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She shook her head. “Please, just leave me. I’ll pay you for your trouble. I’ll leave in the morning.”
Rafael said abruptly, “Have you had your dinner?”
She shook her head.
“Nor have I, and I’m hungry.”
He strode to the door and left her alone.
Victoria stared about the bedchamber. It was spartan, with only the single narrow bed, a rough-hewn dresser, and a very old armoire in the far corner. There was a small circular table against the single window, two chairs beside it. A commode and a washbasin were, thankfully, close by. She forced herself to rise, gritting her teeth at the protesting muscles in her leg. She washed her face and hands and removed her cloak.
Rafael quietly opened the door to see his young charge clinging to the bedpost, breathing hard, her head lowered.
He noted on a purely male level that her body seemed to be as lovely as her face. Slender, tall for a girl, and as soft-looking as sweet butter.
“Come,” he said, “let me help you. Our dinner will arrive in a few moments.”
Victoria closed her eyes a moment, getting a grip on herself.
Rafael didn’t move. He said only, “Can I assist you?”
He could see the quiver in her shoulders, see her arguing with herself. To trust him.
She decided in his favor, for she nodded.
Without another word he picked her up in his arms again, carried her to the table, and gently set her down on one of the chairs.
He moved away from her and sat in the opposite chair. He saw her lean her head back, close her eyes, and knew she was trying to control the pain.
“May I call you Victoria?”
“If you wish. I suppose it isn’t any more improper than all of this.”
“No, you’re right about that. Call me Rafael.”
“That is an odd name.”
“Surely you must know that my mother was Spanish. It was her wish.”
“Yes, I suppose I did know. But Damien never spoke of you, at least in my presence.”
“No, I don’t imagine that he would. Ah, our dinner.”
He helped the serving maid with the tray. Delicious smells of roast lamb curled toward Victoria’s nostrils and her stomach rumbled.
Rafael grinned. “Not a moment too soon, I’d say. Do you also like mashed potatoes and peas?”
Her stomach answered for her. He smiled and served her.
Under the cover of the table, she massaged her thigh. Slowly the muscles began to ease, the painful spasms growning more tolerable. As she gained control of the pain, she began to see everything more clearly. For all she knew, this twin could be as bad as his brother, or even worse.
They ate in silence.
“Where are you going?” she asked finally, wiping a drop of gravy from her lower lip.
“To London. Unfortunately, my ship is in Falmouth under repair, so I couldn’t sail there.”
London.
