nstead of thinking about how to tell David about the dinner invitation, the arrival of night made Victoria remember what had happened between them the previous time they were alone together.

When he arrived, obviously nude beneath the robe, she was so flustered, she could barely think. His eyes lingered on her in a smoldering way, silently saying that he wanted to show her the next stage in their intimate journey.

His hands were sliding up her arms, then his fingers tugged at the dressing gown clasp at her throat. She felt hot and needy, and already her breasts tingled as she remembered what he'd done to them last night.

Her dressing gown slid to the floor and he pressed his mouth behind her ear. His robe brushed against her delicate nightdress, and the sensation against her breasts was consuming her every thought.

His hands slid up her back, then down to cup her behind. She gave a little gasp as he pulled her hips against his, and she felt the long bulge she'd noticed before. Only thin garments separated her from discovering everything about it. Was this what Mrs. Wayneflete had meant when she said he put part of himself inside her?

And then she couldn't think anymore, because he'd pulled her totally against him, his arms holding her close, his mouth spreading kisses down the side of her neck. But she could smell his hair, feel its silky texture against her skin. The buttons at the back of her neck came free, and her nightdress slid loose at one shoulder. He followed its descent with his lips, the moist softness of them making her shudder. She held him close, his shoulders so impossibly wide. He made her feel wanted, needed, and no longer worried about her nudity. He was not a man to judge her.

He dropped to his knees before her, holding her about her waist. The neckline of her nightdress hovered at the upper curve of her right breast, in front of his face. She could even see her own flesh tremble. With a slight tug, he pulled the material, and one breast was revealed.

She felt the air on her brief nudity as if she'd never undressed before. But David was staring at what he'd revealed with a heat that seemed to jump between them. She wanted him to touch her there again, and her nipple hardened into a point at just the thought. He gave a slow grin that was very male, very possessive, and she thrilled at the sight of it. And then he did something she never expected.

He leaned forward, opened his mouth, and licked her nipple, a slow, wet, hot, rough sensation that would have sent her swooning to the floor if he hadn't held her so tightly. Darts of pleasure shot low into her belly, and she wanted to press that part of her against him, as if just touching him could somehow make everything better.

Her moan seemed loud as he continued to taste her. When his mouth closed over her and suckled, she cried out, shuddering. She found herself on her back on the carpet before the hearth, not even remembering how he'd laid her there.

This was going too far— and she hadn't told him what she'd done.

"Wait, wait, David, I have to tell you something. I should have said it before we even started."

David sat back on his heels and looked at his wife, all flushed and soft and aroused just for him. He had thought of this all day, to the point of distraction. How was he supposed to get any work done, when he was contemplating new ways to seduce his wife?

In the candlelight, her plump, pink breast glistened with moisture, and he wanted to taste it again, to tear the garment from her body and taste everything.

He was surprised by how difficult it was to stop, how hard it was to think when he was touching her. He'd once thought himself in love, yet he'd never felt this way before.

But Victoria needed to talk to him, and he found he could refuse her nothing. He reached a hand down to her, and although she took it, she fumbled to cover herself. Her breast, so plump and delicious, disappeared from his sight as she rose to her feet.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Don't be, Victoria. Go ahead and say what you need to."

"I accepted Mr. Dalton's dinner invitation for both of us."

He frowned. "I thought you understood that I didn't need to go."

She pressed her lips together and continued to hold her nightdress against her throat. "I think we should attend, for the sake of your career and your place in society."

"But this doesn't matter to me."

"I think it should. I'm trying to be a good wife to you, David. I thought a good wife should help you socially, not be a hindrance like I am, with my common background."

He rubbed his hand across his face. "You don't need to put yourself through this. People of the ton are not nice, and in the end they'll hurt you."

"Have they hurt you, David?" she asked softly. "Is that why you don't wish to be among them? What went on in this house after your mother died?"

He stiffened, and silently cursed that he'd so revealed himself to her. "She has nothing to do with this, Victoria. Good night."

"You could try writing your thoughts in the journal," she called. "That helps me think what I can't say aloud."

And there was that old journal, on the table where she'd left it for him to see. He wanted to fling it across the room with an anger he thought he'd put behind him. Instead, he went into his own room and very carefully shut the door.

In the morning, Victoria was shocked when David took her horseback riding, as if they hadn't had an argument the night before. It was as if he'd shut her behavior from his mind, because he didn't want to deal with it. He certainly had not been lying when he said he knew how to play a part.

Was that how he wanted to spend his life, hiding behind the façade of the man he thought he should be? It made her angry all over again that he'd decided the course of their marriage, and he wanted nothing changed.

She wanted change; she wanted to change for him. Didn't he realize how hard she was trying? She needed him to meet her even part of the way.

She had accepted a dinner invitation; she was not going to give society another reason to ridicule her by changing her mind. David would be gone in the evening, as usual. She would attend without him.

Her decision put her in a nervous flutter all day. When she went upstairs to dress, her mother followed her and sent the maid away. Victoria stared at her with suspicion.

"I'll help you" was all Mama said.

Victoria was down to her corset and chemise before Mama spoke again.

"Your husband doesn't know you're going, does he?" she asked.

Victoria bit her lip. "It's important to go. He'll never get over his past until he confronts it. If my meeting people helps, then that's what I have to do."

"I'm worried about you, Victoria, but I'm not sure I have any advice to give— none that you'd take anyway."

Tears sprang to Victoria's eyes as she realized that her mother was right. Since her father's death, and the revelation of their financial problems, Victoria had lost faith in her mother. She didn't know how to get it back. She was arrogantly trying to heal the rift between a father and son, but had never seen that she had to work on her own relationship with her mother.

"I have to do this, Mama," she whispered.

"I know. But I worry for you. I remember every party you hated, how miserable you were. Now you're going all by yourself."

"I've grown up, Mama. I handled David's business colleagues; I can handle his political colleagues. It's a first step to facing all of the ton."

Her mother said nothing else, just silently helped her to dress.

Just before leaving Banstead House, Victoria looked at herself in the reflection of the entrance hall mirrors that surrounded her. Her bodice was cut straight across beneath her shoulders, and the very tops of her breasts were daringly evident. The bodice sloped to a point deep below her waist, making her appear somehow slimmer. Lace gathered beneath her breasts and flowed down the front of her green silk gown, parting to show her underskirt. She looked…like a woman, and not a naive girl.

Could she do this? Could she really face a roomful of strangers without David? She clutched her reticule, where she'd hidden her journal with its many lists, suddenly impatient to be leaving.

"Victoria?"

She turned to find Lord Banstead laboriously trying to wheel himself down the hall from his suite. She rushed to him and he stopped, sitting back, breathing heavily as he looked her up and down.

He cleared his throat. "You look…well tonight."

She beamed at him, so relieved. "Thank you, my lord. I'm attending my first dinner party with members of Parliament."

"Is David to meet you there?"

Her happiness faded. "I don't think so. He does not like this sort of thing."

There was an uncomfortable silence between them. Would he forbid her from going? She would feel the need to obey him.

"Go on, go on," he said gruffly. "I'll get Nurse Carter to read to me, though she doesn't have your voice."

"You could ask my mother. She had a gift for making characters come to life when I was a child."

He shuddered. "Stupid idea. Get on with you."

Victoria went out to the carriage, where Wilfred the footman grinned as he helped her inside, where Anna was already waiting.

David sat in his office at Southern Railway, looking through paperwork, although everything was as ready as he could make it. They owned enough shares in the three smaller railways; the final buyout should be easy, as long as no one interfered. They'd kept their secrecy intact.

He just couldn't stop thinking about Perry's behavior at the dinner party, even though the man had assured him he was over Staplehill's remarks.

Was David missing something crucial? He was so distracted by Victoria lately, something that he'd never imagined. He'd once wanted her for so many reasons that had nothing to do with the person she was. And now all he could do when he was with her was be swept up in her emotions, in her needs.

But still he was hurting her.

There was a knock on the door. David called for the person to enter, and was surprised to see one of the Banstead footmen.

"Yes, Henry?" he asked, realizing that the servant seemed different without his wig and livery. A person, instead of just someone to meet David's needs.

More of Victoria's influence.

"I was to bring ye this letter, my lord," Henry said, holding up a piece of parchment spotted with rain.

"Who is it from? And why the urgency?"

"It's from Your Ladyship's mother, my lord. And she told me it was important."

David nodded, even though his insides clenched. "Is something wrong with my wife?"

"No, my lord."

David tried to relax. "Very well. Did she need a response?"

"No, my lord."

"Then you may go. Have something hot to drink when you get home. It's the devil of a night."

Looking confused, Henry left. David broke the wax seal on the letter and spread it open beneath the desk lamp.

The letter seemed to wander as if Mrs. Shelby needed an explanation of her point. She wrote that her daughter was trying to be a good wife to him, and had even gone on morning calls the other day. Out of eleven people, only Lady Fogge would see her.

David imagined sweet Victoria waiting outside house after house, trying to make friends with people who didn't know how to be friends. Did she understand that the rejections were because of his family, and not her?

And then finally Mrs. Shelby explained the real reason that she'd written. Victoria had to do what she felt was best, so she'd gone to Dalton's dinner party— without him.

David slowly crumpled the paper in his fist but felt no satisfaction. His wife had gone— alone? Didn't she understand what might be said about her, showing up without her husband? Why was she letting herself be hurt like this?

It had started to rain, but he wouldn't find a hack in this part of town at night. So he rode his horse and hoped his overcoat absorbed most of the rain.

When he arrived at Dalton's, he handed his wet top hat and coat to the butler and managed to greet Mrs. Dalton with civility, even as she told him she was glad he was feeling better.

Feeling better? Victoria had told them he was ill?

He was shown to the drawing room, where various people acted surprised and pleased to see him. But he didn't have time to exchange inanities; he had to find his wife.

He almost didn't recognize her, though surely he'd watched her try on that gown last week. Back then he'd only noticed how attracted he was to her. But tonight he saw the confidence that had been blossoming within her.

It was the gown with the neckline Madame Dupuy had altered. Victoria filled it out so well that he was uncomfortable with other men staring at what was his. But he was proud, too. She looked…beautiful, her blond hair in ringlets about her ears, tiny diamonds glittering from the mass of her hair at the back of her head every time she moved. And she moved often, because she was freely laughing.

And it was Simon who was making her laugh. David felt a flare of jealousy that was positively…primitive.