also a virgin?

Victoria pulled back her shoulders and headed down the winding staircase to the small drawing room on the first floor. Rafael was waiting for her there, a snifter of brandy in his hand. He looked remarkably handsome in his severe black evening garb, offset with the snowy white linen. A man shouldn’t be blessed with such a silver shade of gray eyes or with such thick long lashes.

Then he smiled at her and she felt like a very cloudy day that had just been given a strong dose of sun.

“You look lovely,” she blurted out.

Rafael blinked, for words of a similar nature had been on his tongue, ready to fire off. “Thank you,” he said, grinning. “You’re not such an affliction for the eyes yourself. You look enchanting in that shade of blue.”

She merely nodded at his compliment, seeing him with new eyes. He was her husband, yes, he was, and he also looked quite determined and steely behind that layer of charming nonsense he was spreading so smoothly.

“Would you care for a glass of sherry?”

She nodded again. When he handed her the crystal glass, his fingers lightly touched hers. His flesh felt warm and smooth and hard. She willed herself to show no reaction. She should, she thought bitterly, as a virgin, jump out of her skin with maidenly fright whenever he even came near her. If he touched her, she supposed she should shriek with downright horror. She did nothing, merely stood quietly and silently, sipping her sherry.

At that moment, Mrs. Ripple appeared in the doorway, a smile on her wide mouth that showed the space between her front teeth, to announce dinner.

“She always smiles when she tells us to come to a meal,” Victoria said. “It makes me feel like the sacrificial lamb. I wonder what she has concocted this evening.”

“I just hope it’s recognizable,” Rafael said as he offered her his arm. She grinned and he decided that the truce was going well. So he looked lovely, did he? That made him want to smile. No woman had quite told him that before. As for his wife, he was honest: she looked immensely pretty, both in and out of that blue silk. As a man with some experience with women, he knew she’d spent more than a usual amount of time on her appearance. That pleased him. The night ahead would progress nicely, he hoped, and not become the desert of the past nights.

There was no conversation between them until Mrs. Ripple, having served them, left them alone in the small dining room to face the dinner.

“I believe it’s beef,” Victoria said. “Boiled.”

“Yes, but it won’t be too dry. All the fat is on it.”

Whatever was on it, Victoria ignored the platter and took a helping of boiled potatoes and carrots. She began to eat without thinking about the taste of boiled parsley.

“She does try, very hard,” she said after some moments.

“Yes. If we were fat folk, she would be the perfect cook.”

“Rafael?”

“Hmmm?” Rafael didn’t look up. He was at the moment intent on cutting off a large ridge of fat from a slice of beef.

“How can a woman tell if a man is a virgin?”

His fork clattered to the plate. He looked at her perfectly serious face in blank surprise.