A Matter of Temptation (5 page)

He knew about women from a distance, as mothers, governess, servants. But he had no intimate knowledge of them, of how they reacted, of what they expected.

He found himself wondering the silliest of things: what colors did she favor, what foods did she relish, what entertainments might she enjoy?

And he found himself speculating about the most important of all questions. What had brought her to this moment? What had she seen in his brother? What had caused her to want to marry the blighter?

Was there goodness in John? He’d once thought there was, but John’s actions had stripped him of any favor he might have found in Robert’s eyes. Still, should Robert have been less bent on revenge and given his brother a chance to apologize, to explain, to make amends?

For surely an angel such as she appeared to be wouldn’t dare dance with a devil.

She turned her head slightly and peered over at him. Her mouth curled up, her gaze grew warm. His heart tightened, and he wished her adoration was truly for him, not his brother.

Yet Robert couldn’t help but consider that John had taken everything from him. Would it be poetic justice if Robert now took his brother’s lady? Not only her body, but her soul and her heart? To hold them all as though they rightfully
belonged to him—as his brother had held his titles, his inheritance, his position in family and society?

It was something to ponder, to debate within himself. A possibility that would no doubt keep him awake at night, when he’d so been looking forward to sleeping without care.

Again he bestowed on her a semblance of a smile that he hoped concealed his misgivings and his perilously treacherous thoughts.

Forcing his attention away from her, he concentrated on the rituals of the ceremony, kneeling when he was supposed to kneel, repeating words that meant nothing to him as though they meant everything. And in the process, he did at least learn something of great importance: her name was Victoria Alexandria Lambert. Such a large, important-sounding name for such a petite and delicate woman.

The archbishop made mention of a ring. Robert turned to his best man, then stared at the delicate circle of silver that he’d placed on his gloved palm. He should have known, should have prepared himself. His mother’s ring. He closed his fingers over it and battled for the strength to finish what he’d begun.

He distanced himself from everyone and everything around him until the vows were exchanged, only then acknowledging that they were both well and truly locked on to this matrimonial path.

Then the archbishop announced that Robert could kiss the bride. Kiss Victoria Alexandria Hawthorne, the new Duchess of Killingsworth.

Drawing on his memories of a distant cousin’s wedding, Robert slowly lifted the veil. Dear Lord, but she was lovelier without the mist of lace to blur her features. Her lashes were indeed as long as they looked. Her eyes a deep brown, outlined in gold. He’d never seen eyes such as hers. She had no blemishes, no freckles, no lines formed by worry. Her lips were plump and moist-looking, and he wondered how many times his brother might have kissed them. Would she notice a difference in the shape of his mouth, the feel of his lips against hers, the taste of his kiss?

He raised his gaze to hers, surprised to find tears shimmering within the dark depths of her eyes. Then he chastised himself because her tears of joy made a mockery of what he’d just done. She thought he’d reaffirmed his love for her, that she’d exchanged vows with the man who had asked for her hand in marriage. She was crying because she was happy, overjoyed at the prospect of being his wife until death parted them. She was crying because she wanted this moment—when he sealed their vows with a kiss—more than anything else in the world.

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself whispering hoarsely right before he placed a light kiss near the corner of her terribly tempting mouth.

She seemed as surprised as he by his words and
his actions, her eyes blinking, the tears disappearing, her brow furrowing. And he realized that he might have made a grave error in judgment, might have revealed himself to be not who she thought he was.

But then the archbishop, in his booming voice, was presenting to the gathered assemblage the Duke and Duchess of Killingsworth, and Robert was left with no recourse except to escort his wife from the church.

T
orie sat in the open carriage, striving not to take offense that her husband was fairly hugging his side of the conveyance, his gaze averted, as though he wished to be as far away from her as possible.

Within the vestry of the church they’d signed their documents before heading out to the carriage. Because an aristocrat’s wedding tended to draw a crowd of strangers, they’d had to weave their way through the gathering, she clinging to his arm while he tried to keep his top hat from flying off. They’d both waved at the people milling about as they’d been driven away from the church, but she’d sensed that he held little enthusiasm for the ritual. It was ceremony only,
something to be tolerated, and now that they were beyond the crowds, he seemed to have forgotten that she sat beside him.

She fought to hold on to her happiness and push back the ominous sense she had that something was dreadfully wrong. That she’d somehow disappointed him beyond measure, perhaps in the choice of her gown or the style of her hair. When she’d joined him at the altar, he’d stared at her as though he couldn’t quite determine who she was.

Or worse yet, perhaps he’d sensed her misgivings. She was so terribly unskilled at hiding her true feelings. Although she’d been wearing a veil, he might have been able to see through the lace to the doubts reflected in her eyes.

But they would have been apparent for only a moment. Because she’d seen the same qualms swirling within his, and she’d wanted to quickly reassure him that all would be well. One of them needed to believe that if their marriage was to have any success at all. And so she’d smiled as lovingly as she could, with all the hope for a blissful future that she could bring forth. Her overture seemed to have given him the confidence to offer her his arm.

Once they’d taken their places before the archbishop, she’d found herself returning her attention to Robert, unable to believe that she was about to truly become his wife.

He was so amazingly handsome, now and in
the church. The deep wine color of his frock coat enhanced his dark features, brought out the incredibly rich hue of his eyes. Sunset always reminded her of him, just before the sky gave way to night, when it was at its most vibrant blue. The light gray of his cravat gave him an air of nobility.

But now they were no longer in the church, no longer in need of concentrating on ceremony. They were free to give their undivided attention to each other. Yet here he was, glancing around as they traversed through the crowded streets as though he’d never before visited London.

After his courtship, and the time they’d spent together while she planned their wedding, she knew she should be accustomed to his penchant for staring off into space, but it always managed to unsettle her.

“Is it John?” she asked softly.

He jerked his head around, his brow deeply furrowed, something akin to fear in his eyes—which made absolutely no sense.

“What about John?” he asked, his voice hoarse as though he’d dredged the words up from the bottom of a deep well.

She smiled warmly, sensing his tenseness, unable to fathom the reason behind it, but desperately wanting to put him at ease. “You seem so melancholy, I thought perhaps you were thinking of your brother. I know how very disappointed you were when his missive arrived stating that he’d be unable to come to the wed
ding, but I’d like to think he’s with us in thought if not person.”

Relief washed over his features, removing the harshness of the lines around his eyes that she’d never before noticed. Was it the brightness of the sun that deepened them? That made no sense as they’d often ridden in an open carriage on sunny days.

“Yes,” he finally said quietly. “I’m fairly certain he is with us in thought.”

Reaching out, she squeezed his hand. “Perhaps we can go visit him in America.”

“America,” he repeated as though he’d never heard of the country.

She’d always thought only brides were nervous on their wedding day, but it seemed that her mother had been correct in her earlier assessment: grooms harbored the same doubts and anxieties.

She’d have never thought it of Robert. He always seemed so sure of himself and his place in the world. Now he seemed so…lost.

“I’d like to stroll over his plantation in Virginia. I so enjoy when you read me his letters,” she added. “He describes his surroundings with such fondness.”

“Virginia…”

She laughed lightly. “Why do you repeat everything I say?”

She could almost feel the touch of his intense gaze as it roamed over her face. She tried to deci
pher what she read in his expression. His eyes somehow seemed different. They were the same blue that they’d been the last time she looked into them but they weren’t quite the same. He seemed almost wary, as though he feared making a misstep, as though he hardly knew what to expect of her.

“I’m a bit unsettled, I suppose,” he said. “The enormity of what has just transpired…I don’t know why the reality of it didn’t strike me sooner.”

She released a slight laugh. “It struck me this morning as I was dressing. The doubts, the worry. Mother assures me that it’s only natural. I suppose we’ve just changed the course of our lives.”

“In ways I doubt we can even begin to imagine.”

“I, for one, will be grateful when our obligations are behind us.”

“What obligations would those be?”

“The most immediate one is the breakfast that Mother has prepared.”

“I ate before leaving for the church.”

She laughed a bit longer this time. “You’re such a tease. You know perfectly well that I’m talking about our wedding breakfast, the reception for—as my mother refers to them—those who matter most.”

“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten.”

“I
wish
we could forget it.”

“Do you think we would be missed if we didn’t go?”

“Most assuredly. Besides, my mother would be mortified. She is quite pleased that I’m moving up in society.”

“Then I suppose it wouldn’t do to embarrass her.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Besides, you don’t want to fall out of favor with her when you’ve done such a splendid job at charming her when she is not easily charmed. But perhaps we can get by with only staying a short while. It’s stand-up breakfast, after all.”

His eyes glazed over as though he were striving to decipher something of monumental importance.

“I’m sorry, but “I’m not familiar with that sort of affair.”

“How can you say such a thing when we talked about it endlessly?”

“Remind me.”

She rolled her eyes. “So typical of a man. My mother warned me that men rarely truly listen to what a woman says.”

“Your mother is most wise, and I apologize for my previous lack of interest. Would it be a bother to repeat what you’ve obviously told me before? A stand-up breakfast sounds rather unappealing.”

“But it is so in vogue. Everyone is doing it in that manner these days. All the food is placed on a large table in the library. Gentlemen prepare a plate for the ladies, then we all stand around while dining. The trick is to prepare foods that are easy to eat while not sitting.”

“Perhaps it is good that I ate before leaving the house.”

He appeared so deadly serious. She smiled at him. “I would beg of you to put only the sparest of helpings on my plate. My stomach is still in knots from standing in front of everyone at the church, having so much attention directed at me.”

“I would have thought a woman as beautiful as you would be accustomed to attention.”

Pleasure spiraled through her. He’d never told her that she was beautiful. Had never actually complimented her at all, now that she thought on it. “Is that the reason you married me? My beauty?”

“My reasons are numerous, impossible to explain.”

“You might try.”

“Are my compliments such a rarity that you must seek more?”

His gentle rebuff caused her to blush. “Of course not. It just seems that after a wedding, the bride and groom should shower each other with attention.”

“I’ve paid little notice to the rituals of weddings. I fear I shall cause you embarrassment throughout the day.”

“Oh, Robert, it is I who has the greater chance of embarrassing you. You were born to this life; I have only just married into it.”

“You would never be an embarrassment to anyone.”

The heartfelt delivery of his words caused the heat to rise in her cheeks.

“I’ve managed to accomplish exactly what I feared,” he said. “I’ve embarrassed you.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you deliver flattery so sincerely.”

“I apologize if my words were inappropriate. I’ve not yet adjusted to my new role as husband. I’m not quite sure how to behave.”

“Just be yourself, Robert. It’s you that I care for so desperately.”

“How desperately?”

She squeezed his hand again. “Incredibly desperately. Today I’m the happiest woman in all of London.”

“Are you?”

“Whatever is wrong with you? You sound so doubtful, so unsure when you never have before. Has something happened, something I need to know about?”

He looked to be on the verge of announcing that the world as they knew it was about to come to some dreadful end.

“What is it, Robert?”

He shifted his gaze to where her hand was atop his. “It’s of no importance.”

“But I can see that you’re troubled.”

“I have a great deal on my mind, that’s all.”

“They say if you share your troubles it divides them in half.”

He peered over at her, the corner of his mouth
lifted in a wry smile. “I don’t think that’ll happen in this case.”

“I do wish you’d tell me.”

“Perhaps later.”

Although she dreaded hearing the answer, she had to ask, “Does it have any bearing on the reason you apologized to me right before you kissed me?”

He gave a barely perceptible nod. “I fear a day will come when you’ll regret that I married you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll never regret the day that I married a man I care for so deeply.”

He turned his head away as though looking at her had suddenly become unbearably painful.

This wasn’t at all how she’d planned for her marriage to begin. It was to be a joyous occasion.

She’d caught his attention last Season when her mother had called upon a cousin and asked her to introduce her daughter into society. Torie had been all of twenty, well past her prime, and her mother was beside herself with worry that her daughter would never find a match. But she had. At her first ball, she’d danced with the Duke of Killingsworth, and his gentlemanly manners and kindness had fairly stolen her breath away on the spot.

His courtship had been satisfying to her, caused envy among others. An occasional walk in Hyde Park. An opera. A dinner. A carriage ride. Nothing earth-shattering. Always with a proper chaperone.

Still, he’d seemed as content with her as she was with him. She thought they were well suited. But now she was no longer certain. Why was he suddenly aloof, not as easy to converse with?

She’d not grown up in the circles he frequented, and she worried that in spite of everything, she wouldn’t make a proper duchess. He was hardly expressing the enthusiasm she’d expected him to once they were married. Was she somehow to blame?

“Do you worry there will come a day when
you’ll
regret marrying
me?
” she dared to ask.

Or perhaps she hadn’t dared to voice the question aloud. Perhaps she’d only asked the question in her mind. Because he neither acknowledged it nor answered, but simply continued to give his attention to everything around him except her.