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Damien tried to smile, but it was difficult. He’d failed. “How?” he asked, not moving, his body aching with need for her. “How did you know I wasn’t Rafael?”
She looked at him squarely, and her voice was icy calm. “I felt nothing when you touched me. I felt nothing when you kissed me. Then I felt disgust when your tongue touched my mouth. With Rafael, I feel everything that is wonderful. Go away. You’re a pig, Damien.”
His look was ugly. “You’re lying, Victoria. You wanted me. Oh, yes, I know you’re wild with my twin, and you will be as wild with me.”
She slapped him, hard. His head flew to the side with the power of her blow. Neither of them moved. Damien lightly stroked his fingertips over his cheek. He said very softly, “You will pay for that.”
But Victoria paid no attention. She grabbed her riding skirts and ran full-tilt from the stable toward Drago Hall. Her breath was coming in short gasps. She was trembling. It had been Damien, Damien all along. He’d worn Rafael’s clothes, he’d spoken of Honeycutt Cottage, the kitchen . . .
She stopped dead in her tracks, the edifice of Drago Hall looming over her. She closed her eyes, feeling such fear and humiliation that she couldn’t think straight.
“Come with me.”
She blinked, and stared at Rafael, who was standing on the top stone step of the Hall.
“Rafael?” Her voice sounded tentative, uncertain, and he frowned fiercely down at her.
A black brow arched upward and his tone was snide. ?
??Who did you think it was, Victoria? My twin, for example?”
“I couldn’t be all that certain. You see—”
He slashed a hand through the air. “Enough. I said to come with me. Now.” And he turned on his heel and strode through the great front doors, not looking back.
Victoria stared after him; her back stiffened, anger filling her. What was wrong with him? She followed him, but saw that he was turning toward the small estate room. She ignored him, and picked up her skirts again, dashed up the stairs, her destination the nursery and Damaris.
Rafael turned, once inside the estate room. “Now, Victoria, I believe you have quite a bit of explain—” His jaw dropped. She was nowhere to be seen. How dare she. He felt rage pour through him. But he controlled it at the sight of his twin, in his shirtsleeves now, walking across the entrance hall, his head lowered in profound thought.
“Damien.”
“Hello, twin. What are you doing in my estate room?”
He wanted to kill Damien, he wanted to strangle him with his bare hands. But he hadn’t seen him and Victoria together, no, just Elaine had seen them, supposedly. He said mildly, “Just looking about. You’re very neat, Damien.” He looked about at the tidy desktop, the rows of books on the shelves. “Where is your coat?”
“I was overly warm,” Damien said, shrugging. “I removed it and left it somewhere, I suppose.”
“And I was with your wife.”
“What is that supposed to mean, brother? More cryptic wit of yours?”
“She was upset that I was with my wife, making love to her in front of God and the stable lads, but you see, it wasn’t me, it was you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damien said easily. He walked across the Aubusson carpet to the narrow sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “Would you care for some?”
“No, all I care for at this moment is an answer from you. Tell me, Damien.”
“Elaine is nearing her time. She also tends toward hysteria, just like her mother in that respect, and it’s magnified when she is pregnant. I really haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. I shall speak to Elaine if you wish.”
“Yes,” Rafael said slowly, “yes, you do that. And I will speak to Victoria.”
Rafael walked slowly up the staircase, down the long eastern corridor to the Pewter Room. There was no one there save Molly, who was cleaning out the grate. This time her mobcap was neatly set atop her light brown braids. She smiled shyly at him.
He nodded to her and retreated. It was some time later that he entered the nursery. Damaris shrieked at the sight of him and dashed forward to clutch at his legs. Victoria remained seated on the floor, a row of dolls in front of her.
“Torie and I are playing dolls. Do you want to? I’ll give you Queen Bess.”
That was obviously quite a concession. “No, not just now,” Rafael said, his eyes searching his wife’s face. She looked very pale, frightened. He stiffened. She had no reason to be afraid of him, did she?
