avid tried to concentrate on the letter he was writing to the secretary of foreign affairs, but he was interrupted by the door swinging open unannounced.

Nurse Carter, a tall, big-boned woman, pushed his father's wheelchair into the room, and couldn't meet David's gaze.

David sat back in his chair and tried to size up his father's mood. The earl wore an air of satisfaction that was confusing.

"Father, once again you didn't have luncheon with us. Rather rude of you, wasn't it?"

The earl glanced over his shoulder. "Nurse Carter, you may leave us. Wait outside the door. I'll call for you."

When they were alone, the earl spent a moment studying David, as if he were waiting for something. David remained silent, much as he'd like to tell the earl what he thought of his treatment of Victoria. That would only make the old man's hostility worse.

Confronting Lady Augusta had made David realize that now Victoria would be paying for his father's sins, too, and that wasn't fair.

"I imagine the girl came running to tell you what transpired between us," the earl said.

David smiled without amusement. "Victoria is too good-natured for that. It was her mother who did the correct thing by telling me about your insulting behavior."

"So the old battle-ax has some spirit. I've seen her skulking about the house. Got exactly what she wanted, didn't she. Acountess for a daughter."

"A viscountess," David said.

"Not for long, eh? Soon she'll have it all."

"Stop it." David went to the window and stared out at the gardens, his hands clenched behind his back, looking for a measure of peace he usually never found with his father. "Every time we have an argument, you bring up your eventual death to wield against me. It never works."

"Perhaps not, but it makes me feel better," the earl said, his voice betraying an exhaustion he seldom showed anyone.

David turned to face him. "Why did you come to talk about this? I made apologies for you. Now you can do your part and leave Victoria alone."

"If I insulted her, then at least you now know how I felt whenever you insulted my Colette."

David stiffened, and his growing anger melted into the icy coldness that always lived within his heart. "I never insulted your mistress."

"Not directly, but she knew how you felt. She cried about it. And now she's dead, and you can't apologize. You couldn't even come to console me at her funeral."

Closing his eyes, David pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He didn't want to relive the months after his mother's death, when his father had found a mistress and moved the crude woman right into the house, for all the ton to gawk at.

David kept his voice even. "If you can't be civil to Victoria, then don't leave your room when she's about."

His father stared at him, a bitter smile tilting the corner of his mouth. "Is she under your skin already? That was quick. Not wise to let a woman do that to you, boy. They just break your heart."

"As if you speak from experience," David scoffed.

He thought his father winced, but he didn't want to believe it.

"Just do your duty and get me a grandchild," the old man said.

"You're making damn sure Victoria won't ever let our child near you."

His father froze, his glance wintry. "Is that a threat, David?"

"No, just a prediction."

"The girl can't already be carrying a child, is she? Is that why you married such a plain thing?"

David thought of Victoria pregnant with his child, and something deep inside him went cold. He stalked to the door. With his hand on the knob, he said over his shoulder, "Unlike you, I controlled myself."

He didn't wait to hear the reply, just opened the door and asked for Nurse Carter.

When his father had gone, David paced his study. His father had hurt Victoria— but so had he.

He hadn't planned on hurting her. Yet he'd allowed his mistress into the house yesterday.

His father had brought home a mistress, too.

David felt disturbed to even consider that what had happened with Damaris and Victoria was in any way like his father bringing Colette to live with them.

Yet if anyone but Victoria had discovered Damaris in his home, it could easily have been a terrible scandal. How close had he come to being the center of controversy, instead of just the innocent son?

On the carriage ride to the Bannaster home, Victoria tried to quell her nervousness. She'd had luncheon with some of these people, but that didn't make her feel better. Lord Thurlow had told her there would be eleven other couples— twenty-two people! Victoria assumed that Miss Lingard wouldn't be there, because she wasn't a railway director.

Victoria was still so bothered by the fact that her husband might run into his former mistress for business reasons!

The Bannaster town house was larger than even Lord Thurlow's home, and Victoria knew that Mr. Bannaster must have very successful investments to be able to afford it. The drawing room they were shown to was large enough for them to dance in, but instead a dozen couples mingled between groupings of furniture scattered through the room beneath frescoed ceilings.

After meeting the Bannasters, they were greeted by the Huttons, their hosts from the luncheon, and soon Lord Thurlow went off with Mr. Hutton, leaving Victoria with his wife.

Mrs. Hutton introduced her to other wives, and Victoria found herself in the middle of a friendly group. Her fears that her old shy ways would surface came to naught, and she started to enjoy herself. When needlework became a topic, she even had a lot to say.

During a lull in the conversation, their hostess, Mrs. Bannaster, turned the attention to Victoria, speaking with the faintest accent of a poorer section of London.

"Lady Thurlow, I don't know if ye remember, but we met many years ago."

Victoria studied the older woman. "I'm sorry, I don't."

"You were much younger, closer to my daughters' ages than mine. But I wanted to tell ye how impressed I am with how ye've grown into a lovely young woman."

Victoria glanced across the room at her husband, knowing what they all must think about her marrying into the nobility.

"No, my lady, you misunderstand me," Mrs. Bannaster said. "I remember ye as a very shy girl who seemed frightened to converse with women, let alone men."

Victoria blushed.

Mrs. Bannaster put her hand on Victoria's arm. "Please do not be embarrassed. You are to be commended on how ye conquered your weaknesses. One of my daughters is very shy. I will hold ye up as an inspiration for her."

"Mrs. Bannaster, please, I don't feel like anyone's inspiration," Victoria said. "You're all being very kind to me, but as you all know, life is what matures us. And having to face situations we never thought we could."

They looked at her with such kindness. Of course they all knew that her father had died leaving the family nothing. But they didn't seem to judge her for it, and she was grateful. She knew that wouldn't happen with the ton.

"And how are your sisters?" Mrs. Wilton asked.

She was much closer to Victoria's age, and even looked a bit familiar.

"I knew Louisa well," Mrs. Wilton continued. "She is a sweet young woman."

"Thank you," Victoria said.

She explained about the positions her sisters had taken, expecting to experience everyone's pity, but once again these women surprised her, showing genuine interest in her sisters' lives. Why had it taken so long for Victoria to realize that these women had so many things in common with her? Some must have started under mean circumstances before their husbands rose to power with their successful investments. Perhaps Lord Thurlow liked being with the husbands for the same reasons. They were hardworking people who knew where they'd come from, and looked down on no one in the same position.

Thinking about her husband made her look through the crowd for him. He wasn't difficult to find, being the tallest man in the room. He'd spend several minutes with a group of men, then approach the next group. She'd never noticed how…graceful he was (if you could call a man that), how every muscle moved with precision and purpose. He should be awkward or clumsy, but instead…instead she watched him walk and felt all strange inside.

Her cheeks grew warm, as she remembered that she was the one he'd come home with tonight.

Mrs. Wilton drew closer to take Victoria's elbow. "You know, my lady, my husband, Mr. Wilton, enjoys working with Lord Thurlow. It's hard to believe your husband comes from such a loftier family than any of ours. It's such a shame."

Victoria frowned. "I don't understand."

"It's such a shame that his own people won't have anything to do with him."

Victoria felt chilled as she looked around at the circle of women. Mrs. Bannaster gave her a sympathetic look, but there were one or two women whom Victoria had not been introduced to yet, who exchanged satisfied expressions. Though the majority liked Lord Thurlow, there were always people who enjoyed seeing the mighty fall.

Victoria felt the need to defend him. "That's not true, Mrs. Wilton. My husband receives invitations every day. But he chooses the events he enjoys, like this lovely party of Mrs. Bannaster's."

Their hostess beamed. "That's sweet of ye, my dear, but we all know our husbands are meeting for business tonight as well. After dinner, we'll be without them for several hours at least. Things are coming to a head with the Southern Railway."

All the other women nodded their agreement, some showing excitement, others nervousness. And Victoria remembered once more how it felt to be on the outside— because her husband had confided nothing to her.

Mrs. Bannaster sighed. "The end is near, ladies— or should we say the beginning. Lady Thurlow, it was wonderful of your husband to offer the use of Banstead House for the last meeting. I'm sure ye'll make the celebration a memorable event."

Victoria smiled and nodded, and used every bit of her willpower to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. "Excuse me, ladies, I need to speak to Lord Thurlow."

"Ah, newlyweds," Mrs. Wilton said with a giggle.

Hadn't the dressmaker said the same thing? But it didn't mean anything in Victoria's marriage. She was denying her Lord Thurlow his legal rights as a husband— and he was denying her a real place in his life.

Victoria crossed the drawing room, nodding and smiling appropriately as she passed several people. Lord Thurlow was talking with two other men, so she waited where he could see her. When she finally got her husband's attention, he smiled at her with an excitement she'd never seen before. But she knew it wasn't about her— it was this Southern Railway business.

Was she actually jealous of an investment now?

"My lord, might I speak with you in private?"

"Of course."

He gave their apologies to the other men, and then he took her arm.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

But he wasn't looking at her as he spoke. His gaze was for the railway directors, and the success of whatever event this actually was.

She sighed. "Is there a place we can be alone for a few minutes?"

Now she had his attention. He watched her with the beginnings of a concerned frown.

"Of course. I know where the library is."

He escorted her from the room, and soon the noise of two dozen people speaking at once faded away. The library was at the end of the corridor, and when they were inside, he closed the door and leaned back against it.

"What's wrong, Victoria?"

She looked about her at the thousands of books lining the walls from floor to ceiling. She didn't know where to start, how to make him understand her position without angering him.

But she was already angry enough for both of them.

She decided to be direct. "I just learned we're to host a party for your railway directors."

He nodded. "It was planned long before our engagement. My steward has everything under control."

"But I will be your hostess. That was one of the reasons you married me. Am I correct?"

"That is true for any wife, Victoria. You're saying I should have remembered to tell you about the dinner party."

"Yes. Usually a wife does the planning, not the steward. I would have enjoyed helping you with something I actually know how to do."

He linked his hands behind his back. "That never happened in my household, since my mother was so ill."

Her anger slipped away. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize— "

"I don't mean to keep putting you in these positions," he said.

His eyes were sincere as they stared down at her. They made her want to believe everything he said. She would gladly melt into his embrace—

And then he'd get away with not explaining the rest. She took a step back, and his eyes widened. Did he know how easily his face swayed a woman?

"I have more questions, my lord. All of these women know about the Southern Railway except me. I thought it was just an investment of yours, but that can't be true."

"It started that way, yes," he said, beginning to pace back and forth in front of her. "But I discovered that I enjoyed the railway business, for the reasons I gave you when I first took you to the office."

"It's England's future; I understand that. But why wasn't investing enough for you?"

"Because when I had the majority shares, I thought I could make more of it. There are dozens of railways throughout England, all of them running their own little line with a different gauge track, their own little kingdoms. You haven't ridden a train, so you don't understand. Often, when you reach a town, you have to leave one train, cross town by carriage, and board another train from a different railway company. The time lost is ridiculous."

"But surely the train saves so much time as it is."

"Yes, but it could be more efficient, especially when transporting goods. So I'm the unofficial chairman and my railway board has come up with a bold plan. We're going to buy three other railways in the south of England and consolidate them. All the same gauge track, and every line will be accessible without leaving the train."

"That's a sound plan," she said, although inside she grew more and more worried about the extent of a peer's involvement in a company. "But why the secrecy? I understand how you can't allow your peers to know that you're involved in commerce. It would be a scandal. Is that all it is?"

"Only partly," he said, coming to a stop in front of her. "There's another man, Mr. Norton, owner of Channel Railway. He's been talking to one of the companies I want to buy out. The directors and I already have some shares in each of our targets, but not yet enough. We don't want him to know what we're doing, or we'll risk him trying to buy the other companies before we can. If these railways know he's interested, the price could rise too high."

"It sounds risky," she said.

He shrugged. "I've invested a lot of capital, but nothing I can't do without. My estates are bringing in a sizable rent these days."

But that wasn't what she meant. He risked his future among the ton if all this got out. She'd thought his work in Parliament was important to him. But when his father died and he moved to the House of Lords, how could he deal with the other peers if they didn't consider him a gentleman because of his business dealings?

But she was only his wife; it wasn't her place to tell him what he must already know.

It was only her place to worry.

"Do you understand, Victoria?" he asked.

She nodded. What else could she do?

He smiled. "You're the perfect wife," he said, tucking her hand into his arm as he led her back to the drawing room.

The perfect wife?

As he left her to join his fellow directors, she thought about that phrase. Soon it came to her— she'd once written to him in their journal and described what she thought would be his Perfect Wife.

And at the time, she'd assumed it would never be she. She'd thought his perfect wife would be as brave and adventurous as he used to be— as he still was. He was moving into industrialization like an explorer, the first of his kind to try something new.

And all she could do was worry. What a perfect wife.

The coachman pulled up before Banstead House long after midnight. David had enjoyed the ride, because Victoria had fallen asleep against his shoulder. The warm weight of her made him think of more pleasant intimacies ahead of them. When he escorted her to her bedroom, she looked so drowsy that he wondered if he should not disturb her any more that night.

But he was selfish. Every time he'd caught a glimpse of her from across the room at the dinner party, he'd thought of being alone with her again. He'd thought of that dress he'd watched her try on, and the way it had made her breasts look like the most touchable, tasty—

David went to his own room before he swept her into his arms. His valet had turned down the bed and left candles lit. But the man had long since retired for the night, knowing that David preferred to bathe in the morning and to prepare for bed alone.

Especially when he might not be sleeping immediately.

He stared at the door connecting his room to Victoria's, yanking off his cravat and dropping his coat onto a chair. He was normally fastidious about his clothing, but tonight he felt…restless.

Off came his waistcoat, and he tossed it into a corner, feeling some satisfaction.

He stared at her closed door, knowing that due to his own wedding night suggestion, Victoria was just as closed off from him.

But he wanted to make her groan and know that it was all because of him. He wanted her as his real wife, so there would be no more uncertainty between them. Surely then she'd know she could trust him.

But he had n't done a good job of proving that so far.

He meant well— he just kept forgetting to inform her of things. He knew he wasn't deliberately hurting her, but the look in her eyes tonight, when she'd realized that every other woman there but her knew the railway's plans…

Leaving on his trousers, he drew his dressing gown over his bare chest. He leaned against Victoria's door and heard the cascade of water. Unbidden came a vision of her sunk in her bath, her nude body glistening, her hair tumbling down around her wet, dimpled shoulders. He would offer to scrub her back, then slide his hands around the front of her and—

He pulled back from the door and shook his head to clear these foolish thoughts. What was he, a boy waiting for his first woman? At the wash-stand, he splashed cool water onto his face.

Eventually he knocked on her door. There was absolute silence for several seconds.

"Just a moment," she called in a breathless voice.

He wondered at his own impatience— it was not as if he was going to see even one bare limb. And maybe she was still angry with him. But he couldn't ignore her.

"Come in, my lord."

He entered her room, and immediately that peculiar scent wafted over him— the smell of jasmine soap from the hip bath cooling near the fire, the warmth from the grate, and finally the scent of Victoria herself, so unusual he couldn't place it.

Tonight she stood near the hearth, always as far away from the bed as she could get. She wore the same dressing gown, belted at her waist. It showed off her well-curved figure as it flowed in cream silken lines over her hips. Above the sash, the silk expanded over her breasts, meeting again at her throat. He could see her pulse fluttering just above the neckline. His gaze traveled up, to where she moistened her lips. The dart of her tongue made him harder, and he hadn't thought that possible. Her lashes were lowered demurely, but she sneaked a glance at him with eyes that glowed violet in the low light. For a moment he froze, entranced by their shine.

How would she look at him if he pressed for more tonight, if he laid her down on that big bed and—

But then he'd be disappointing her again, breaking their agreement.

She frowned at him, her blond brows losing that delicate arch. Since when had this fascination with her appearance crept over him?

"My lord?" she murmured uncertainly. "Shall I send for a glass of wine? Or brandy?"

He shook his head as he touched the end of the sash falling from her waist. She bit her lip, a familiar gesture that always riveted his attention on her full mouth. He tugged harder than he meant to, not realizing the sash was knotted. She stumbled toward him and put a hand on his chest to catch herself. Without thinking, he lowered his head until he could inhale the damp, fragrant scent of her hair. He put his hand over hers and held it to his chest— until he realized what he betrayed by his pounding heart.

He let her go and she stepped back, her face awash in its usual pink glow.

"Forgive me, my lord, I wasn't expecting— "

He guided her hands away from her waist and plucked at the knot himself. The backs of his fingers brushed her stomach, and he felt the catch in her breathing, saw the way she kept her face averted. Then the sash dropped away, and the folds of the dressing gown fell straight from the curves of her breasts. If only she weren't wearing anything underneath, but he knew better.

He reached up to undo the single clasp at her throat, and she finally met his gaze. She was as still as a deer, those eyes shining at him— but not with trust.

The clasp came free and he spread the dressing gown wide, letting it fall back from her shoulders. It slid off her arms to pool on the floor. Of course, she was wearing long sleeves, and she was covered from her toes to her neck, but the fabric was so sheer that he could see her nipples, and watch them pucker from just his look. She was breathing so quickly that everything trembled.