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Victoria listened to his even breathing. He had certainly won. His weight was great, but somehow she found it comforting, which, she thought, must surely make her a candidate for Bedlam. And he was still inside her, but less so now. She stared up at the dark ceiling. She had never imagined such feelings, such dizzying pleasure. She wondered if he would now believe her a slut for responding to him so completely, so quickly. Not a lady. Surely ladies didn’t yell and carry on with such abandon.
She shuddered a bit, filled with such loathing for herself that she couldn’t keep still. He moved, muttering something in his sleep, words she didn’t understand.
Victoria held her breath. She couldn’t bear to speak to him now, to see his eyes, to wonder what he thought. Of course Rafael always told her what he thought, so she wouldn’t have to wait long for that. She realized that he was leaving her. She felt soreness and some remnants of pain deep inside. A virgin’s pain and a woman’s incredible pleasure.
She drew a deep breath and shoved at him. He grunted in his sleep, but rolled off her, onto his stomach, his head turned away from her. Slowly she eased away and rose. Her muscles felt as weak as her leg when she had overexerted. That thought made her rub her hand over the scar on her thigh. Yes, that was what he would demand next. She could hear him now, his voice either stern and forbidding or charming with a hint of cajoling. What is your confession? Is it about your so-called ugliness?
She walked to the basin and poured cold water from the pitcher. She soaped the cloth and washed herself. It was dark, but not too dark. The stickiness between her thighs came away but she saw her blood on the cloth. Quickly she lit a single candle. It was her blood, from her maidenhead. Well, at least he’d told her that much, so she wasn’t afra
id he had irreparably hurt her.
She dried herself and retrieved her nightgown from the floor. She stared toward the bed at the sound of his low snoring. Without making a conscious decision, she carried the candle toward the bed. She wanted to see him. She raised the candle.
He was still on his stomach, his legs spread, one arm bent upward, the other at his side. Her eyes followed the beautiful taut line of his back to his firm buttocks. His thighs were thick with muscle and black hair. Even his feet were beautiful, she thought, long and narrow and arched. She wished he would turn over. She wanted to see all of him without him knowing it. She could spend fifty years staring at him. He mumbled something in his sleep, came up abruptly on his elbows, and she froze.
She snuffed out the candle and stood perfectly still.
He said quite clearly, “Victoria.”
Then he fell back onto his stomach and began snoring again.
Victoria made her decision at that moment. If she slept with him, he would make love to her as soon as he woke. She knew it. She also knew that she would want him to. And it would probably be morning and the room would be light and he would see her leg.
She flinched away from that thought. He was so perfect himself, how could he tolerate such ugliness in his wife? Her hand went to the scar and kneaded it.
She covered him, then resolutely walked from her room into his bedchamber.
The sheets were so very cold, the bed so very large and empty. What was she going to do now?
It was taken out of her hands. She woke aware that she was very warm, and she snuggled into that warmth. It was many moments before she was conscious enough to realize what was happening. Rafael was spooned about her back, his hand kneading her stomach.
“Don’t leave me again, Victoria,” he said, his voice rough in her ear. His fingers probed through the nest of curls, found her, and he began a rhythm that quickly made her wild.
“I had to,” she gasped, pressing her bottom back against him. She felt him hard, throbbing, and quivered. Slowly, very gently, he lifted her leg and came inside her. She felt the pleasure build, become so intense that she was crying out, unable to keep quiet. She felt his fingers, felt him stroking deep inside her, and she gave over to him.
She was sobbing with the power of it. And when he nibbled on the nape of her neck, thrusting deeper still, she found herself moving naturally against him, wanting him, wanting more. And he gave it to her. When he felt her reach her climax, felt the incredible convulsive shudders of her body, he let himself go and shared the intense feelings with her.
“You’re wonderful,” he said simply, kissed her ear, and pulled her tightly against him.
He was still deep inside her.
It was still dark.
She lay awake listening to his deep, steady breathing in her ear.
14
All this and heaven too.
—MATTHEW HENRY
Rafael was smiling as he opened his eyes, a very male smile, one filled with bone-deep satisfaction.
He yawned deeply. “Victoria?” he said as he turned his head on the pillow.
She wasn’t there. He sat up, fully awake now. He wasn’t surprised to find her gone, not really, particularly after she’d left him during the previous night. No, he wasn’t surprised, but he wasn’t pleased about it either.
Where the devil was she ugly? He disliked mysteries, and as he’d told his wife, he was adept at puzzle solving. If he wasn’t able to figure out the puzzle using his wits, he would use guile and cunning until the information he needed was his.
