ood afternoon, my dear,” Charles said cheerfully, patting the edge of the bed beside him. “Come sit down. Your visit last night with Jason has restored my health beyond belief. Now, tell me more about your wedding plans.”

Victoria sat down beside him. “Truthfully, it’s all very confusing, Uncle Charles. Northrup has just told me Jason packed the things from his study this morning and has moved back to Wakefield.”

“I know,” Charles said, smiling. “He came in to see me before he left and told me he’d decided to do it ‘for the sake of appearances.’ The less time he spends in close proximity to you, the less chance there is for any further gossip.”

“So that’s why he left,” Victoria said, her worried expression clearing.

Laughter shook Charles’s shoulders as he nodded. “My child, I think this is the first time in his life that Jason has ever made a concession to propriety! It irked him to do it, but he did it anyway. You have a decidedly good influence on him,” Charles finished merrily. “Perhaps you can teach him next to stop scoffing at principles.”

Victoria smiled back at him, relieved and quite suddenly very happy. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the wedding arrangements,” she admitted, “except that it’s to take place in a big church here in London.”

“Jason is taking care of everything. He took his secretary with him to Wakefield, along with the main staff from here, so they can make the preparations. After the ceremony, a wedding celebration will take place at Wakefield for your close friends and some of the villagers. I believe the invitation list and the invitations are already in the process of being prepared. So you have nothing to do except remain here and enjoy everyone’s surprise when they realize you are well and truly to be the next Duchess of Atherton.”

Victoria dismissed that and hesitantly brought up something that was much more important to her. “The night you were so very ill, you mentioned something about my mother and you—something you had intended to tell me.”

Charles turned his head away, gazing out the window, and Victoria said quickly, “You needn’t tell me if it will upset you to speak of it.”

“It’s not that,” he said, slowly returning his gaze to her face. “I know how understanding and sensible you are, but you’re still very young. You loved your father, probably as much as you loved your mother. Once I tell you what I have to say, you might begin to think of me as an interloper in their marriage, although I swear to you I never communicated with your mother after she married your papa. Victoria,” he explained miserably, “I’m trying to tell you I don’t want you to despise me, and I fear you might when you hear the story.”

Victoria took his hand in hers and said gently, “How could I possibly despise someone with the good sense to love my mother?”

He looked down at her hand and his voice was choked with emotion. “You inherited your mother’s heart as well, do you know that?” When Victoria remained silent, his gaze returned to the windows and he began the story of his involvement with Katherine. Not until he was done did he look at Victoria again, and when he did he saw no condemnation in her eyes, only sorrow and compassion. “So you see,” he finished, “I loved her with all my heart. I loved her and I cut her out of my life when she was the only thing worth living for.”

“My great-grandmother forced you to do it,” Victoria said, her eyes stormy.

“Were they happy—your mother and father, I mean? I’ve always wondered what sort of marriage they had, but I’ve been afraid to ask.”

Victoria remembered the awful scene she had witnessed so many Christmases ago between her parents, but it was outweighed by the eighteen years of kindness and consideration they’d shown each other. “Yes, they were happy. Their marriage wasn’t at all like a ton marriage.”

She spoke of a “ton marriage” with such aversion that Charles smiled curiously. “What do you mean by a ton marriage?”

“The sort of marriage nearly everyone here in London has—except for Robert and Caroline Collingwood and a few others. The sort of marriage where the couple is rarely in each other’s company, and when they happen to meet at some affair, they behave like polite, well-bred strangers. The gentlemen are always off enjoying their own amusements, and the ladies have their cicisbeos. At least my parents lived together in a real home and we were a real family.”

“I gather you intend to have an old-fashioned marriage with an old-fashioned family,” he teased, looking very pleased at the idea.

“I don’t think Jason wants that sort of marriage.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Charles that Jason’s original offer was for her to give him a son and then go away. She consoled herself with the knowledge that, even though he’d made that offer, he’d seemed to prefer that she remain with him in England.

“I doubt very much if Jason knows what he wants right now,” Charles said gravely. “He needs you, child. He needs your warmth and your spirit. He won’t admit that, even to himself yet—and when he finally does admit it to himself, he won’t like it, believe me. He’ll fight you,” Charles warned gently. “But sooner or later, he’ll open his heart to you, and when he does, he’ll find peace. In return, he’ll make you happier than you’ve ever dreamed of being.”

She looked so dubious, so skeptical, that Charles’s smile faded. “Have patience with him, Victoria. If he weren’t so strong in body and mind, he’d never have survived to the age of thirty. He has scars, deep ones, but you have the power to heal them.”

“What sort of scars?”

Charles shook his head. “It will be better for both of you if Jason himself is the one to finally tell you about his life, especially his childhood. If he doesn’t, then you can come to me.”

In the days that followed, Victoria had little time to think about Jason or anything else. No sooner had she left Charles’s bedroom than Madame Dumosse arrived at the house with four seamstresses. “Lord Fielding has instructed me to prepare a wedding gown for you, mademoiselle,” she said, already walking around Victoria. “He said it is to be very rich, very elegant. Individual. Befitting a queen. No ruffles.”

Caught somewhere between annoyance and laughter at Jason’s high-handedness, Victoria shot her a sidelong look. “Did he happen to select a color, too?”

“Blue.”

“Blue?” Victoria burst out, prepared to do physical battle for white.

Madame nodded, her finger thoughtfully pressed to her lips, her other hand plunked upon her waist. “Yes, blue. Ice blue. He said you are glorious in that color—‘a titian-haired angel,” he said.”

Victoria abruptly decided ice blue was a lovely color to be married in.

“Lord Fielding has excellent taste,” Madame continued, her thin brows raised over her bright, alert eyes. “Don’t you agree?”

“Decidedly,” Victoria said, laughing, and she surrendered herself to the skilled ministrations of the dressmaker.

Four hours later, when Madame finally released her and whisked her seamstresses off to the shop, Victoria was informed that Lady Caroline Collingwood was waiting for her in the gold salon.

“Victoria,” her friend exclaimed, her pretty face anxious as she held out her hands, clasping Victoria’s. “Lord Fielding came to our house this morning to tell us about the wedding. I’m honored to be your matron of honor, which Lord Fielding said you wished me to be, but this is all so sudden—your marriage, I mean.”

Victoria suppressed her surprised pleasure at the news that Jason had thoughtfully remembered she’d need an attendant and had stopped to see the Collingwoods.

“I never suspected you were developing a lasting attachment to Lord Fielding,” Caroline continued, “and I can’t help wondering. You do wish to marry him, don’t you? You aren’t being, well, forced into it in any way?”

“Only by fate,” Victoria said with a smile, sinking exhaustedly into a chair. She saw Caroline’s frown and hastily added, “I’m not being forced. It’s what I wish to do.”

Caroline’s entire countenance brightened with relief and happiness. “I’m so glad—I’ve been hoping this would happen.” At Victoria’s dubious look, she explained, “In the past few weeks, I’ve come to know him better, and I quite agree with Robert, who told me that the things people think about Lord Fielding are the result of gossip started solely by one particularly spiteful, malicious woman. I doubt anyone would have believed all the rumors if Lord Fielding himself hadn’t been so aloof and uncommunicative. Of course, one doesn’t particularly like people who believe terrible things about one, does one? So he probably didn’t feel the slightest obligation to disabuse us. And as Robert said, Lord Fielding is a proud man, which would make it impossible for him to grovel in the face of adverse public opinion, particularly when it was so unfair!”

Victoria stifled a giggle at her friend’s wholehearted endorsement of the man she had once feared and condemned, but it was typical of Caroline. Caroline refused to see any faults whatever in the people she liked, and she was conversely unwilling to admit there were any redeeming qualities in the people she didn’t. That quirk in her lively personality made her the most loyal of friends, however, and Victoria was deeply grateful to her for her unswerving friendship. “Thank you, Northrup,” she said as the butler came in carrying the tea tray.

“I can’t think why I ever found him frightening,” Caroline said while Victoria poured the tea. Breathlessly eager to absolve Jason of any blame she might have put on him in the past, she continued, “I was wrong to let my imagination run away with my sense that way. I believe the reason I thought him frightening stemmed from the fact that he is so very tail and his hair is so black, which is perfectly absurd of me. Why, do you know what he said when he left us this morning?” she asked in a voice of intense gratification.

“No,” Victoria said, smothering another smile at Caroline’s determination to elevate Jason from devil to saint. “What did he say?”

“He said I have always reminded him of a pretty butterfly.”

“How lovely,” Victoria declared sincerely.

“Yes, it was, but not nearly as lovely as the way he described you.”

“Me? How on earth did all this come up?”

“The compliments, you mean?” When Victoria nodded, Caroline said, “I had just finished remarking on how happy I am that you are marrying an Englishman and staying here, so we can remain close friends. Lord Fielding laughed and said we complement each other perfectly, you and I, because I have always reminded him of a pretty butterfly, and you are like a wild flower that flourishes even in adversity and brightens up everyone’s lives. Wasn’t that utterly charming of him?”

“Utterly,” Victoria agreed, feeling absurdly pleased.

“I think he is far more in love with you than he lets on,” Caroline confided. “After all, he fought a duel for you.”

By the time Caroline left, Victoria was half-convinced Jason actually cared for her, a belief that enabled her to be quite gay and positive the following morning, when a staggering procession of callers began arriving to wish her happy after learning of her impending marriage.

Victoria was entertaining a group of young ladies who’d come to call on her for exactly that reason when the object of their romantic discussion strolled into the blue salon. The laughter trailed off into nervous, uncertain murmurs as the young ladies beheld the dangerously impressive figure of the unpredictable Marquess of Wakefield, garbed in a coal black riding jacket and snug black breeches that made him look overwhelmingly male. Unaware of his impact on these impressionable females, many of whom had cherished secret dreams of captivating him themselves, Jason favored them with a glinting smile. “Good morning, ladies,” he said; then he turned to Victoria and his smile became far more intimate. “Could you spare me a moment?”

Excusing herself at once, Victoria followed him into his study.

“I won’t keep you away from your friends long,” he promised, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. Without another word, he took her hand in his and slid a heavy ring onto her finger. Victoria gazed at the ring, which covered her finger all the way to her knuckle. A row of large sapphires was flanked by two rows of dazzling diamonds on both sides. “Jason, it’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Breathtakingly, incredibly, beautiful. Thank—”

“Thank me with a kiss,” he reminded her softly, and when Victoria tipped her face up to his, his lips captured hers in a long, hungry, thorough kiss that drained her mind of thought and her body of all resistance. Shaken by his ardor and her body’s helpless response to it, Victoria stared into his smoky jade eyes, trying to understand why Jason’s kisses always had this shattering effect on her.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Next time, do you think you could find it in your heart to kiss me without being asked?” It was the thread of disappointed yearning Victoria thought she heard in his voice that melted her heart. He had offered himself as her husband; in return he asked for very little—only this. Leaning up on her toes, she slid her hands up along his hard chest and twined them around his neck, and then she covered his lips with hers. She felt a tremor run through his tall frame as she innocently brushed her lips back and forth over his, slowly exploring the warm curves of his mouth, learning the taste of him, while his parted lips began to move against hers in a wildly arousing kiss.

But in the mounting turmoil of their kiss and unaware of the hardening pressure against her stomach, Victoria let her fingers slide into the soft hair at his nape while her body automatically fitted itself to his—and suddenly everything changed. Jason’s arms closed around her with stunning force, his mouth opening on hers with fierce hunger. He parted her lips, teasing her with his tongue until he coaxed her to touch her own tongue to his lips, and when she did, he gasped, pulling her even closer, his body taut with fiery need.

When he finally lifted his head, he stared down at her with an odd expression of bemused self-mockery on his ruggedly chiseled features. “I should have given you diamonds and sapphires the other night, instead of pearls,” he commented. “But don’t kiss me like this again until after we’re married.”

Victoria had been warned by her mother and by Miss Flossie that a gentleman could be carried away by his ardor, which would lead him to behave in an unspecified—but very unsuitable—way to the young lady who wrongly permitted him to lose his head. She realized instinctively that Jason was telling her he had been very close to losing his head. And she was feminine enough to feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction because her inexperienced kiss could so affect this very experienced man—especially since Andrew had never seemed so affected by her kiss. On the other hand, she had never kissed Andrew in the way Jason liked her to kiss him.

“I see you have my meaning,” he said wryly. “Personally, I have never particularly prized virginity. There are distinct advantages to marrying women who have already learned how to please a man....” He waited, watching her closely as if expecting—hoping for—some sort of reaction from her, but Victoria merely looked away, her spirits drooping. Her virginity, or so it was said, should have been a highly valued gift to her husband. She certainly couldn’t offer him any experience in “pleasing a man,” whatever that entailed. “I—I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said, embarrassed at the subject. “Things are very different in America.”

Despite the haggard strain in Jason’s voice, his words were gentle. “You’ve no need to apologize or look so miserable, Victoria. Don’t ever fear telling me the truth. No matter how bad the truth is, I can accept it and even admire you for having the courage to say it.” His hand lifted to caress her cheek. “It doesn’t matter,” he said soothingly. Abruptly, his manner turned brisk. “Tell me if you like your ring, then run along back to your friends.”

“I love it,” she said, trying to keep up with his swift, incomprehensible changes of mood. “It’s so beautiful I’m already terrified of losing it.”

Jason shrugged with complete indifference. “If you lose it, I’ll buy you another.”

He left then, and Victoria looked down at her betrothal ring, wishing he hadn’t been so cavalier about its potential loss. She wished the ring was more important to him, and less easily replaced. On the other hand, as a token of his affection, it was dismally appropriate, since she was unimportant to him and easily replaced.

He needs you, child. Charles’s words came back to reassure her and she smiled, remembering that, at least when she was in his arms, Jason seemed to need her very much. Feeling somewhat reassured, she went back to the salon, where her ring was immediately noted and duly exclaimed over by all the young ladies.

In the days that preceded her wedding, nearly three hundred people came to call on Victoria to wish her happiness. Elegant carriages paraded up and down the street, discharging their passengers and returning a correct twenty minutes later to pick them up again, while Victoria sat in the salon, listening to handsome middle-aged matrons offering advice on the difficult tasks of running large houses and entertaining on the lavish scale required of the nobility. Younger married women talked to her about the problems of finding proper governesses and the best way to locate acceptable tutors for children. And in the midst of all the cheerful chaos, a comforting sense of belonging began to take root deep in Victoria. Until now, she’d had no occasion to know these people better than slightly or to converse with them about anything other than the most superficial topics. She had been inclined to see them for the most part as wealthy, pampered females who never gave a thought to anything except gowns, jewels, and diversion. Now she saw them in a new light—as wives and mothers who also cared about performing their duties in an exemplary fashion—and she liked them much better.

Of everyone she knew, only Jason stayed away, but he did so for the sake of appearances, and Victoria had to be grateful for that, even though it sometimes gave her the uneasy feeling she was marrying an absentee stranger. Charles came downstairs often to charm the ladies with his conversation and make it clear that Victoria had his wholehearted support. The rest of the time he remained out of sight, “to gather his strength” as he told Victoria, so that he could have the honor of giving her away. Neither Victoria nor Dr. Worthing could dissuade him from his determination to do that. Jason didn’t bother to try.

As the days passed, Victoria truly enjoyed the time she spent in the salon with her callers—except on those occasions when Jason’s name was mentioned and she sensed a familiar undercurrent of apprehension amongst them. It was obvious her new friends and acquaintances admired the social prestige she would enjoy as the wife of a fabulously wealthy marquess, but Victoria had the uneasy feeling there were some who still had serious reservations about her future husband. It bothered her because she was coming to like these people very much, and she wanted them to like Jason, too. Occasionally, as she chatted with one visitor, she overheard snatches of conversation about Jason from another part of the room, but the conversations always stopped abruptly when Victoria turned attentively to listen. It prevented her from coming to his defense, because she didn’t know what to defend him against.

The day before they were to be married, the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place, forming a lurid picture that nearly sent Victoria reeling to the floor. As Lady Clappeston, the last visitor of the afternoon, took her leave, she gave Victoria’s arm a fond pat and said, “You’re a sensible young woman, my dear. And unlike some of the foolish doomhangers who worry about your safety, I have every faith you’ll deal well with Wakefield. You’re nothing like his first wife. In my opinion, Lady Melissa deserved everything she said he did to her, and more. The woman was nothing but a trollop!”

With that. Lady Clappeston sailed out of the salon, leaving Victoria staring at Caroline. “His first wife?” she uttered, feeling as if she were in the midst of a nightmare. “Jason was married before? Why—why didn’t someone tell me?”

“But I thought you knew at least that much,” Caroline burst out, anxious to acquit herself. “I naturally assumed your uncle or Lord Fielding would have told you. Surely you must have heard at least some gossip?”

“All I ever heard were snatches of conversations that always stopped as soon as people noticed I was present.” Victoria returned, white with rage and shock. “I’ve heard the name Lady Melissa mentioned in connection with Jason, but no one ever referred to her as his wife.People usually spoke of her in such disapproving tones that I assumed she had been... involved... with Jason, you know,” she finished awkwardly, “in the same way Miss Sybilsomeone-or-other was involved with him until now.”

“Was involved?” Caroline repeated in surprise at Victoria’s use of the past tense. She caught herself immediately, and looked down, apparently fascinated with the pattern of the upholstery on the blue silk sofa.

“Naturally, now that we are going to be married, Jason won’t—or will he?” she asked.

“I don’t know what he’ll do,” Caroline said miserably. “Some men, such as Robert, do give up their paramours when they marry, but others do not.”

Victoria rubbed her temples with her fingertips, her mind in such turmoil that she was sidetracked by this discussion of mistresses. “Sometimes, England is so strange to me. At home, husbands do not give their time or affection to women other than their wives. At least, I never heard about it. Yet I’ve heard remarks here that make me think it is perfectly acceptable for wealthy married gentlemen to consort with— with ladies who are not their wives.”

Caroline turned the conversation to a more pressing topic. “Does it matter terribly to you that Lord Fielding was married before?”

“Of course it does. At least I think it does. I don’t know. What matters most right now is that no one in the family told me about it.” She stood up so abruptly that Caroline jumped. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to go up and talk to my Uncle Charles.”

Uncle Charles’s valet put his finger to his lips when Victoria tapped at Charles’s door and informed her the duke was asleep. Too upset to wait for him to awaken so her questions could be answered, Victoria marched down the hall to Miss Flossie’s room. In recent weeks, Miss Flossie had virtually relinquished her duties as Victoria’s chaperone to Caroline Collingwood. As a result, Victoria had scarcely seen the lovable little yellow-haired woman except at an occasional meal.

Victoria tapped at her door, and when Miss Flossie cheerfully invited her to enter, she stepped into the pretty little sitting room that adjoined Miss Flossie’s bedroom.

“Victoria, my dear, you’re looking as radiant as a bride!” Miss Flossie said with her bright, vague smile and usual lack of discernment, for in truth Victoria was deathly pale and visibly overwrought.

“Miss Flossie,” Victoria said, plunging straight in, “I’ve just come from Uncle Charles’s room, but he was asleep. You are the only other person I can turn to. It’s about Jason. Something is terribly wrong.”

“Good heavens!” Miss Flossie cried, setting her needlework aside. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’ve just discovered that he was married before!” Victoria burst out.

Miss Flossie tipped her head to one side, an elderly china doll in a little white lace cap. “Dear me, I thought Charles had told you—or Wakefield himself. Well, in any event, Jason was married before, my dear. So now you know.” Having dispatched that problem, Miss Flossie smiled and picked up her needlework again.

“But I don’t know anything. Lady Clappeston said the oddest thing—she said Jason’s wife deserved everything he did to her. What did he do?”

“Do?” Miss Flossie repeated, blinking. “Why, nothing that I know of for certain. Lady Clappeston was foolish indeed to say he did anything, for she couldn’t know either, unless she was married to him, which I can assure you she was not. There, does that make you feel better?”

“No!” Victoria burst out a little hysterically. “What I wish to know is why Lady Clappeston believes Jason did bad things to his wife. She must have reason to think so, and unless I miss my guess, a great many people think as she does.”

“They may,” Miss Flossie agreed. “You see, Jason’s wretched wife, may she rest in peace—though I don’t know how she could do so, when one considers how wickedly she behaved when she was alive—cried to everyone about Wakefield’s abominable treatment of her. Some people evidently believed her, but the very fact that he didn’t murder her should prove that he is a man of admirable restraint. If I had a husband, which of course I don’t, and I did the things Melissa did, which of course I would never do, he would surely beat me. So if Wakefield beat Melissa, which I don’t know for certain he did, he would be more than justified in it. You may take my word on that.”

Victoria thought of the times she had seen Jason angry, of the leashed fury in his eyes and the awesome, predatory power she sometimes glimpsed beneath his urbane exterior. A picture flashed across her terrified mind—an image of a woman screaming as he beat her for some trivial infraction of his personal rules. “What,” she whispered hoarsely, “what sort of things did Melissa do?”

“Well, there is no nice way to say it. The truth is that she was seen in the company of other men.”

Victoria shuddered. Nearly every fashionable lady in London was seen in the company of other men. It was a way of life for fashionable married ladies to have their cicisbeos. “And he beat her for that?” she whispered sickly.

“We don’t know that he beat her,” Miss Flossie pointed out with careful precision. “In fact, I rather doubt it. I once heard a gentleman criticize Jason—behind his back, of course, for no one would ever have the courage to criticize him to his face—for the way he ignoredMelissa’s behavior.”

A sudden idea was born in Victoria’s reeling mind. “Exactly what did the gentleman say?” she asked carefully. “Exactly,” she emphasized.

“Exactly? Well, since you insist, he said—if I remember correctly—‘Wakefield is being cuckolded in front of all London and he damned well knows it, yet he ignores it and wears the horns. He’s setting a bad example for the rest of our wives to see. If you ask me, he ought to lock the harlot up in his place in Scotland and throw away the key.’ ”

Victoria’s head fell back weakly against her chair, and she closed her eyes with a mixture of relief and sorrow. “Cuckolded,” she whispered. “So that’s it....” She thought of how proud Jason was, and how much his pride must have been mangled by his wife’s public infidelities.

“Now, then, is there anything else you want to know?” Miss Flossie said.

“Yes,” Victoria said with visible unease.

The tension in her voice gave Miss Flossie a nervous start. “Well, I hope it isn’t anything about you-know,” she twittered nervously, “because as your nearest female relative I realize it is my responsibility to explain that to you, but the truth is I’m abysmally ignorant about it. I’ve cherished the hope your mother might have already explained it.”

Victoria curiously opened her eyes, but she was too exhausted by all that had happened to do more than say mildly, “I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

“I’m speaking of ‘you-know’—that is what my dearest friend, Prudence, always called it—which was very silly for I didn’t know at all. However, I can repeat to you the information given my friend Prudence by her mother on the day before her marriage.”

“I beg your pardon?” Victoria repeated, feeling stupid.

“Well, you needn’t beg my pardon; I should ask yours for not having the information to give you. But ladies do not discuss you-know. Do you wish to hear what Prudence’s mother said about it?”

Victoria’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, without having the vaguest idea what they were discussing.

“Very well. On your wedding night, your husband will join you in your bed—or perhaps he takes you to his, I can’t recall. In any event, you must not, under any circumstances, demonstrate your revulsion, nor scream, nor have vapors. You must close your eyes and permit him to do you-know. Whatever that may be. It will hurt and be repugnant, and there will be blood the first time, but you must close your eyes and persevere. I believe Prudence’s mama suggested that while you-know is happening, Prudence should try to think of something else—like the new fur or gown she will soon be able to buy if her husband is pleased with her. Nasty business, is it not?”

Tears of mirth and anxiety gathered in Victoria’s eyes and her shoulders shook with helpless laughter. “Thank you, Miss Flossie,” she giggled. “You’ve been very reassuring.” Until now, Victoria hadn’t let herself worry about the intimacies of marriage to which Jason would be entitled and of which he would undoubtedly avail himself, since he wanted a son from her. Although she was the daughter of a physician, her father had meticulously ensured that her eyes were never exposed to the sight of a male patient’s anatomy below the waist. Still, Victoria was not completely ignorant of the mating process. Her family had kept a few chickens and she had witnessed the flapping of wings and squawking that accompanied the act, although exactly what was happening was impossible to tell. Moreover, she had always averted her eyes out of some peculiar need to allow them their privacy while they went about creating new chicks.

Once when she was fourteen, her father had been summoned to a farmer’s house to look after the farmer’s wife who was in labor. While Victoria was waiting for the baby to be born, she had wandered out to the small pasture where the horses were kept. There she had witnessed the frightening spectacle of a stallion mounting a mare. He had clamped his huge teeth viciously into the mare’s neck, holding her helpless while he did his worst to her, and the poor mare screamed in pain.

Visions of flapping wings, squawking hens, and terrified mares paraded across her mind, and Victoria shuddered.

“My dear girl, you look quite pale, and I don’t blame you,” Miss Flossie put in not at all helpfully. “However, I have been given to understand that once a wife has done her duty and produced an heir, a thoughtful husband may be depended upon to get himself a paramour and do you-know to her, leaving his wife in peace to enjoy the rest of her life.”

Victoria’s gaze skittered nervously to the window. “A paramour,” she breathed, knowing Jason already had one, and that he’d had a great many others in the past—all beautiful, according to what gossip she’d heard. As Victoria sat there, she began to rethink her earlier feelings toward the gentlemen of the ton and their mistresses. She had thought it perfidious of them to be married and still keep paramours, but perhaps it wasn’t that at all. It seemed more likely that, as Miss Flossie suggested, the gentlemen of the ton were more civilized, refined, and considerate of their wives.

Rather than using their wives to fulfill their baser desires, they simply found another woman to do so, set her up in a nice house with servants and beautiful gowns, and left their poor wives in peace. Yes, she decided sensibly, this was probably an ideal way of handling the matter. Certainly the ladies of the ton seemed to think so, and they would know far better than she herself.

“Thank you, Miss Flossie,” she said sincerely. “You’ve been very helpful and very kind.”

Miss Flossie beamed, her yellow curls bouncing beneath her little white lace cap. “Thankyou, my dear girl. You’ve made Charles happier than I’ve ever seen him. And Jason, too, of course,” she added politely.

Victoria smiled, but she couldn’t quite accept the notion that she had made Jason truly happy.

Wandering back to her room, she sat down before the empty fireplace and forced herself to try to untangle her emotions and stop hiding from the facts. Tomorrow morning she was going to marry Jason. She wanted to make him happy—she wanted it so much she hardly knew how to deal with her own feelings. The fact that he had been married to a faithless woman evoked sympathy and compassion in her heart, not resentment—and an even greater desire to make up for all the unhappiness in his life.

Restlessly, Victoria got up and walked about the room, picking up the porcelain music box on her dressing table, then laying it down and walking over to the bed. She tried to tell herself she was marrying Jason because she had no choice, but as she sat down upon the bed, she admitted that wasn’t entirely true. Part of her wanted to marry him. She loved his looks and his smile and his dry sense of humor. She loved the brisk authority in his deep voice and the confidence in his long, athletic strides. She loved the way his eyes gleamed when he laughed at her and the way they smoldered when he kissed her. She loved the lazy elegance with which he wore his clothes and the way his lips felt—

Victoria tore her thoughts from Jason’s lips and stared bleakly at the gold silk bed hangings. She loved many things about him—too many things. She was not a good judge of men; her experience with Andrew was proof of that. She had deceived herself into believing Andrew loved her, but she had no illusions about what Jason felt for her. He was attracted to her and he wanted a son from her. He liked her, too, Victoria knew, but beyond that, he felt nothing for her. She, on the other hand, was already in serious danger of falling in love with him. But he didn’t want her love. He’d told her that in the plainest possible terms.

For weeks she’d been trying to convince herself that what she felt for Jason was gratitude and friendship, but she knew now it had already gone much deeper than that. Why else would she feel this burning need to make him happy and make him love her? Why else would she have experienced such rage when Miss Flossie spoke of his wife’s public infidelities?

Fear raced through Victoria and she rubbed her damp palms against her lime-colored muslin gown. Tomorrow morning she was going to commit her entire life into the keeping of a man who didn’t want her love, a man who could use the tenderness she felt for him as a weapon to hurt her. Every instinct for self-preservation that Victoria possessed warned her not to marry him. Her father’s own words tolled through her mind, as they had been doing for days, warning her not to walk down that aisle tomorrow: “Loving someone who doesn’t love you is hell!... Don’t ever let anyone convince you that you can be happy with someone who doesn’t love you.... Don’t ever love anyone more than they love you, Tory....”

Victoria bent her head, her hair falling forward in a curtain around her tense face, her hands clenched into fists. Her mind warned her not to marry him, that he would make her miserable—but her heart begged her to gamble everything on him, to reach for the happiness just beyond her grasp.

Her mind told her to run, but her heart begged her not to be a coward.

Northrup tapped upon her door, his voice vibrating with disapproval. “Excuse me, Lady Victoria,” he said from the other side of her closed door. “There is a distraught, disheveled young lady downstairs, without escort or bonnet, who arrived in a hired carriage, but who claims to be... ahem... your sister? I am not aware of any young female relations of yours here in London, so naturally I suggested she leave, however—”

“Dorothy?” Victoria burst out, pulling open the door and raking her hair off her forehead. “Where is she?” Victoria said, her face radiant.

“I put her in the small salon at the front,” Northrup said with visible dismay. “But if she is your sister, of course, I shall show her into the more comfortable yellow salon and...”

His voice trailed off as Victoria raced around the corner and down the stairs.

“Tory!” Dorothy burst out, wrapping Victoria in a fierce, protective hug, her words tumbling over themselves, her voice shaking with laughter and tears. “You should have seenthe look your butler gave my hired carriage—it was nearly as bad as the look he gave me.”

“Why didn’t you answer my last letter?” Victoria said, hugging her tightly.

“Because I only returned from Bath today. Tomorrow I’m being sent to France for two months to acquire what Grand-mama calls ‘polish.’ She’ll be mad as fire if she discovers I’ve been here, but I can’t just stand by and let you marry that man. Tory, what have they done to make you agree? Have they beaten you or starved you or—”

“Nothing of the sort,” Victoria said, smiling and smoothing her sister’s golden hair. “I want to marry him.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re only trying to fool me so I won’t worry....”

Jason leaned back in his carriage, idly slapping his gloves upon his knee as he gazed out the window, watching the mansions parading past along the route to his house in Upper Brook Street. His wedding was tomorrow....

Now that he had admitted to himself his desire for Victoria and made the decision to marry her, he wanted her with an urgency that was almost irrational. His growing need for her made him feel vulnerable and uneasy, for he knew from past experience how vicious, how treacherous, the “gentle sex” could be. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting her any more than he could stifle his naive, boyish hope that they were going to make each other happy.

Life with her would never be placid, he thought with a wry smile. Victoria would amuse, frustrate, and defy him at every turn—he knew that as surely as he knew that she was marrying him only because she had no other choice. He knew it as surely as he knew that her virginity had already been given to Andrew.

The smile abruptly faded from his lips. He had hoped she would deny it the other afternoon; instead she had looked away and said, “I’m sorry.”

He had hated hearing the truth, but he had admired her for telling it to him. In his heart, he couldn’t blame Victoria for giving herself to Andrew, not when he could so easily understand how it had happened. He could well imagine how an innocent young girl, raised in the country, could have been convinced by the wealthiest man in the district that she was going to be his wife. Once Bainbridge convinced her of that, it probably hadn’t been too difficult to steal her virginity. Victoria was a warm, generous girl who would probably give herself to the man she truly loved as naturally as she gave her attention to the servants or her affection to Wolf.

After the dissolute life he himself had led, for him to condemn Victoria for surrendering her virginity to the man she loved would be the height of hypocrisy, and Jason despised hypocrites. Unfortunately, he also despised the thought of Victoria lying naked in another man’s arms. Andrew had taught her well, he thought tightly as the carriage drew up before #6 Upper Brook Street. He had taught her how to kiss a man and how to increase his ardor by pressing herself against him....

Tearing his mind away from those painful thoughts, he alighted from the coach and strode up the steps. Victoria was over Andrew now, he told himself fiercely. She had forgotten about him in the past weeks.

He knocked on the door, feeling a little foolish for appearing on her doorstep on the night before their wedding. He had no reason for coming except to pleasure himself with the sight of her and, he hoped, to please her by telling her about the Indian pony he had arranged to have put on one of his ships from America. It was to be one of her wedding presents, but in truth he was absurdly eager to see her demonstrate her skill on it. He knew how beautiful she would look with her graceful body bent low over the horse’s neck, and her wondrous hair glinting in the sunlight.... “Good evening, Northrup. Where is Lady Victoria?”

“In the yellow salon, my lord,” Northrup replied. “With her sister.”

“Her sister?” Jason said, smiling with surprise and pleasure when Northrup nodded. “Evidently the old witch has lifted the restriction against Dorothy coming here,” he added, already starting down the hall. Glad to have this opportunity to meet the young sister Victoria had told him about, Jason opened the door to the yellow salon.

“I can’t bear it,” a young girl was weeping into her handkerchief. “I’m glad Grandmama won’t let me attend your wedding. I couldn’t stand to be there, watching you walk down the aisle, knowing you’re pretending he’s Andrew—”

“Evidently, I’ve arrived at an inconvenient time,” Jason drawled. The hope he had secretly cherished that Victoria actually wanted to marry him died a swift, painful death at the discovery that she needed to pretend he was Andrew before she could force herself to walk down the aisle.

“Jason!” Victoria said, whirling around in dismay as she realized he had overheard Dorothy’s foolish ramblings. Recovering her composure, she held out her hands to him and said with a gentle smile, “I’m so glad you’re here. Please come and show yourself to my sister.” Knowing there was no possible way to smooth things over with a compassionate lie, she tried to make him understand by telling him the truth. “Dorothy has overheard some condemning remarks made by my great-grandmother’s companion, Lady Faulklyn, and because of what she overheard, Dorothy has formed the most absurd impression that you are a cruel monster.” She bit her lip when Jason lifted a sardonic eyebrow at Dorothy and said absolutely nothing; then she bent over Dorothy. “Dorothy, will you please be reasonable and at least let me introduce Lord Fielding to you, so you can see for yourself that he is very nice?”

Unconvinced, Dorothy raised her gaze to the cold, implacable features of the man who loomed before her like a dark, angry giant, his arms crossed over his wide chest. Her eyes rounded and, without a word, she slowly stood up, but instead of curtsying, she glared at him. “Lord Fielding,” she said defiantly, “I don’t know whether you are ‘very nice’ or not. However, I warn you that if you ever dare to harm a hair on my sister’s head I shan’t scruple to—to shoot you! Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Her voice shook with angry fear, but she bravely held his cold green eyes with her own.

“Perfectly.”

“Then, since I can’t convince my sister to run away from you,” she finished, “I shall return to my great-grandmother’s house. Good evening.”

She walked out with Victoria at her heels. “Dorothy, how could you,” Victoria demanded miserably. “How could you be so rude?”

“Better he think I am rude than that he can abuse you without anyone exacting retribution.”

Victoria rolled her eyes and hugged her sister good-bye, then hastened back to the salon.

“I’m sorry,” she said abjectly to Jason, who was standing at the windows watching Dorothy’s carriage pull away.

Glancing over his shoulder at her, Jason raised his eyebrows. “Can she shoot?”

Uncertain of his mood, Victoria smothered a nervous giggle and shook her head. When he turned back to the window and said nothing else, she tried to explain. “Dorothy has a vivid imagination and she won’t believe I’m not marrying you because I’m distraught over Andrew.”

“Aren’t you?” he mocked.

“No, I’m not.”

He turned fully around then, his eyes like shards of icy green glass. “When you walk down that aisle tomorrow, Victoria, your precious Andrew isn’t going to be waiting for you,I am. Remember that. If you can’t face the truth, don’t come to the church.” He had come here to tell her he had gotten her an Indian pony; he had intended to tease her and make her smile. He left without another word.