Victoria walked determinedly down to the stables the next morning and waited while a horse was saddled for her. Her new black riding habit was beautifully cut, with a tight, fitted jacket that accentuated her full breasts and tiny waist. The snowy white stock of her shirt set off her vivid coloring and high cheekbones, and her titian hair was caught up at the nape in an elegant chignon. The chignon made her feel older and more sophisticated; it bolstered her flagging confidence.

She waited at the stables, idly tapping her riding crop against her leg; then she smiled brightly at the groom who led out a prancing gelding, its ebony coat shimmering like satin.

Victoria gazed in admiring wonder at the magnificent horse. “He’s beautiful, John. What’s his name?”

“This here’s Matador,” the groom said. “He’s from Spain. His lordship picked him for you to ride until your new horse gets here in a few weeks.”

Jason had bought her a horse, Victoria realized as the groom gave her a leg up into the saddle. She couldn’t imagine why Jason had felt the need to buy another horse for her when his stable reportedly housed the finest horseflesh in England; still, it was a generous thing for him to do, and perfectly typical of the man not to bother mentioning it.

She slowed Matador to a walk as they turned up the steep, winding lane that led to Captain Farrell’s house and breathed a sigh of relief when the Captain stepped out onto the porch to help her down from the sidesaddle. “Thank you,” she said when her feet were safely on the ground. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

Captain Farrell grinned at her. “I intended to ride over to Wakefield today, to see for myself how you and Jason were coming along.”

“In that case,” Victoria said with a sad smile, “it’s just as well you didn’t put yourself to the trouble.”

“No improvement?” he said in surprise, ushering her into his house. He filled a kettle with water for tea and put it over the fire.

Victoria sat down and morosely shook her head. “If anything, things are worse. Well, not worse, exactly. At least Jason stayed home last night instead of going to London and visiting his, er... well, you know what I mean,” she said. She hadn’t planned on such an intimate topic. She only wanted to discuss Jason’s mood, not their most personal relationship.

Captain Farrell took two cups from a shelf and glanced over his shoulder, his expression perplexed. “No, I don’t. What do you mean?”

Victoria gave him an acutely uneasy look.

“Out with it, child. I confided in you. You must know you can confide in me. Who else can you talk to?”

“No one,” Victoria said miserably.

“If what you’re trying to say is as difficult as that, suppose you think of me as your father—or Jason’s father.”

“You aren’t either one. And I’m not certain I could tell my own father what you’re asking.”

Captain Farrell put the teacups down and turned slowly, watching her across the room. “Do you know the only thing I dislike about the sea?” When she shook her head, he said, “The solitude of my cabin. Sometimes I enjoy it. But when I’m worried about something—like a bad storm I can feel brewing—there’s no one I can confide my fears to. I can’t let my men know I’m afraid or they’ll panic. And so I have to keep it bottled up inside of me, where the fear grows all out of proportion. Sometimes I’d be out there and I’d get a feeling my wife was ill or in peril, and the feeling would haunt me because there was no one there to reassure me that I was being foolish. If you can’t talk to Jason and you won’t talk to me, then you’ll never find the answers you’re looking for.”

Victoria gazed at him with affection. “You are one of the kindest men I’ve ever known, Captain.”

“Then why don’t you just imagine I’m your father and talk to me in that way?”

Many people, including women, had confided all sorts of things to Dr. Seaton with very little embarrassment and no shame, Victoria knew. And if she was ever going to understand Jason, she had to talk to Captain Farrell.

“Very well,” she said, and was relieved when he was thoughtful enough to turn his back and busy himself with the preparations for tea. It was easier to talk to his back. “Actually, I came here to ask you if you were certain you told me everything you knew about Jason. But to answer your question, Jason stayed home last night for the first time since I last saw you. He’s been going to London, you see, to visit his... ah...” She drew a long breath and said firmly, “His paramour.”

Captain Farrell’s back stiffened, but he did not turn around. “What makes you think a thing like that?” he said, slowly taking down a bowl of sugar.

“Oh, I’m certain of it. The papers hinted at it yesterday morning. Jason was gone all night, but when he returned I was at breakfast and I’d just read the paper. I was upset—”

“I can imagine.”

“And I nearly lost my temper, but I tried to be reasonable. I told him I realized that considerate husbands kept mistresses, but that I thought he ought to be discreet and—”

Captain Farrell lurched around, gaping at her with a bowl of sugar in one hand and a pitcher of milk in the other. “You told him that you thought it was considerate of him to keep a mistress, but that he ought to be discreet?”

“Yes. Shouldn’t I have said that?”

“More importantly, why did you say it? Why did you even think it?”

Victoria heard the criticism in his voice and stiffened slightly. “Miss Wilson—Flossie Wilson explained that in England it is the custom for considerate husbands to have—”

“Flossie Wilson?” he burst out in appalled disbelief. “Flossie Wilson?” he repeated as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Flossie Wilson is a spinster, not to mention a complete henwit! An utter peagoose! Jason used to keep her at Wakefield to help look after Jamie so that when he was away, Jamie would have a loving female with him. Flossie was loving, all right, but the ninnyhammer actually misplaced the baby one day. You asked a woman like that for advice on keeping a husband?”

“I didn’t ask her, she offered the information,” Victoria replied defensively, flushing.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you, child,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “In Ireland a wife takes a skillet to her husband’s head if he goes to another woman! It’s much simpler, more direct, and far more effective, I’m sure. Please go on with what you were trying to tell me. You said you confronted Jason—”

“I’d really rather not continue,” Victoria said warily. “I don’t think I should have come. Actually, it was a dreadful idea. I only hoped you could explain to me why Jason has become so distant since our wedding—”

“What,” Captain Farrell said tensely, “do you mean by ‘distant’?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

He poured tea into two cups and picked them up. “Victoria,” he said, frowning as he turned, “are you trying to tell me he doesn’t come to your bed very often?”

Victoria blushed and stared at her hands. “Actually, he hasn’t been there since our wedding night—although I greatly feared that, after he broke the door down the next morning when I locked it—”

Without a word, Captain Farrell turned back to the cupboard, put down the teacups, and filled two glasses with whiskey.

He walked over and thrust one at her. “Drink this,” he ordered firmly. “It will make it easier to talk, and I intend to hear the rest of this tale.”

“Do you know, before I came to England I’d never tasted spirits of any kind, except wine after my parents died,” she said, shuddering at the contents of the glass and then looking at him as he sat down. “But ever since I came here, people have been giving me wine and brandy and champagne and telling me to drink it because I’ll feel better. It doesn’t make me feel better in the least.”

“Try it,” he ordered.

“I did try it. You see, I was so nervous the day we got married that I tried to pull away from Jason at the altar. So when we arrived at Wakefield, I thought some wine might help me face the rest of the night. I drank five glasses at our wedding celebration, but all it did was make me sick when we—I went to bed that night.”

“Am I to understand that you nearly left Jason at the altar in front of a churchful of his acquaintances?”

“Yes, but they didn’t realize it. Jason did, though.”

“Good God,” he whispered.

“And on our wedding night I nearly threw up.”

“Good God,” he whispered again. “And the next morning you locked Jason out of your room?”

Victoria nodded, feeling miserable.

“And then you told him yesterday that you thought it was considerate of him to go to his mistress?” When Victoria nodded again, Captain Farrell stared at her in mute fascination.

“I did try to make up for it last night,” she informed him defensively.

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

“Yes, I offered to do anything he would like.”

“That should have improved his disposition immensely,” Captain Farrell predicted with a faint smile.

“Well, for a moment it seemed to. But when I said we could play chess or cards, he became—”

“You suggested he play chess? For God’s sake, why chess?”

Victoria looked at him in quiet hurt. “I tried to think of the things my mother and father used to do together. I would have suggested a walk, but it was a little chilly.”

Visibly torn between laughter and distress, Captain Farrell shook his head. “Poor Jason,” he said in a laughing underbreath. When he looked at her again, though, he was in deadly earnest. “I can assure you that your parents did... er... other things.”

“Such as what?” Victoria said, thinking of the nights her parents had sat across from each other before the fire, reading books. Her mother cooked her father’s favorite dishes for him, too, and she kept his house neat and his clothes mended, but Jason had an army of people to perform those wifely tasks for him, and they did it to perfection. She glanced at Captain Farrell, who had lapsed into uneasy silence. “What sort of things are you referring to?”

“I’m referring to the sort of intimate things your parents did when you were in your own bed,” he said bluntly, “and they were in theirs.”

A long-ago memory paraded across her mind—a memory of her parents standing outside her mother’s bedroom door, and her father’s pleading voice as he tried to hold his wife in his arms—“Don’t keep denying me, Katherine. For God’s sake, don’t!”

Her mother had been denying her father her bed, Victoria realized weakly. And then she remembered how hurt and desperate her father had seemed that night and how furious she had been with her mother for hurting him. Her parents were friends, true enough, but her mother did not love her father. Katherine had loved Charles Fielding, and because she did, she had barred her husband from her bed after Dorothy was born.

Victoria bit her lip, remembering how lonely her father had often seemed. She wondered if all men felt lonely—or perhaps what they felt was rejected—if their wives refused them their bed.

Her mother had not loved her father, she knew, but they had been friends. Friends... She was trying to make Jason into her friend, she realized suddenly, exactly as she’d seen her mother do to her father.

“You’re a warm woman, Victoria, full of life and courage. Forget about the sorts of marriages you’ve seen amongst the ton—they’re empty and unsatisfying and superficial. Think about your parents’ marriage instead. They were happy, weren’t they?”

Her prolonged silence made Captain Farrell frown and abruptly change his tack. “Never mind about your parents’ marriage. I know about men, and I know Jason, so I want you to remember one thing. If a woman locks her husband out of her bedroom, he will lock her out of his heart. At least he will if he has any pride. And Jason has a great deal of it. He won’t grovel at your feet or beg you for your favors. You’ve withheld yourself from him; now it’s up to you to make certain he understands you don’t wish to do so any longer.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Not,” he said succinctly, “by suggesting that he play chess. And not by thinking it’s considerate of him to go to another woman, either.” Captain Farrell rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck. “I never realized how difficult it must be for a man to raise a daughter. There are some things that are very hard to discuss with the opposite sex.”

Victoria stood up restlessly. “I’ll think about everything you said,” she promised, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“May I ask you something,” he said hesitantly.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” Victoria said with a winsome smile, hiding her dread. “After all, I’ve asked you a great deal.”

“Didn’t anyone ever talk about married love with you?”

“It isn’t the sort of thing one discusses with anyone except one’s mother,” Victoria said, flushing again. “One hears about one’s marital duty, of course, but somehow you don’t really understand—”

“Duty!” he said in disgust. “In my country, a lass is eager for her wedding night. Go home and seduce your husband, my girl, and he’ll take care of the rest. You won’t look upon it as a duty after that. I know Jason well enough to assure you of that fact!”

“And if I—I do what you say, then will he be happy with me?”

“Yes,” Captain Farrell said gently, smiling. “And he’ll make you happy in return.”

Victoria put down her untouched glass of whiskey. “I know little about marriage, less about being a wife, and absolutely nothing about seduction.”

Captain Farrell looked at the exotic young beauty standing before him, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I don’t think you’ll have to try very hard to seduce Jason, my dear. As soon as he realizes you want him in your bed, I feel certain he’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

Victoria turned pink as roses, smiled weakly, and headed for the door.

She rode home on Matador, so lost in thought that she was scarcely aware of the magnificent gelding’s progress. By the time she galloped to a stop in front of Wakefield Park, she was certain of at least one thing: she did not want Jason to have a marriage that left him as lonely as her father had been.

Submitting to Jason in bed would not be such a terrible thing, especially if—at other times—he might kiss her again in that bold, intimate way of his, pressing his mouth to hers and doing those shocking things with his tongue that made her senses swim and her body hot and weak. Instead of thinking of new gowns, as Miss Flossie had suggested, when Jason was in her bed, she would think of the way he used to kiss her. Having come that far, she even admitted to herself that she had loved his kisses. A pity men didn’t do that sort of thing when they were in bed, she thought. It would have made the whole thing so much nicer. Evidently, kissing was done when one was out of bed, but in bed, men did what they’d had in mind all along.

“I don’t care!” Victoria said with great determination as a groom ran out and helped her alight. She was resolved to endure anything to make Jason happy and restore their former closeness. According to Captain Farrell, all she had to do now was hint to Jason that she wanted to share her bed with him.

She went into the house. “Is Lord Fielding at home?” she asked Northrup.

“Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing. “He is in his study.”

“Is he alone?”

“Yes, my lady.” Northrup bowed again.

Victoria thanked him and went down the hall. She opened the door to the study and quietly slipped inside. Jason was seated at his desk at the opposite end of the long room, his profile turned to her, a sheaf of papers at his elbow, another in his hand. Victoria looked at him, at the little boy who had risen from his squalid childhood and grown into a handsome, wealthy, powerful man. He had amassed a fortune and bought estates, forgiven his father, and housed an orphan from America. And he was still alone. Still working, still trying.

“I love you,” she thought, and the unbidden thought nearly sent her to her knees. She had loved Andrew forever. But if that was true, why hadn’t she ever felt this driving desperation to make Andrew happy? She loved Jason, despite her father’s warning, despite Jason’s own warning that he didn’t want her love, only her body. How odd that Jason should have the very thing he didn’t want, and not what he did. How determined she was to make him want both.

She crossed the room, her footsteps silenced by the thick Aubusson carpet, and went to stand behind his chair. “Why do you work so hard?” she asked softly.

He jumped at the sound of her voice but did not turn around. “I enjoy working,” he said shortly. “Is there something you want? I’m very busy.”

It was not an encouraging beginning, and for a split second Victoria actually considered saying, very bluntly, that she wanted him to take her to bed. But the truth was that she was not that bold, and not that eager to actually go upstairs either—particularly when he was in a mood that was even colder than the mood he’d been in on their wedding day. Hoping to improve his spirits, she said softly, “You must get horrid backaches, sitting all day like this.” She summoned all her courage and put her hands on his wide shoulders, intending to knead them with her fingers.

Jason’s whole body stiffened the instant she touched him. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I thought I would rub your shoulders.”

“My shoulders are not in need of your tender ministrations, Victoria.”

“Why are you snapping at me?” she asked, and went around to the front of his desk, watching his hand as it moved swiftly across the page, his handwriting bold and firm. When he ignored her, she perched on the side of his desk.

Jason threw down his quill in disgust and leaned back in his chair, studying her. Her leg was beside his hand, swinging slightly as she read what he had been writing. Against his volition, his eyes moved upward over her breasts, riveting on the inviting curve of her lips. She had a mouth that begged to be kissed, and her eyelashes were so long they cast shadows on her cheeks. “Get off my desk and get out of here,” he snapped.

“As you wish,” his wife said cheerfully, and stood up. “I just came in to say good-day. What would you like for dinner?”

You, he thought. “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“In that case, is there anything special you’d like for dessert?”

The same thing I’d like for dinner, he thought. “No,” he said, fighting down the instantaneous, clamoring demands of his body.

“You’re awfully easy to please,” she said teasingly, and reached out to trace the line of his straight eyebrows.

Jason seized her hand in midair and held it away, his grip like iron. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bit out.

Victoria quailed inwardly, but she managed a light shrug. “There are always doors between us. I thought I’d open your study door and see what you were doing.”

“There is more separating us than doors,” he retorted, dropping her hand.

“I know,” she agreed sadly, looking down at him with melting blue eyes.

Jason jerked his gaze from hers. “I am very busy,” he said curtly, and picked up his papers.

“I can see that,” she said with an odd softness in her voice. “Much too busy for me right now.” She left quietly.

At suppertime she walked into the drawing room wearing a peach chiffon gown that clung to every curve and hollow of her voluptuous body and was nearly transparent. Jason’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Did I pay for that?”

Victoria saw his gaze rivet on the daringly low vee of the chiffon bodice, and smiled. “Of course you did. I don’t have any money.”

“Don’t wear it out of the house. It’s indecent.”

“I knew you’d like it!” she said with a chuckle, sensing instinctively that he liked it very much or his eyes wouldn’t have flared like that.

Jason looked at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears, then turned to the crystal decanters on the table. “Would you like some sherry?”

“Lord, no!” she said and laughed. “As you must already have guessed, wine does not agree with me. It makes me ill. It always has. Look what happened when I drank it on our wedding day.” Unaware of the importance of what she had just said, Victoria turned to examine a priceless Ming Dynasty vase reposing on a gilt table inlaid with marble, her mind turning over an idea. She decided to do it. “I’d like to go to London tomorrow,” she said, walking toward him.

“Why?”

She perched on the arm of the chair he had just sat in. “To spend your money, of course.”

“I wasn’t aware I’d given you any,” he murmured, distracted by the sight of her thigh beside his chest. In the romantic candlelight, the sheer chiffon appeared to be translucent and flesh-colored.

“I still have most of the money you’ve been giving me as an allowance all these weeks. Will you go to London with me? After I shop, we could see a play and stay at the townhouse.”

“I have a meeting here, the morning after next.”

“That’s even better,” she said without thinking. Alone for several hours in the coach, there would be ample time for lazy conversation. “We’ll come home together tomorrow night.”

“I can’t spare the time,” he said shortly.

“Jason—” she said softly, reaching out to touch his crisp dark hair.

He shot up out of the chair, looming over her, his voice ringing with contempt. “If you need money to use in London, say so! But stop acting like a cheap strumpet or I’ll treat you like one, and you’ll end up on that sofa with your skirts tossed over your head.”

Victoria stared at him in humiliated fury. “For your information I would rather be a cheap strumpet than a complete, blind fool like you, who mistakes every gesture someone makes and leaps to all the wrong conclusions!”

Jason glared at her. “Just exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

Victoria almost stamped her foot in frustrated wrath. “You figure it out! You’re very good at figuring me out, except you’re always wrong! But I’ll tell you this—if I were a strumpet, I’d starve to death if things were left up to you! Furthermore, you can dine alone tonight and make the servants miserable instead of me. Tomorrow I am going to London without you.” With that, Victoria swept out of the room, leaving Jason staring after her, his brows drawn together in bafflement.

Victoria stormed up to her room, flung off the sheer chiffon dress, and put on a satin robe. She sat down at her dressing table and, as her ire cooled, a wry smile touched the generous curve of her lips. The look of amazement on Jason’s face when she told him she would starve to death if she was a strumpet and things were left up to him had been almost comical.