And why was she comparing him to Sebastian? Her husband, on their wedding night? Perhaps it was only normal for one to compare and contrast when confronted with something unfamiliar… and exciting.
She stepped into his arms, glad that he'd come to her and apologized. She felt the warmth of his body, long and textured against hers, and the prod of his erection was gentle against her hip. Her half-donned robe gusted around them, and she slipped it off her shoulders. It collapsed onto the floor, pooling at her ankles as her naked breasts pressed against his chest.
Phillip kissed her along the side of her neck, where her skin was the most sensitive, and where the bare brush of his lips made her toes curl and her breasts tighten. Somehow his mouth didn't stop its tasting of her as he brought them to the bed—her bed, not his—and tumbled her onto it.
"So beautiful, my darling," he told her, propping himself up on an elbow above her. His body cast a shadow over half of hers, and she watched in fascinated interest as he drew his finger gently down between her breasts, along the irregular line of dark and light. The tingling that had begun in her belly, then between her legs, tightened almost painfully as he bent to draw her nipple into his mouth.
As he sucked and tugged, the sensation grew and ebbed with the rhythm of his mouth and the slide of his tongue. His breathing became deeper, warm and moist over her skin, and when he slipped his fingers between her legs, Victoria didn't know whether to press her knees together… or let them fall away.
"Let me, Victoria, my wife," he whispered against her neck, drawing his mouth along her jaw as he positioned himself over her. "I will be very gentle… and after a moment, you will feel only pleasure."
She did. She let him, and opened her legs in a wanton manner, one that would have horrified her if she'd thought about it… but she did not. She let him. Let his fingers stroke and slide, dip and delve, until she did not know what was happening… only that it was pleasure beyond anything she'd imagined.
And then… the pain. The sharp, quick pain as he moved his hips between hers, and then, as he had promised, only pleasure.
Only easy, rising, fulfilling pleasure.
Chapter Twenty-One
Wherein the Marchioness Proves Herself an Excellent Storyteller
Victoria felt better when she reinserted her vis bulla the next day. It took a little bit of jimmying and tugging to get the silver hoop back in place, but she managed it with a bit of help from Verbena, and once that was done she finished dressing.
She was pleasantly sore from the activities of the night before, and, so far, quite delighted with her new marital status. Over breakfast she and Phillip ate kippers and eggs, sausages and biscuits, preserves and clotted cream. And then they boarded his traveling coach, which had already been loaded with their trunks, and embarked on a two-week honeymoon.
When they returned, she was rosy-cheeked and no longer sore.
On the morning after their return, Phillip left St. Heath's Row early to take care of some business in town with his solicitor and banker. Victoria worked diligently if reluctantly on her correspondence, but was saved from an entire afternoon of tedium by a missive from Aunt Eustacia inviting her for tea.
"You look lovely, my dear marchioness," said her elderly aunt when Kritanu showed Victoria into the sitting room. "Rested and quite happy."
Victoria bent to kiss her aunt's uncommonly soft, unlined face. "Indeed I am, Aunt. But I am also quite desirous of returning to the task at hand."
"We are delighted to hear that," drawled Max, who was standing across the room.
"Max. I never did thank you for agreeing to attend the wedding," Victoria replied. She had expected him to be there, and as part of her new position, she'd decided she was no longer going to allow him to nettle her. Her happiness made it much easier for her to pity his dark moods and what could only be great loneliness.
He bowed. "I was happy to be of assistance."
Perhaps he too had decided to be less combative.
"And how was the wedding trip?" Max continued, standing until Victoria took her seat. "I trust the marquess is well and has given no indication he plans to revisit the Silver Chalice."
Perhaps not.
"We haven't spoken of that evening since it occurred," Victoria told him, keeping her voice mild.
"Victoria, I realize it is your first day back from your honeymoon, but I felt it necessary to contact you," interjected Aunt Eustacia. "We've learned that a group of vampires has planned a raid of sorts on Vauxhall Gardens early in the morning. Despite Max's expertise, we felt there should be two Venators in order to keep them from succeeding."
Victoria felt the thrill of the fight tic in her heartbeat, but then she recalled. "I am bound to attend the theater with Phillip tonight. But… what time would I need to be ready?"
"Midnight, of course," Max said from the corner. "I am certain that you could invent some reason for returning to your home earlier rather than later in the evening. Having just returned from your honeymoon."
Victoria did not allow the flush to warm her cheeks; she stopped it cold. "Indeed, you are right. It will be no hardship to entice my husband to return home early. Of course, I might be otherwise occupied for a time…"
Max nodded, his eyes dark and cool. "Of course. Do you think you could perhaps adjust your schedule so that I could pick you up at midnight? So that too many people aren't killed before we arrive?"
"You don't have to pick me up," Victoria reminded him, wondering where her resolve had gone. "I can meet you there."
"I will pick you up. You would never locate me in Vauxhall."
"I will have to find a way to leave the house without Phillip knowing."
"I should expect him to sleep quite well after such an evening," Max said mildly. "Or perhaps you could assist him… with this." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small vial. "If you are concerned that he might awaken and find his wife missing."
Victoria caught it when he tossed it lightly through the air. "What is it?" But she already knew. It was a drug. Max was suggesting that she drug her husband.
"It is called salvi. Protection. Safety. It comes in quite handy."
"As long as you aren't caught administering it and forced to drink it yourself." Victoria looked at the small vial, then glanced at Eustacia, who'd been unusually silent during their exchange. It was almost as if she'd realized her intervention would be useless.
Could she actually drug Phillip?
Was it necessary?
If she didn't would he awaken to find her gone? If she wasn't beside him, where she'd become quite used to sleeping in the last two weeks, would he seek her out in her own bedchamber?
The liquid was nearly clear; just the faintest blue tinged the thin, watery fluid. She would have to. To protect him, she not only had to lie to him… but drug him as well.
For she could not chance his awakening and putting himself in danger again.
Never again.
"I am feeling quite exhausted," Victoria murmured into Phillip's ear as they sat in the box he'd let at the theater. "I would much rather be in bed… wouldn't you?" She dipped the tip of her tongue into the innermost part of his ear—quickly, like a tease—then moved away and returned her attention to the stage. Prim and proper she was then, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Phillip shifted next to her in a manner that told her he, too, was thinking of things other than the play… which she was rather enjoying. "We can slip out during the next intermission—ah! What perfect timing," he amended, as the actors exited the stage.