Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

A s soon as the first strings of the waltz sounded through the room, Lavinia's heart skipped a bit. A thrill racing through her and making her feel more alive than she had ever felt.

"Do me the honor of dancing the first waltz with me, Miss Proctor," one of the gentlemen said.

"I have promised the dance to the Duke," she smiled. And just as soon as she said the words, she felt the large presence of the man himself behind her. It was almost as if her body had become attuned to him.

She turned around slowly and met that dark brown gaze that slid down her body almost leisurely.

"Your Grace," she said breathlessly.

His mouth twitched and he held out his arm to her wordlessly. She took it without hesitation and allowed him to lead her to the floor where other couples had begun to gather.

They parted for them, allowing them to get to the very center, her bright red dress standing out in the sea of pastels and lighter colored fabrics.

She felt like she was floating as the Duke took her in his arms. Were they too far apart? Or was it just her imagination? His palm against her back made her shiver and she knew right there and then that this thing wasn't just a mere attraction.

What it was, she couldn't tell yet.

She managed to tear her eyes away from his only to see dozens of eyes peering at them with obvious curiosity. She felt like a circus animal.

"Everyone is staring," Lavinia said.

"They are looking at you," his hand on her back pressed tighter against her. "How could they not? You look divine."

Her mouth parted in surprise. She had been called beautiful and lovely, but never had she been called divine with such naked honesty.

"Every man in this room wishes they were in my place," he continued, "with such an exquisite woman in their arms."

Heat flamed across her cheeks and she ducked her head shyly.

"I have never before in my life been so curious to know what someone else was thinking about."

She raised her head, "w-what?"

"What goes on in that head of yours, Lavinia?"

She tried to swallow, but there was a ball lodged in her throat. Her name rolling on his tongue was a caress against her senses. Her name had never sounded so indecent.

"Your Grace-"

"Victor," he cut in, "please."

They were too close and his eyes were too compelling and his scent was far more intoxicating than any alcohol ever formed. She couldn't form one complete thought, reduced to the blazing heat inside of her and the tingles buzzing on her skin.

"What are you doing to me?"

His eyes dropped down to her mouth, thick ashes lowering, "I could ask you the same thing."

At that moment, all sense of proprietary and the crowd around her disappeared. She and the Duke were the only two people in the world and she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to cover her mouth with hers again and make her feel owned.

I cannot touch you again. This is not that kind of marriage.

His words from what seemed like years ago echoed through her head, threatening to burst the bubble around her, but she pushed the words aside.

They had come so far from that. He may have meant his words then, but so much has happened between them now. Surely he wouldn't still abide by those words.

"I want you to kiss me," she whispered boldly.

"You cannot say such things," he gritted out. "Not here, in the middle of a stuffy ballroom with you looking like..." he trailed off, jaw clenched tight.

Hope soared inside of her, and she smiled. "Will you kiss me again, Victor?"

He stared at her for several breathless seconds where it felt like he was going to whisk her away and have his wicked way with her, but then his eyes shifted away from her and ice replaced the scorching flames.

"I know that this must be hard for you," he finally said. "You are most probably curious about such experiences and are eager to explore."

Only with you, she thought.

His mouth pulled up at the sides, it was far too stiff to even be considered a smile. "I am under no delusions that you will remain chaste and untouched for the duration of this marriage."

Lavinia suddenly felt cold.

"You may have your discreet dalliances, of course."

"Discreet dalliances," she repeated, eyes searching his.

"Yes," he said, "the discretion is necessary because of our position in society and-"

"And what about you?" she spat. "Have you been having these discreet dalliances?"

He sighed, "you do not want the answer to that, Miss Proctor."

"I would not have asked if I did not want the answer," she snapped, suddenly wanting to be as far from him as possible, but knowing that she couldn't just storm off in the middle of a dance. She tried to rein in her fury and most importantly, the feeling in her chest that felt like a blade had been driven through her heart.

"You mean that I may request a kiss from any man here tonight and you would not care?"

"What do you want from me?" he gritted out. "I told you that this would not be that sort of marriage, and you agreed to it. It is unfair of you to suddenly decide my rules were forced upon you. Or that you had no prior knowledge about them."

"I thought-" she swallowed back the pathetic words about how she had thought things had changed.

"You thought what?" he pressed.

"I want you to say that I may kiss any man in this room and you would not care."

"I would never be so cruel as to force you to live the rest of your life without knowing pleasure."

Thankfully, at that moment, the musicians struck the last chord of the waltz. Lavinia dropped into a curtsy, and kept her gaze to the ground as she was led off the floor and to her aunt's side.

How dare he? How dare he act like he was doing her a favor by giving her the freedom of an affair? Why could he touch other women but not her?

She could just envision the years stretched before her. Years of perfect civility between her and the Duke, knowing that he was going straight from the dinner table to his mistress' house.

Civility indeed.

She would absolutely loathe him.

What had she signed herself up for? Had she perhaps been too hasty in agreeing to this arrangement? Because she could only now see that it was not going to be anything other than what he had termed it. A cold, black and white arrangement.

"Are you alright?" Her aunt looked over at her. "You look like you are plotting."

Oh she was.

Lavinia stared at the broad back of her soon-to-be husband and decided that since he was so nonchalant about her having an affair, she would give him exactly what he wanted.

"Perhaps," she finally replied to her aunt.

"Oh dear."

She chuckled and then allowed her gaze to roam around the room, searching for someone who would make Victor pause. Noah's friends wouldn't do, especially not after she had revealed to Victor how droll they were.

Her eyes caught on a gentleman with dark gold hair who stood beside a matron.

"Who is that?" She asked her aunt, motioning to the pair.

Lady Hartfield followed her gaze curiously, "Oh that's-"

She paid no attention to the rest of her aunt's words past the fact that she was acquainted to the woman. Her scheme began to take life and shape in her head. "Can you introduce us?"

"Why?" She looked startled.

Lavinia had never been a good liar, and she knew she couldn't fib her way through an explanation of why she wanted to meet the man, so she decided to try some honesty.

"I cannot tell you right now, but it's very important, Aunt Felicity, please."

The older woman looked more concerned than suspicious but finally, she let out a breath, "very well."

Together, they crossed the room to where the pair stood. The woman with the pale blonde hair noticed them first.

"Felicity, how do you do?" She smiled, "It's been years!"

The man's eyes shifted from her aunt's and landed on hers and his eyes widened but a second later, he had forced his expression back into a blank mask.

"I did not know you were back in the country," Lady Hartfield said.

"Paris is entertaining but sometimes, you need a break from all of it. You think London is intense until you have lived with the French."

"You must come around and tell me all about it."

"Certainly."

"How rude of me," Lady Hartfield laughed, "This is Miss Proctor, my niece. Meet the marchioness of Forsythe and her son, the marquess."

"How do you do?" Lady Forsythe smiled at her and she dropped into a curtsy.

"My lady, My lord."

"Do take her for a dance, Wren," his mother urged, "I have a lot of catching up to do with Lady Hartfield."

The man's square jaw ticked. "Of course," then he turned to Lavinia, "shall we?"

She placed her hand on his sleeve and together they walked towards the floor just as another waltz began. The man was handsome enough she supposed. He was tall, with dark gold hair and blue eyes, and his evening clothes fit against an impressive frame. He was a bit older than the Duke too.

In fact, he was the perfect candidate to show that infuriating man that she did not care a lick about him, and she was taking his advice to have a discreet affair.

"I heard Forsythe was back in town, but I never thought he would be out and about so soon," Patrick mused as he sipped on his drink.

Victor had no interest in the idle gossip. His mind was full of stomach turning images of Lavinia underneath another man.

Why the bloody hell had he said that nonsense about her starting an affair?

But from the way he itched to hit something at the thought of her with someone else, he supposed he had done the best thing by using every ounce of his willpower to stick to the rules of their arrangement. He was already far deeper than he had ever thought possible. If he touched her again, there would be no saving him.

"Are you listening, man?" The viscount narrowed his eyes at him.

"Something about Forsythe," he replied.

"I assumed you would be more interested in the marquess, considering that he wasted no time at all in snagging your future duchess."

"What?" Patrick's words weren't all that clear to him, still too lost in contradicting thoughts.

The flash of red on the dance floor caught his eye and then he saw the man with his arm around her next.

"What in the-"

"That's more like it," his friend sounded amused. "I was beginning to wonder why you were so aloof about it."

The Duke's hands curled into fists at his side, and he badly wanted to hit something, preferably the face of the golden haired man.

Lavinia threw her head back and laughed and he wondered what the hell was so funny. The marquess didn't exactly look like he had a lot of humor beneath his too starched collar. He was a spineless git who stuck to his mother's skirts and he had no right to-

His thoughts came to a stumbling halt.

Did she plan to kiss that blackguard? Well, he wasn't going to sit back and watch her disappear into a dark corner with bloody Forsythe.

"I find myself suddenly terrified for Forsythe's life," Patrick chuckled behind him, "You might want to cool it, man."

What did she think she was doing? Victor thought darkly. Dancing and laughing with a man in public wasn't exactly the definition of being discreet. He was going to wring her goddamn neck.

As soon as the music ended, he began to march forward, ignoring Patrick's panicked warning for him to not do anything stupid.

"I will take it from here," he informed the man coldly as they moved towards Lady Hartfield and the marchioness.

"Your Grace?" Lavinia asked, "what are you-"

"Come with me, "he said impatiently and gave her his arm. He knew he was being rude, and by the way the other man's eyebrows were raised almost to his hairline, he realized he should attempt some civility, but dammit all to hell, he was this close to doing something insane and the sooner he left the ballroom, the better.

He marched the brown haired woman towards the French doors that led to a balcony, but at the last minute he made a turn and directed her into a dim hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" She sounded more curious than scared.

He pushed her into the first door he saw and locked the door behind them. The room turned out to be a library with the only light coming from the moonlight spilling in through the large line of windows at the back of the room.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She scoffed, arms folded over her chest, "I could ask you the same thing. You are the one who brought me here after all."

He stalked forward and her eyes went wide, some hint of wariness in them.

"Do not play dumb, Lavinia," he growled. "Tell me, did you plan on cornering the marquess into some dark corner and kissing him?"

"And if I did? Do not worry yourself, Your Grace. I planned to be very discreet about it," she thrust that pert chin in the air, looking as lofty as a queen.

"Did you now?" His voice was mild, but there was a storm brewing inside of him.

"Uh, yes?"

"And did you think he would be able to kiss you like I did?" He reached her, crowding her into the side of the table. "Tell me, Lavinia. Would he have made a suitable replacement?"

"P-perhaps," she gnawed on that abused lower lip, "I shall be all too willing to let you know if he passed muster. If that is all-"

He cupped her jaw with a close lipped smile, "You are the most vexatious woman I have ever met. The most stubborn and maddening."

"How sweet," she hissed.

"You don't want sweet, my lady."

"You don't know what I want," her words were small and shaky and he could see where her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.

"I do."

"Tell me then."

"No, I'll show you instead," and then he couldn't deny himself anymore. That first kiss felt like it had happened centuries ago, too damn long ago in his opinion.

He covered her mouth with his, swallowing the small gasp that escaped her mouth.

His hand tightened on her jaw, pulling her face closer and she went willingly, pressing into him, her small hands clutching at his arms.

Victor had never felt so out of control in his life. Right from a young age, he had known that his position would keep him in the public eye and so he had had to learn discipline. A man like him couldn't afford outbursts and giving in to his impulses.

This woman in his arms had destroyed all his previous resolve. Brought it crumbling to the ground with no effort whatsoever. He should never have touched her to start with, because now that he knew what she tasted like, he was always going to be hungry for more.

It would never be enough with her.

But that was a problem for future him. The him of the moment couldn't think, all the blood in his head had rushed southwards.

He grabbed her by her slim waist and hoisted her on top of the desk, never breaking the kiss. Spreading her legs, he stepped into the gap between them.

Still, it didn't feel like he was close enough.

His tongue licked across the seam of her mouth and she opened for him with a moan, allowing him to lick into her sweet mouth, to completely possess her. She tasted like the most perfect blend of wine, and he chased that taste with his tongue.

Lavinia kissed him back with no finesse, but somehow her untrained, eager mouth made him burn hotter than he had ever been in his life.

"Victor," she gasped as he dragged his lips down her jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses down to her neck and then the top of her exposed breasts.

"Oh," she cried as his hand began to slide up her leg, hiking her dress up till the red fabric was bunched above her knees.

His mouth pressed over the swell of her breasts before he grabbed the neckline of her dress and pulled it down, her breasts spilling out of the gown.

She hurriedly covered her chest with her hands, gaze downcast.

"Let me see you, darling." He took her hand and gently pulled them away, "don't hide from me."

Her pupils were blown, her mouth red and swollen, face flushed and breasts tipped with stiff, pink nipples bared to him. She looked utterly delectable and nothing like the innocent that she was.

At that moment, with dress in disarray around her, she was a temptress, drawing him in with a force that no man could resist. Not even him.

He bent his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth. She let out a cry of pleasure, her back arching as she sucked her deep, his other hand cupping the other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

"Victor. Oh God, Victor," she moaned.

He kissed her again, unable to get enough of the taste of her, while one hand trailed up the inside of her thighs, marveling at the feel of her silky soft skin. His touch caused a shiver to wrack through her.

And then he found the slit in her drawers, finding her wet and ready for him.

"Please," she made a mewling sound that disarmed whatever defenses he had left.

He cupped her between her legs, and she spread her legs further, allowing him more access to her. His fingers brushed through her folds, causing her to cry out, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Finally, he pushed one finger inside her tight, wet heat and they groaned into each other's mouths.

His fingers slipped into her hair and he distantly heard the sound of something clattering to the table.

Lavinia began to rock her hips, chasing the sensation of fullness inside her. He pushed another finger into her, thrusting deep, while their kiss progressed to complete chaos.

Teeth clashing and nipping, mouths sloppy and feral.

"Yes. Yes," she panted.

"Lavinia," he gritted, hands trying to touch all of her at the same time, "so damn lovely. Bloody hell, darling. You drive me insane."

"Do not stop!" she screamed, fingers digging into the flesh of his arms.

He pressed his fingers against the sensitive bud at the apex of her mound and with a choked cry, she came apart, body shuddering, and her channel spasming around his fingers.

He reached for the placket of his trousers with fingers coated with evidence of her desire, eager to push into her and rid himself of this constant ache that had plagued him from the very first moment he had clapped eyes on her.

"Victor," she whispered drowsily, a soft smile playing on her lips.

It took only his name on her mouth to snap him back into his senses and he stared with horror at the marks he had left on her and the smell of desire permeating the air.

The Duke took a step backward, as if distance would rid him of his hunger. Or the sight of her lounging so decadently against their host's desk.

"Cover yourself," his voice was as sharp as a whip.

She raised her head, blinking at him, "hmm?"

"Cover yourself, Miss Proctor," he growled. "They will soon be missing us."

"I do not understand," her voice was husky.

"What is so difficult to understand?" He glowered. "Put yourself together. This was a mistake."

The blood drained from her face, and she stared at him for one breathless, uncertain second before she began to arrange her clothes with urgency.

"Lavinia-"

"Do not bother, Your Grace, you have made your opinions quite clear, and I am frankly tired of hearing them."

A moment later, the door banged shut behind him and she was gone, taking along with her all the light in the room, it felt colder and darker and he staggered to the desk.

Something glinted against the surface of the desk and he reached for the object, one of her silver hairpins.

What had he done?