“That, I can believe,” chuffed Rafe.
“Can you blame me?” Kempton chuckled. Before he could say anything more, his mistress gestured to him and indicated that she wanted to walk about before the intermission concluded.
“She likely wants to be seen on his arm a bit more,” muttered Rafe as he watched his friend leave.
“The woman is a bit much,” Swanleigh said with a cringe.
“She isn’t the one for him, then?”
“Not even close.”
The Rank of Rakes had a longstanding consensus that Kempton, for all his easy ways with the fairer sex and thirst for entertainment, was truly the only one in their group who had ever desired a wife. The man had nearly made it down the aisle almost a decade earlier and would have been blissfully wedded to the woman of his dreams had fate not intervened and made a jaded man of him. They’d all watched Kempton spiral into a life of debauchery and pain-honed anger, but none of them was particularly equipped to offer any sort of advice. Instead, they stood by as he went through mistress after mistress and tried to convince everyone that he was managing quite well without the woman to whom he’d given his heart.
“Poor bastard.”
Rafe nodded in agreement and then turned his eye toward Victoria’s elegant profile. His skin actually tingled when she laughed. Was Kempton the poor bastard for having loved and lost, or was Rafe, for having been locked into marriage with a woman to whom he was drawn with inexplicable force? Which situation was more disastrous?
Rafe was unsure.
Following the finalbows, Odette excused both herself and her husband to disappear backstage and offer their congratulations on the well-done performance. “I would invite you to attend, but I fear Lord Blackwood may not make it out alive.” She leaned into Victoria and added conspiratorially, “As I mentioned the other day, I do not put it past some of those women to orchestrate an accident for the viscount.”
Victoria chuckled and shot Rafe a glance. “I shall keep that in mind. That knowledge may come in handy one day.”
“Plotting my demise?” Rafe asked as he tucked Victoria’s arm through his and escorted her from the box and into the milling crowd. All around them, bejeweled and perfumed patrons were chatting, blocking the way, and weaving through the throng toward the stairs and their awaiting carriages. It would be at least an hour before they were on their way back home, but Rafe did not mind—not when his wife looked up at him with mischief glittering in her eyes.
“If I tell you, then where will the fun be in the surprise of it all?”
“Leave it to me to marry a murderess,” he groaned dramatically, earning another small laugh from Victoria. “You will drop a curtain weight upon my head and flee back to America!”
“Of course not.” He could tell she was trying to stifle a smile. “I would ask the opinions of the hordes of ladies you havewronged, and I am certain we will come up with something far more creative than merely bludgeoning you.”
He chuckled in response and decided it was time to steer the subject away from his untimely death.
“Did you enjoy the performance?”
“Very much so!” she replied animatedly. “I was impressed with the beauty of the scenery. I wonder how much like an Italian villa it was.”
“I’ve never been, so I cannot comment on the accuracy.”
Victoria made a thoughtful sound and then inclined her head to a passing acquaintance. “I think I would like to travel to Italy someday. I read a journal detailing an extensive trip from the southernmost tip to the Alps. The range of climates and terrain, the food, the people, the customs…they all seemed so beautiful and remarkable.”
“Perhaps we might travel there in the future,” Rafe suggested without thinking. “I do still owe you a honeymoon trip.”
The genuine smile she gave him made his stomach perform some unfamiliar acrobatics. God, how he wanted her again…though he sincerely doubted she would welcome his advances. It was still too soon after their arguments, their accord, still too tenuous. He liked to think they understood one another better, but that had not come without its own issues and injuries.
He could appreciate how Victoria didn’t wish—nor did she deserve—to live in the shadow of the ghosts of his past. He would not pressure her to open her bed to him and make her feel as if she were merely stepping into a generic role. If he had any hope of a peaceful future, then Victoria needed to be a part of it, one way or another.
Chapter Fifteen
Victoria and Rafefound routine in those early weeks of their marriage. When Rafe wasn’t busy meeting with his men of business to secure and delegate the use of his new funds (provided timely by the elder Mr. Rockford, of course), and Victoria wasn’t occupied receiving visitors and curiosity seekers, or redecorating the house to her specifications, they spent time with the children.
May had recovered from her illness, and Victoria was quickly introduced to her true, exuberant self. The girl was a whirlwind of dark curls, squealing laughter, and pouting pleas for “just one more game.” While Dominic’s outbursts and troublemaking weren’t eradicated, everyone had admitted that he seemed to be turning into a new lad with Victoria around…and with his uncle’s more consistent presence.
Victoria wondered if Rafe had any idea how much his nephew hung upon his every word and action. How he would mimic his speech patterns, his negligently elegant way of moving and standing, the way he narrowed his eyes when he was about to say something serious. It was idolatry at its finest. Witnessing the two of them together was like gaining a window into a younger version of her husband, and watching them was quickly becoming one of her most enjoyable pastimes.
Though he could sometimes be stern in his efforts to provide discipline, Victoria knew Rafe was acting only out of goodintentions and trying to do the best he could without a decent example of his own. What tempered it was Rafe’s willingness to relax around the children. He would wrestle with Dominic, read stories to May in a multitude of amusing voices, participate in endless games and tea parties, and cuddle with Faith as if it were something he genuinely seemed to enjoy. As she watched him teach his nephew to play a game of cards—the two of them laughing and throwing good-natured verbal jabs—Victoria realized this was such a different side of her husband than Society knew. Before her very eyes, he was feeling out his new identity, and it suited him.
However, whenever Rafe caught her watching, he would temper his behavior. It was almost as if he was embarrassed by his boyish enjoyment of these idyllic moments he’d likely never enjoyed when he’d been a child, himself. For a man who seemed the least self-conscious person alive, it was a fascinating difference to witness. So, lest she ruin the children’s time with their uncle, she would often pretend to be very invested in whatever correspondence had arrived that day. That, at least, was not difficult to feign.
