avid poured Simon a drink and then helped himself. "Did you enjoy teasing my wife?"

"I never teased her," he said solemnly, almost successful at hiding the twinkle in his eyes.

"Then did you enjoy teasing me?"

Simon's amusement faded, and he actually looked tired. "You need to get out more."

"I'm out every day."

"Let me be more specific. You need to take your wife out and about."

David studied his glass very deliberately. "She's already attended a luncheon and a dinner party with me."

"Whose?" Simon asked with disbelief. "I attend every luncheon and dinner party."

"The Huttons and the Bannasters."

He frowned. "I've never heard of them. Could they be— railway directors?"

David smiled. "How did you ever guess?"

"Oh, that's right— you were using your wife as a social partner to further your business interests. Hope she didn't mind that."

"She didn't. She's even planning our own dinner party as we speak."

"With the railway directors."

"Yes."

"Well, that you'll have to invite me to. I can't imagine you as a host. But after that you need to try exposing her to the society you were born into. They're your birthright, and your future children's birthright."

"Simon— "

"I think it's a little too easy for you to just keep things the way you've always done them, because Victoria gives you no trouble. Yet she obviously means a bit more to you than you thought she would, so perhaps you're even worried about society's reaction to her."

"I already know how society reacts to her, because she told me." David drained his glass. "She doesn't need that kind of humiliation again."

"Was whatever you're referencing a recent event?"

He frowned. "She wrote it in our journal, so no."

"This girl who can confront your father— and yes, your servants told me she visited with him today— is not a girl any longer, but a woman. She could handle herself, if given the opportunity. But I think you also have memories you don't wish to confront, and going out into society will make things uncomfortable for you."

David rose to his feet, ostensibly to refill their glasses, but a lurking part of him wanted Simon to leave. His friend was as inquisitive as a physician. "More brandy?"

"Of course." When David was leaning over him to pour, Simon said, "No one will remember Colette."

David stiffened, then turned his back to set down the decanter. "I don't wish to discuss her."

"Or your father, obviously. She was his mistress, David, not his wife. No one will even remember that she lived here."

David remembered well enough for everyone. "Simon, don't be naive. It was only a few years ago. Hell, two families refused me their daughters in marriage because of my father's scandalous conduct."

Simon stared at him. "You never told me that."

"It was hardly something to brag about," he said dryly.

"Good God, you're a future earl! That alone should guarantee you the ability to marry whomever you wanted."

"But it didn't. Victoria is not the only one to benefit from this marriage."

"David, we both know any number of women who would have married you. You can't be telling yourself that Victoria was the only one."

"Of course not." David frowned and considered his glass, knowing that what Simon said was true. He'd been dwelling on his frustration at being refused, when he damn well knew there might be other ladies of the ton, perhaps of a lower nobility, who wouldn't care about his father's indiscretions. David hadn't gone any further in his search for a wife, only continued to nurse his anger. Then he'd focused on Victoria, and marrying her had seemed the perfect solution.

"I will consider your advice about my wife's daily schedule," David said.

Simon shook his head. "Only consider?"

When they rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, David silently watched Simon attempting to persuade Victoria to sing for them. She looked embarrassed to perform in front of an audience, and no one pushed the idea further. Couldn't Simon see how difficult society women would be on Victoria?

And she had visited his father today? Why would anyone willingly do that?

For once he found himself impatient for Simon to leave, something he'd never felt before. He couldn't place his motivations until he realized he was watching Victoria more than talking to his friend. Good God, was he anxious to be upstairs with his wife? This was another night he would not have a husband's satisfaction, yet it strangely did not affect his desire to be alone with her.

Simon eventually took the unspoken hint and left, not bothering to hide his smile. Victoria escorted her mother into the hall, leaving David alone. He stepped out of the drawing room and watched them ascend the stairs. Victoria's bottom swayed enticingly beneath her skirt. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and David didn't bother to pretend he wasn't watching her. She quickly looked away.

When Lord Thurlow eventually arrived in Victoria's room, dressed in his usual trousers and dressing gown, she noticed that this time, besides lacking a shirt, he also lacked shoes. His bare feet seemed strangely intimate. Or was it that she was remembering how he'd looked at her last night, when he'd removed her dressing gown? He'd been so quiet, so intent— until they'd been disturbed.

What would he do to her tonight? And what would her own expression reveal? She had already sensed that emotions were not something he wanted to deal with. He was a businessman at heart, after all. Some people's eyes revealed things about them, but Lord Thurlow's were like frosted windows in the winter, hiding what was inside. She had written her feelings down, hoping that would help, but for once her journal wasn't a comfort. She stood before him, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say.

Her husband inclined his head. "I hear that you visited my father today."

"Yes, my lord. Since we live in the same house, it would feel awkward not to know him better."

"And how did you find him?"

"Very sad."

"'Sad' is not a word my father would want associated with him," he said.

To her surprise, he began to walk slowly around the room, looking at the little things she'd brought from home— the fan her father had brought her from France, the sheet music she'd left on her desk. Thank goodness she'd put her journals in the desk drawer! Although she could not imagine him to be the kind of man who would insist on reading her private thoughts.

But of course, she'd once let him read everything she'd written.

"Well, the earl must be sad, my lord, because he did not want flowers, and everyone likes flowers."

He smiled. "They do?"

"Yes. One usually prefers to be cheerful— but not your father. Of course," she hastily added, "he has every reason to be depressed."

"You sound like you plan to visit him again."

"Of course! He is such a sad man, after all."

One corner of his lips quirked up, but it was not a smile. "To me, he only shows his anger."

"Maybe that's what he wants you to see. Sadness seems to be an emotion no man wants to reveal." She thought of her own father, who'd never revealed anything, until his suicide had spoken for him.

He smiled. "Do you know so much about men?"

Victoria felt her blush start at her chest and race upward. "Of course not, my lord."

He walked toward her. The closer he got, the more she had to tilt her head to see his face. He touched her chin lightly, and she froze.

"I was merely teasing you," he said.

"Oh." Her voice sounded breathless, but she couldn't help it. Just a simple touch from him, and her breathing was impaired.

He put his hands on her shoulders, then lightly ran them all the way down her arms. He linked his fingers with hers.

"Your hands are cold," he murmured.

He rubbed them gently and she felt each touch deep in her body. No wonder ladies wore gloves. And then he began removing her dressing gown again. As she stood waiting, she had a thought of doing the same thing to him, as if she'd ever be that adventurous! But hadn't she said that the Perfect Wife should be adventurous? Was such a thing within her grasp?

He seemed to be struggling with the knot in her sash. His knuckles brushed the lower curve of her right breast, and she betrayed herself with a soft gasp.

When he said nothing, she peeked up into his face again. He caught her gaze and held it as the dressing gown came free. He undid the clasp at her throat, and then the fabric slid from her shoulders. Tonight the nightdress she'd chosen only reached her collarbones, instead of her throat, and he stared at the extra three inches of skin revealed. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she waited.

"Look at me."

He took her face in his large hands, and her eyes lifted to his. His skin was so very warm on her cool cheeks. She didn't understand him or what his expression revealed, but she let herself enjoy the gentle way he caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. The stroking continued across her lips and lingered there, brushing the full lower lip. Her breath touched his skin, her body felt flush and full and far too hot than could be good for her. But she couldn't look away from the intent way he stared at her, the way he watched his own fingers caress her.

Like a blind man, he used his fingers to slide up the bridge of her nose and across her forehead, but again he returned to her lips as if he had to memorize them. Strangely enough, it felt so very right to be touched by him, so right that her embarrassment faded away. His thumbs brushed along the crease of her lips, then gently parted them until the faintest moisture from her mouth glistened on the tip of his finger.

She found herself watching his mouth, leaning toward him, waiting…

"Can I kiss you?"

This time he asked, rather than commanded, and she whispered, "Oh, yes."

He placed gentle kisses on her lips, then across both her cheeks. Her forehead benefited from his touch, then even her throat. She dropped her head back and moaned. She would have staggered if he hadn't caught her arms.

And then he stepped away from her, and her skin went cold.

"Good night, Victoria."

It was their usual parting, but she found she had to swallow twice to repeat the farewell back to him. When he had gone, she touched her own face softly, but it wasn't the same.

He was capable of great gentleness, and she wanted to experience more of it. She was trying to make the best of this marriage after all.

Her marriage would only thrive if she could help Lord Thurlow and his father achieve peace. If she knew her husband better, surely life would be easier. Not only would she meet him for breakfast, she would follow him out to the stables and see what happened. She wanted to be more than a dinner companion to him.

As David walked down the gravel path toward the stables, he heard a sound from behind and found Victoria following him. She waved, and he waited until she caught up with him.

"Did you need me for something, Victoria?"

She shook her head. "I just had other things I wanted to talk to you about. And also…I thought it would be good to see what you enjoy doing. Would you show me the stables?"

She seemed to square her shoulders as if in preparation for an argument. How could he refuse her?

"Come along then," he said, noticing her relief as she fell into step beside him. The day was warm, and he found himself watching Victoria as she strolled through the garden, smiling at the flowers, with the sun glinting from her hair.

"Have you ridden since you moved in?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I've only ridden twice in my life," she confessed, a reluctant smile forming.

David glanced at her in surprise. "Twice?"

She shielded her eyes from the sun and stared up at him. "Do you remember why?"

For a moment there was something between them, a ghost of words from long ago. He tried to remember the boy he'd been, the eager way he'd looked forward to reading everything— anything she'd written. That boy was so innocent, so un-comprehending of the realities of life. David couldn't remember what it felt like to be that boy, when the world was still fresh.

"No, I don't remember," he said.

He could see her brief disappointment. Her every thought was always laid out for him to read on her face. She never held anything back, as far as he could tell. That showed a kind of trust he wasn't used to.

She gave a dramatic sigh. "I guess it wasn't very memorable, then, though you teased me about it for months afterward."

"Now you have to remind me," he said with a smile.

"My father's head groom was in charge of my training. I was ten, and my sisters eight and six, so it was up to me to set a good example. Naturally, they wanted to be there for my first lesson, which made me very nervous."

"I can't imagine how difficult it must be to learn to ride sidesaddle."

"Now you see my predicament. I constantly felt like I was going to fall off. And that's what I did."

"I don't remember you being seriously hurt," he said with a frown.

She tilted her head, eyebrows raised. "I thought you didn't remember much at all."

"Sometimes things come back to me," he said gruffly.

"Well, I fell off, all right, but my fall was cushioned." She grimaced. "By a pile of manure."

His laugh was sudden and spontaneous, and soon he was bent over with a stitch in his side. Victoria put her hands on her hips and gave him an arch look, but there was definitely a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth.

"I seem to recall you having this same reaction," she said dryly, "although you spelled your laughter out for many lines."

"And that made you quit riding?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. "Surely we've all fallen into horse shi— manure."

"I did not quit. My sisters hounded me so terribly about how foolish I looked covered in…manure that I was determined to try again."

"More manure?" he asked with amused sympathy.

"This time I slid right into a water trough. Louisa swore that several horses had just spit into it, so I promptly relieved myself of lunch right into the water."

He groaned.

"So I was covered in horse spit and vomit. Meriel teased me for weeks, saying that the horses wouldn't use that trough anymore."

He grinned. "I'm sure they would have rather gone thirsty."

"That's exactly what you wrote to me!" She laughed until she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

He watched her, enjoying her mirth. It made him feel peaceful. Slowly his smile died.

When they reached the stables, some strange emotion passed over her face as she looked up at the wooden building, wiping out all the laughter. Worry? Sadness?

David went into the dim stables to saddle his horse Apollo, knowing that Victoria followed him. Several horses leaned out their stalls to look at her.

He opened the gate to Apollo's stall, and the large horse tried to push past him.

"He wants you to pet him," David said over his shoulder.

She reached and ran her fingers down the white strip that bisected Apollo's face.

"He's beautiful," she breathed, smiling.

"Do you want me to teach you to ride?"

It was like the sun bursting through the dawn, the way her face lit up. He felt almost embarrassed to be seeing such emotion— unworthy of it. He turned back to his horse.

"I've always wanted to try again," she said. "Thank you so much— David."

Outwardly, he ignored the way she'd used his Christian name, as if he expected no less. But inside he couldn't hide from his feeling of relief. If she could use his name, maybe she was on her way to forgiving him the mistakes of his childhood.