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“I found it one day in the dictionary. I was looking up ‘consumption,’ as I recall. Elaine’s aunt died of it and I wondered what the symptoms were.”
“All right. There is another way, then. Tell me your confession.”
She toyed with the spoon in the honey pot. Thick, smooth, and golden. At least Mrs. Ripple couldn’t make the bees produce soggy honey. She should tell him her confession, but she couldn’t bring herself to. All of it was inextricably tied together. It would, however, make him feel a total and complete bounder. That thought brought a smile to her lips. His chagrin just might be worth the sacrificing of her principles. Since when, she wondered, frowning at the honey pot, had her lame leg become a principle? Surely that made no sense at all. Nothing she’d done since she’d met this man made much sense.
“You ate all your eggs,” she said finally.
“Yes,” he said. “Arguing with you made me forget what I was eating. Would you ride with me?”
“Why not? Will you be charming? Until the sun sets, at least?”
“At the very least,” he said, and rose from his chair.
12
We are easily tricked by those we love.
—MOLIÈRE
When Rafael lightly clasped her shoulders, drawing her closer, Victoria was too surprised to move. When he lifted her chin with his forefinger and kissed her on her closed mouth, she simply stared up at him, still unmoving.
After but a moment he raised his head and looked down at her. He smiled, lifted his hand, and gently caressed her jaw with his fingers.
“The sun hasn’t set yet,” he said. “We still have some minutes before it’s evening and time to argue.”
“Why did you do that?”
He shrugged. “You’re beautiful, your mouth is very soft, you taste sweet, and you’re my wife.”
“I see,” she said. Victoria wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted him to pull her against him so she could feel the length of him against her. She wanted that so very much, but she did nothing. He would doubtless be repulsed by such trollop behavior were she to show the slightest interest in his lovemaking. His mouth was beautiful and firm and he tasted more delicious than she possibly could. It was difficult to keep such things to herself.
“You will just stare at me, Victoria? You’ll say nothing more?”
She shook her head helplessly. Unconsciously she lifted her hands to his shoulders and arched her neck back. Her lashes swept down over her eyes.
Her invitation was clear. He kissed her again, softly, gently, but he felt the response in her and marveled at it. She kept her mouth firmly closed. He ran the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, teasing her, probing lightly, and he felt her shudder. His arms closed tightly around her back. He deepened his kiss.
It was the moan from deep in her throat that made Victoria’s eyes fly open. She was trembling, awash with wild, uncontrolled feelings, and she didn’t know what to do about them. She just wanted more of Rafael. She wanted . . . No, stop it. She felt his hands glide down her back to cup her bottom. She felt him lift her, fitting her against him. She felt
him against her belly, and she cried out—surrender, desire, a plea in her voice.
Rafael slowly slid her back down his body, not releasing her even when her feet touched the floor. “Should you like me to have Lizzie fetch you a hot bath?”
“Bath?” Her eyes were vague, her voice thin.
“Yes,” he said, releasing her, “a bath. Should you like a bath before dinner?”
He knew well enough that her body was on fire. He was nearly in the same state himself. It was just that he knew how to exercise control over himself, and evidently she didn’t. It was that simple. Her mind wasn’t functioning as yet and he watched her try desperately to get control of her breathing, to slow the deep heaving of her breasts, to stiffen her legs. He waited, wondering what she would say, what she would do.
What she did surprised the devil out of him.
Victoria drew her hand back and swung, slapping him as hard as she could. “I hate you!” Her voice sounded hoarse, raw, as if she were in pain.
Rafael rubbed his hand over his cheek. “I merely asked you if you wished a bath. Why did you strike me?”
“You used me. God, you wanted to make me wild so you could taunt me, and hate me and despise me. I won’t let you do that again, Rafael, I won’t.”
He watched her in silence as she whirled about into her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her. He heard the key grate in the lock.
