Victoria left for London very early the next morning and started back to Wakefield at dusk. Cradled lovingly in her hands was the object she’d seen in a shop when she first came to the city weeks ago. It had reminded her of Jason then, but it had looked terribly expensive, and besides, it wouldn’t have been proper to buy him a gift at that time. The memory of it had lingered in her mind all these weeks, nagging at her, until she was afraid to wait any longer and risk having it sold to someone else.

She had no idea when she would give it to him; certainly not now, when things were so hostile between them—but soon. She shuddered at the recollection of its price. Jason had given her an outrageously huge allowance, which she had scarcely touched, but the gift had cost every shilling of it, plus a good deal more, which the proprietor of the exclusive little shop was more than happy to put on the account that he eagerly opened in the name of the Marchioness of Wakefield.

“His lordship is in his study,” Northrup advised Victoria, as he opened the front door.

“Does he want to see me?” Victoria asked, puzzled by Northrup’s quick, unsolicited information on Jason’s whereabouts.

“I don’t know, my lady,” Northrup replied uncomfortably. “But he has... er... been inquiring whether you were home yet.”

Victoria looked at Northrup’s harassed expression and remembered Jason’s anxiety when she had disappeared for an afternoon to Captain Farrell’s. Since her trip to London had taken twice as long as it would have had she remembered the exact location of the shop, she assumed that Northrup had been called up on the firing line again by Jason.

“How many times has he inquired?” she asked.

“Three,” Northrup replied. “In the last hour.”

“I see,” Victoria said with an understanding smile, but she felt absurdly pleased to know Jason had thought about her.

After allowing Northrup to divest her of her pelisse, she went to Jason’s study. Unable to knock with the gift in her hands, she turned the handle and put her shoulder gently to the door. Instead of working at his desk where she expected him to be, Jason was standing at the window, his shoulder propped against the frame, his expression bleak as he gazed out across the terraced lawns at the side of the house. He glanced around at the first sound of her approach and instantly straightened.

“You’re back,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Didn’t you think I would be?” Victoria asked, scanning his features.

He shrugged wearily. “Frankly, I have no idea what you’re going to do from one moment to the next.”

Considering her actions of late, Victoria could understand why he must think her the most impulsive, unpredictable female alive. Yesterday alone she had treated him flirtatiously, tenderly, and then furiously walked out on him in the drawing room. And now she had an insane urge to put her arms around him and ask him to forgive her. Rather than do that and risk another cutting rejection like the last, she quelled the urge and instead reversed her earlier decision and decided to give him the gift now. “There was something I had to buy in London,” she said brightly, showing him the wrapped package in her hands. “I saw it weeks ago, only I didn’t have enough money.”

“You should have asked me for it,” he said, already heading toward his desk with the obvious intention of burying himself in work again.

Victoria shook her head. “I couldn’t very well ask you for money when the thing I wished to buy was for you. Here,” she said, holding out her hands. “It’s for you.”

Jason stopped in his tracks and looked at the oblong object wrapped in silver paper. “What?” he said blankly, as if she had spoken words he didn’t understand.

“The reason I went to London was to buy this for you,” Victoria explained, her smile quizzical as she held the heavy package closer to him.

He stared at the gift in confusion, his hands still in his pockets. With a sudden wrench of her heart, Victoria wondered if he had ever been given a gift before. Neither his first wife nor his mistresses were likely to have done so. And it was a foregone conclusion that the cruel woman who raised him hadn’t.

The compulsion to wrap her arms around him was almost uncontrollable as Jason finally pulled his hands from his pockets. He took the gift and turned it in his hands, looking at it as if uncertain what to do with it next. Hiding her throbbing tenderness behind a bright smile, Victoria perched on the edge of the desk and said, “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“What?” he said blankly. Recovering his composure, he said, “Do you want me to open it now?”

“What better time could there be?” Victoria asked gaily, and patted the spot on his desk beside her hip. “You can set it here while you open it, but be careful—it’s fragile.”

“It’s heavy,” he agreed, shooting her a quick, uncertain smile as he carefully untied the slender cord and removed the silver paper. He took the cover off the large leather box and reached into the velvet-lined interior.

“It reminded me of you,” Victoria said, smiling as he gingerly removed an exquisitely carved panther made of solid onyx, its eyes a pair of glittering emeralds. As if a living cat had been captured by magic while running, and then magically transformed into onyx, there was vibrant motion in every sleek line of its smooth body, power and grace in its flanks, danger and intelligence in its fathomless green eyes.

Jason, whose collection of paintings and rare artifacts was said to be one of the finest in Europe, examined the panther with a reverence that nearly brought tears to Victoria’s eyes as she watched him. It was a lovely piece, she knew, but he was treating it as if it were a priceless treasure.

“He’s very fine,” Jason said softly, running his thumb along the panther’s back. With infinite care, he put the animal down on his desk and turned to Victoria. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted with a lopsided grin.

Victoria looked up at his ruggedly chiseled face with its boyish smile and she thought he had never looked so endearingly handsome. Feeling incredibly lighthearted herself, she said, “You don’t have to say a thing—except ‘thank you,’ if you want to say that.”

“Thank you,” he said in an odd, hoarse voice.

Thank me with a kiss. The thought leapt from nowhere into Victoria’s mind and the words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Thank me with a kiss,” she reminded him with a gay smile.

Jason drew a long, unsteady breath as if he was bracing himself for something difficult; then he flattened his hands on the desk on either side of her and leaned down. He touched his lips to hers, and the sweetness of his touch was almost past bearing. Victoria’s head tipped back under the brief pressure of his mouth, upsetting her balance, and, as Jason lifted his head to draw away, she clutched at his arms for leverage. To Jason, having her hands on his arms, holding him in his bent position, was like inviting a starving man to a banquet. His mouth swooped down on hers, moving with tender fierceness, and when she began kissing him back, his kiss became more insistent. He parted her lips with his tongue, teasing her, urging her to respond.

Timidly, her tongue touched his, and Jason lost control. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her from the desk and pulling her body tight against his. He felt her hands slide up his chest and curve eagerly around his neck, holding his face to hers, and the encouragement he sensed in her gesture ignited a blaze of passion in him that nearly obliterated his reason. Against his will, his hand slid from her back to her midriff, then moved upward, cupping the intoxicating ripeness of her fall breast. Victoria trembled at the intimacy of his touch, but instead of pulling away, as Jason expected her to do, she fitted her body tightly against his rigid arousal, as lost in the passionate kiss as he was.

Captain Farrell’s cheerful voice sounded in the hallway, just outside the study: “Don’t bother, Northrup, I know the way.” The door to the study was flung open and Victoria jerked free of Jason’s embrace. “Jason, I—” Captain Farrell began as he strode into the study. He stopped short, an apologetic grin on his face as his gaze took in Victoria’s pink cheeks and Jason’s dark frown. “I should have knocked.”

“We’re finished,” Jason said dryly.

Unable to meet her friend’s eyes, Victoria sent a fleeting smile in Jason’s direction and mumbled something about going upstairs to change her clothes for supper.

Captain Farrell put out his hand. “How are you, Jason?”

“I’m not certain,” Jason replied absently, watching Victoria leave.

Mike Farrell’s lips twitched with laughter, but his amusement faded to concern as Jason turned away and walked slowly over to the windows. As if he was incredibly weary, Jason ran his hand across the back of his neck massaging the tense muscles as he stood staring out across the lawns.

“Is anything wrong?”

Jason’s answer was a grim laugh. “Nothing is wrong, Mike. Nothing I don’t deserve. And nothing I can’t take care of.”

When Mike left an hour later, Jason leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The desire Victoria had ignited in him was still eating at him like fire licking at his belly. He wanted her so badly that he ached with it. He wanted her so badly he had to grit his teeth and fight against the urge to bound up the stairs and take her right now. He felt like strangling her for telling him to be a “considerate” husband and keep a mistress.

His child-bride was twisting him into knots. She had wanted to play chess and cards with him; now she was trying her hand at a more titillating game—teasing him. Victoria had become a tease, and she was superbly, instinctively effective. She sat on his desk, she sat on the arm of his chair, she brought him a present, she asked him for a kiss. Brutally he wondered if she had pretended he was Andrew when he was kissing her a few minutes ago, as she had pretended he was Andrew when they got married.

Disgusted with his body’s relentless craving for her, he surged to his feet and walked swiftly up the wide, winding staircase. He had known he was marrying another man’s woman—only he hadn’t expected it to bother him so much. Pride alone prevented him from forcing her to go to bed with him again. Pride, and the knowledge that, when it was over, he would feel no more satisfaction than he had felt on their wedding night.

Victoria heard him moving about in his room and she knocked on the connecting door. He called to her to come in, but her smile faded abruptly when she walked in and saw Franklin, his valet, packing a bag, while Jason stuffed papers from the pile on the table in front of the fireplace into a leather case. “Where are you going?” Victoria gasped.

“To London.”

“But—why?” she persisted, so disappointed she could hardly think.

Jason glanced at his valet. “I’ll finish packing, Franklin.” He waited until the valet withdrew and closed the door, then said shortly, “I can work better there.”

“But last night you said you couldn’t come to London and stay there with me tonight, because you had to be here to meet with some people early tomorrow.”

Jason stopped shoving papers into his case and straightened. With deliberate crudity he said, “Victoria, do you know what happens to a man when he is kept in a state of unrelieved sexual arousal for days at a time?”

“No,” Victoria said weakly, and shook her head for emphasis.

“In that case, I’ll explain it to you,” he snapped.

Victoria apprehensively shook her head. “I-I don’t think you should—not when you’re in one of your moods.”

“I did not have ‘moods’ before I met you,” Jason bit out. Turning his back to her, he braced his hands on the mantel, and stared down at the floor. “I’m warning you, go back to your room before I forget what a ’considerate‘ husband I’m supposed to be and I don’t bother going to London.”

Victoria felt sick. “You’re going to your mistress, aren’t you?” she demanded chokingly, remembering unbelievingly how sweet he had seemed when she gave him his gift.

“You are beginning to sound unpleasantly like a jealous wife,” he said between his teeth.

“I can’t help it, I am a wife.”

“You have a very peculiar idea of what being a wife means,” he mocked savagely. “Now, get out of here.”

“Damn you!” Victoria blazed. “I don’t know how to be a wife, can’t you see that? I know how to cook and sew and look after a husband, but you don’t need me for that, because you have other people to take care of you. And I’ll tell you something else, Lord Fielding,” she continued, working herself into a fine rage, “I may not be a very good wife, but you’re animpossible husband! When I offer to play chess with you, you get angry. When I try to seduce you, you get nasty—”

She saw Jason’s head jerk up, but she was so angry she didn’t pay any heed to the stunned expression on his face. “And when I bring you a gift, you go off to London to see your mistress!”

“Tory,” he said achingly, “come here.”

“No, I’m not finished!” Victoria burst out in humiliated fury. “Go off to your mistress, if that’s what you want, but don’t blame me when you never have a son. I may be naive, but I’m not stupid enough to believe I’m supposed to produce a baby without—without some cooperation from you!”

“Tory, please come here,” he repeated hoarsely.

The raw emotion in his voice finally registered on Victoria and abruptly neutralized her anger, but she was still afraid of another rejection if she went to him. “Jason, I don’t think you know what you want. You said you wanted a son, but—”

“I know exactly what I want,” he contradicted, opening his arms to her. “If you’ll come here, I’ll show you....”

Mesmerized by the seductive invitation in those green eyes and the velvet roughness of his deep voice, Victoria walked slowly forward and found herself wrapped in a crushing embrace. His mouth opened over hers, slanting back and forth in a fierce, wildly arousing kiss that sent heat racing through her. She felt the intimate, rising pressure of his body against hers as his hands stroked possessively over her back and breasts, soothing her fears, igniting flames of need wherever he touched her. “Tory,” he breathed in a ragged whisper, sliding his lips down her neck and sending shivers of delight up her spine. “Tory,” he repeated achingly and buried his lips on hers again.

He kissed her slowly, deeply, and then with urgent hunger, running his hands down her sides, cupping her bottom and pulling her tightly against his rigid arousal, wringing a moan of pure, primitive desire from her.

With his lips still locked to hers, he put his arm beneath her knees and swept her into his arms. Lost in the vibrant, heated magic of his hands and mouth, Victoria felt the world tilt as he gently laid her on the bed. Clinging desperately to that special, beautiful universe where nothing existed except her husband, she closed her eyes tightly while he stripped off his clothes. She felt his weight settle onto the bed, and she fought back her panic as she waited for him to untie her robe.

Instead, he tenderly kissed her closed eyes and put his arms around her, gently drawing her against him. “Princess,” he whispered, the huskiness of his voice as sweet to her ears as the endearment, “please open your eyes. I’m not going to pounce on you, I promise.”

Victoria swallowed and opened her eyes, relieved beyond anything when she realized he had thoughtfully extinguished all but the candles on the mantel across the room.

Jason saw the fear in her wide blue eyes and he leaned up on his elbow, reaching out with his free hand to tenderly smooth the tousled red-gold curls that were spread luxuriantly across his pillow. No man but he had ever touched her, he thought reverently. Pride surged through him at the thought. This beautiful, brave, unspoiled girl had given herself to him, and him alone. He wanted to make up to her for their wedding night, to make her moan with rapture and cling to him.

Ignoring the urgent throbbing in his loins, he touched his lips to her ear. “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said softly, “but you look frightened to death. Nothing is different from how it was a few minutes ago when we were kissing each other.”

“Except that you don’t have any clothes on,” Victoria reminded him shakily.

He bit back a smile. “True. But you do.”

Not for long, she thought, and she heard his deep sensuous chuckle, as if he read her thoughts.

He kissed the corner of her eye. “Would you like to keep your robe on?”

The wife whose virginity he had taken with brutal, uncaring swiftness looked into his eyes, laid her hand against his cheek, and whispered softly, “I want to please you. And I don’t think you want me to keep it on.”

With a low groan, Jason leaned down and kissed her with fierce tenderness, shuddering uncontrollably when she kissed him back with an innocent ardor that sent desire roaring through him like wildfire. He pulled his mouth from hers. “Tory,” he said wryly, “if you pleased me any more than you do when you kiss me, I’d die of pleasure.”

He drew a shaky breath and untied the velvet rope at her waist, but when he started to part her robe, her hand clamped convulsively over his. “I won’t open it if you don’t want me to, sweet,” he promised, his hand unmoving beneath hers. “Only I hoped there wouldn’t be any more things separating us—not misunderstandings, not doors, not even clothes. I took mine off to show you myself, not to frighten you.”

She shivered at his tender explanation and took her hand from his; then, to his intense joy, Victoria slid her hand around his neck and offered herself up to him.

Her robe fell away beneath his questing fingers and he bent his head and kissed her, his fingers rubbing her nipple, his tongue sliding across her lips, urging them to part for his probing tongue. Instead of merely submitting to his intimate kiss, Victoria drew his tongue into her mouth, wrapped her arms fiercely around his neck, and welcomed his thrusting tongue. Against his palm her nipple rose up proudly, and Jason tore his mouth from hers, bending his head to her breast.

Victoria jumped in startled resistance, and he looked up at her in wonder as he again realized that no man had ever touched or kissed her as he was doing. “I won’t hurt you, darling,” he whispered reassuringly, and pressed his lips to the hardened little bud, kissing it, nuzzling until he felt her relax, then he slowly parted his lips, drawing her nipple into his mouth.

Victoria’s dazed amazement that he would wish to suckle at her breast gave way to a startled moan of intense pleasure as her nipple was pulled into his mouth and the drawing pressure of his mouth began to increase, tightening relentlessly on her nipple until quick, piercing stabs of desire were shooting rhythmically through her entire body. Her fingers slid into his crisp black hair, holding his head to her as if she wanted him never to leave—until she felt his hand suddenly slide downward between her legs.

“No!” The terrified whisper burst out of her, and she clamped her legs together. Instead of making Jason angry, as she feared, her resistance won a muffled, hoarse laugh from him.

In one smooth motion he shifted upward and kissed her lips with raw, dizzying hunger. “Yes,” he whispered, his lips moving back and forth against hers. “Oh, yes...” His hand delved down again, teasing softly at the triangle between her legs, his fingers toying with her until the stiffness flowed out of her legs and her thighs relaxed, surrendering to his gentle, insistent persuasion. Jason pressed his fingers to her and the wet warmth of her welcome there almost broke his control. He could not believe the ardor in her, nor the natural ease with which she drove him wild—for as Victoria surrendered each separate part of her body to him, she gave it up wholly, holding nothing back. He moved his fingers in her and her hips lifted, arching sweetly against his hand while she clung to his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. Bracing his hands on either side of her, he moved partially atop her.

Victoria’s heart leapt with a mixture of pulsing pleasure and stark terror when she felt the demanding heat of his maleness pressing between her legs, but instead of entering her, Jason circled his hips against her in a gently grinding rhythm that slowly drove her frantic with fierce, throbbing pleasure, until there was no more fear—only an exquisite, aching need to have him fill her.

His knee wedged between her legs. “Don’t be afraid,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

Victoria slowly opened her eyes and gazed at the man above her. His face was hard and dark with passion, his shoulders and arms taut with the strain of holding back, his breathing fast and labored. Trancelike, she touched her fingertips to his sensual lips, realizing instinctively how desperately he wanted her and how much control he was exerting to stop himself from taking her. “You are so gentle,” she whispered brokenly, “so gentle...”

A low groan erupted from Jason’s chest and his restraint shattered. He plunged into her partway and eased out, plunging deeper the next time, and the next, until she arched her hips beneath him and he drove his full length into her incredible warmth. Sweat dampened his forehead as he fought down the tormenting demands of his own body and began to move slowly within her, watching her face. Her head tossed on the pillows as she strained toward him in trembling need, pressing her hips hard against his pulsing thighs, reaching for the bursting fulfillment he was determined to give her. He heard her low, frantic gasp and began to steadily increase the tempo of his deep, driving thrusts. “Reach for it, Tory,” he rasped out hoarsely. “I’ll give it to you. I promise.”

A shivering ecstasy pierced Victoria’s entire body, sending streaks of pleasure curling through her that came faster and faster until they erupted in an explosion that tore a scream from her throat. Jason bent his head and kissed her one last desperate time, and then he drove into her, joining her in sweet oblivion.

Afraid his weight would crush her, he moved onto his side, pulling her with him, his body still intimately joined with hers. When his labored breathing finally evened out, he kissed her forehead and smoothed her rumpled, satiny hair off her forehead. “How do you feel?” he asked softly.

Victoria’s long curly lashes fluttered up and eyes like deep blue pools of languid wonder gazed into his. “I feel like a wife,” she whispered.

He laughed huskily at that, tracing his finger along the elegant curve of her cheek, and she snuggled against him. “Jason,” she said, her voice throbbing with emotion as she raised her eyes to his. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“What?” he asked, smiling tenderly.

Very simply, and without embarrassment, she said, “I love you.”

His smile faded.

“I do. I lov—”

He pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her, and shook his head. “No, you don’t,” he said with quiet, implacable firmness. “Nor should you. Don’t give me more than you already have, Tory.”

Victoria averted her eyes and said nothing, but his rejection hurt her more than she imagined possible. Lying in his arms, his words came back to haunt her... I don’t need your love. I don’t want it.

Outside in the hall, Franklin tapped on the door, intending to see if Lord Fielding desired help with the packing. When there was no answer to his knock, Franklin assumed his lordship must be elsewhere in the suite and, as was his custom, he opened the door unbidden.

He took one step into the dimly lit room and blinked, his startled gaze riveting on the couple lying in the huge four-poster, then bouncing in horror to the pile of clothes that Jason had been removing from his armoire and that were now lying in an ignominious heap upon the floor beside the bed. The diligent valet bit his lip against the overwhelming impulse to tiptoe forward and disentangle his lordship’s exquisitely tailored evening jacket from the pants legs of his buckskins. Instead, Franklin wisely backed out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Once out in the hall, his distress over Lord Fielding’s abused garments gave way to delayed joy at what he had just witnessed. Turning, he rushed down the hall and out onto the balcony overlooking the foyer below. “Mr. Northrup!” he whispered loudly, leaning precariously over the railing and beckoning frantically to Northrup, who was standing near the front door. “Mr. Northrup, I have news of great import! Come closer so we shan’t be overheard....”

Down the hall on Franklin’s left, two alert maids rushed out of the rooms they’d been cleaning, crashed into each other, and elbowed each other aside in their urgency to hear what news Franklin had. On his right a footman suddenly materialized in the hall and began enthusiastically polishing a mirror with beeswax and lemon oil.

“It has happened!” Franklin hissed at Northrup, cleverly disguising his news in terms so vague he was certain no one could possibly understand even if they overheard.

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I am,” said Franklin, affronted.

A momentary grin cracked Northrup’s rigid features, but he recovered quickly, retreating behind his customary mask of aloof formality. “Thank you, Mr. Franklin. In that case, I shall order the coach back to the stables.”

So saying, Northrup turned and proceeded to the front door. Opening it, he walked outside into the night, where a luxurious, maroon-lacquered coach with the gold Wakefield seal emblazoned on the door was waiting, its lamps glowing brightly in the darkness. Four gleaming matched chestnuts stamped fitfully in the traces, tossing their heavy manes and rattling their harnesses in restless eagerness to be off. Unable to attract the attention of the liveried drivers sitting erectly atop the coach, Northrup walked down the terraced steps to the drive.

“His lordship,” he said to the coachman in his coolest, most authoritative voice, “will not require your services this evening. You may put the horses away.”

“He won’t be needin‘ the coach?” John coachman burst out in surprise. “But he sent me word himself an hour ago that he wanted the horses put to, and quick!”.

“His plans,” Northrup said frostily, “have changed.”

John coachman expelled a sigh of frustrated irritation and glowered at the uncommunicative butler. “I tell you, there’s been a mistake. He means to go to London—”

“Idiot! He meant to go to London. He has now retired for the night instead!”

“At half past seven in the—” As Northrup turned and marched into the house, a wide, understanding smile suddenly dawned across the coachman’s face. Nudging his companion in the ribs, the coachman sent him a sly, laughing look, and said, “Methinks Lady Fielding has decided brunettes are out o‘ fashion.” Then he sent the horses wheeling toward the stables so he could share the news with the grooms.

Northrup walked directly into the dining room, where O’Malley was whistling cheerfully under his breath and putting away the fragile porcelain place setting he had earlier laid out for Victoria’s solitary meal, when he first learned of the master’s sudden intention to visit London. “There has been a change, O’Malley,” Northrup said.

“Aye, Mr. Northrup,” the insolent footman cheerfully agreed, “there certainly has.”

“You may remove the covers from the table.”

“Aye, I already have.”

“However, Lord and Lady Fielding may wish to dine at a later hour.”

“Upstairs,” predicted O’Malley with a bald grin.

Northrup stiffened and then marched away. “Damned insolent Irishman!” he muttered furiously.

“Pompous stuffed shirt!” O’Malley replied to his back.