“Tart.” She sent her fist into his stomach again, but he was laughing so hard he didn’t grunt for her.
He was wiping his eyes, still chuckling. “Shall I help you with that gown, Victoria?”
“Yes, please.” It was one that Lucia had chosen, assuming that she would have a maid, which she didn’t, nor did she expect to have one now.
She felt his warm hands on her, and responded quickly. Would it always be like this? she wondered, and devoutly prayed it would be. She held herself perfectly still.
She walked quickly to the painted Indian screen in the far corner of the mammoth bedchamber, a magnificent piece brought from Ceylon by a great-great uncle, and eased off her traveling gown. She peeked about the edge of the screen. “Rafael, could you please hand me my dressing gown? It’s on the bed.”
Some ten minutes later they lay together on the huge bed. Rafael yawned. “Come here and let me hug you. It’s been far too long.”
It sounded a fine idea, and she complied. It had been too long, since last night. Much too long.
She fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, her palm over his heart.
16
I am the very pink of courtesy.
—SHAKESPEARE
Victoria was being warm, excessively polite, and altogether adorable, Rafael thought as he listened to her wax enthusiastic about the wonders of the Pewter Room, an innocuous enough topic to pursue while the servants were serving dinner. “So utterly magnificent,” she finished, eyeing the very generous helping of red mullet Jeffrey had given her.
Rafael was watching Damien’s face while she spoke, but his twin’s expression remained that of a mildly interested host.
“More wine, sir?”
Rafael nodded and said nothing until the footman, Jeffrey, had resumed his post by the dining room’s double doors.
“I do wonder, brother,” Rafael said at last, “why you honored my wife and me with such splendid lodgings. Remember as boys we got hided once for tracking mud onto the carpet?”
“And told—rather, ordered—never to set our grubby feet in that room again. Yes, I remember quite well. As for giving you and Victoria that room, why not? I trust you no longer have grubby feet or hands?”
“Upon occasion, but I shall be on my best behavior.” Rafael turned to Elaine and continued smoothly, “I look forward to meeting my niece.”
“How unusual,” Elaine said, and helped herself to a crimped salmon with hollandaise sauce.
“Why?” Rafael’s black brow shot up a good inch.
“Gentlemen don’t particularly wish to be bothered with children.” She looked down at the expanse of table toward Damien. “Particularly little girl children.”
“Damaris is fine,” Damien said easily. “And soon she will have a little brother to play with.”
“And your precious heir for Drago Hall,” Elaine added, and Victoria thought she heard a touch of bitterness in her cousin’s voice. But why? Any man with property and a title to pass on must have an heir.
“Why, certainly,” said Damien easily. Conversation died. Victoria could think of nothing at all scintillating to say, so she merely kept her head down and continued chewing on her red mullet and her ris de veau aux tomates.
She raised her eyes after a few moments and saw that Damien was looking at her. He made her very aware that her shoulders were bare and her breasts were pushed up high, with only a confection of fine blonde lace keeping her bosom in place. Rafael, who’d assisted her to dress for dinner, had told her she looked delicious as creamy blancmange, since she didn’t appear to care for comparisons having to do with tarts. She’d fashioned her hair on top of her head, threaded a pale peach ribbon through the curls, and brushed two thick curls over her shoulder. She thought she looked well enough and was pleased. Pleased until they’d joined Damien and Elaine in the drawing room and Damien had looked at her as if she were naked. She stuck close to Rafael’s side, but if he wondered at her sudden and uncommon wifely clinging, he made no comment.
Victoria tried to keep her face expressionless and merely nodded toward Damien. Dinner continued with haunch of venison, boiled capon, oysters, and green peas.
Damien gave a nod, and the servants silently left the dining room.
“This room is positively medieval,” Rafael said, eyeing the heavy dark furnishing that filled the long, rather narrow room. Dark wainscoting climbed up three walls, and one could easily imagine flambeaux with rushlight torches on the walls rather than the modern classic, elegant chandelier above the mahogany table.
Elaine merely nodded to Rafael, then said without preamble to Victoria, “You look different.”
“It’s the gown. I am no longer wearing schoolgirl clothes. Lady Lucia picked it out for me.”