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“You did do ‘about anything.’ You were forced to leg-shackle yourself. And all your talk about fate is nonsense, Rafael. We would have met eventually, when you finally returned to Drago Hall.”
“I wonder if Damien would have succeeded in ravishing you by then.” He tensed, wanting his brother’s neck between his hands. He also realized that he hadn’t given a thought to the Seawitch in several days. Or Rob or Blick or Flash or any of the other men who had sailed with him. He rubbed his cheek against the top of Victoria’s head. She seemed to have lost her burst of anger and was once again nestled against him in what he chose to think was a trusting position.
“No, you wouldn’t have been there. You would have run away, just as you did. And what would have b
ecome of you? I shudder to think. But I found you. You’re a very lucky wench, Victoria Carstairs.”
The problem was, Victoria decided, that he mixed perfect truth with nonsense. It was nearly beyond her to combat him.
Rafael’s mind skipped ahead when she remained silent. He had so damned much to do. And frankly, he realized that what he would truly like was at least a month alone with his bride. His ardor seemed inexhaustible to him, and he would enjoy a problem-free period to indulge himself and her.
“Rafael?”
“Yes?”
“I want to go back to the cottage now.”
“I don’t make a comfortable enough chair for you? Aren’t the chair arms warm and strong and the seat soft and giving?”
She heard the laughter in his voice and realized this was one of those times when she wanted to hit him. She wanted to jump off his thighs, but she was suddenly afraid that her leg would lead her to more humiliation. He had to assist her.
“Could you help me, please?”
That was an odd request, but he quickly agreed. He stood, holding her close, and eased her to her feet. “Did you hurt yourself when you stumbled?”
She shook her head, her eyes on a level with his throat.
“I’d like to go back now, please.”
It wasn’t, however, until much later that evening that Victoria knew the meaning of true humiliation.
15
Are you sick or are you sullen?
—SAMUEL JOHNSON
“Excuse me,” Victoria said, striving for a calm she was decades away from feeling. She quickly shoved back her chair before Rafael could respond, and rose.
“Why? What the devil is wrong with you, Victoria?”
“Nothing. I’ll be back shortly. Please continue with your dinner.” And she was gone.
Rafael frowned into his crystal glass of deep red wine, wondering what was wrong. She didn’t seem precisely ill, yet since she’d come down for dinner she’d been quiet and withdrawn. It bothered him no end.
He took another bite of perfectly baked ham and chewed thoughtfully.
Victoria paused in the middle of her bedchamber and wrapped her arms around herself. Her belly was cramping and she had nothing to relieve the discomfort. She searched yet again for some laudanum. At least she could dose herself with that and sleep away the cramps. It was unusual for her to feel any discomfort at all with her monthly flow. It was marriage that had done it to her, she thought, grimacing at a particularly vicious cramp. She was unsuccessful in her search. She drew a deep breath and walked back downstairs.
She paused in the open doorway until her husband looked up at her. “I’m tired,” she said, as if she were a reciting schoolgirl, “and I wish to retire now. I don’t feel really well, Rafael, so I would appreciate your not coming—” Her voice fell like a flat stone from a cliff.
He looked at her a moment, his expression bland. He said in his sea captain’s voice, and his father’s, had he but known it, “What’s wrong?” In the past, it was that tone that had always exacted instant obedience.
Victoria nearly blurted out the truth in that instant, but managed in the nick of time to keep her tongue still in her mouth. She stood there looking at him, her mouth shut.
“Victoria, I asked you a question,” he said now, his voice filled with virtuous determination. “You will answer me, if you please, now.”
“It’s nothing at all of any importance. I simply need to sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.” That was nothing but the truth. She fidgeted a moment with the narrow bracelet on her wrist. “Do you have any laudanum, Rafael?”
