In his house on Upper Brook Street, Jason paced back and forth across his suite like a caged beast, silently cursing his aging London butler for giving him incorrect information about Victoria’s whereabouts tonight, and cursing himself for coming to London in pursuit of her like a jealous, lovesick boy. He had gone to the Berfords’ tonight, which was where the butler said Victoria was, but Jason hadn’t seen her among the crush at the Berfords’ ball. Nor was she at any of the other three places the butler thought she might be.
So successful was Victoria in her attempt to appear devoted to her husband that by the end of the evening, the guests were regarding her with more amusement than concern. She was still smiling about that when she entered the house shortly before dawn.
She lit the candle the servants had left for her on the table in the foyer and climbed the carpeted staircase. She was in the process of lighting the candles in her bedchamber when a stealthy sound from the adjoining suite caught her attention. Praying that the person in there was a servant and not a prowler, Victoria moved quietly toward the door. Holding her candle high in her shaking hand, she reached for the handle on the connecting door just as it was flung open, startling a scream from her. “Jason!” she said shakily, her hand on her throat. “Thank God it’s you. I-I thought you were a prowler and I was about to have a look.”
“Very brave,” he said, glancing at the upraised candle in her hand. “What were you going to do if I was a prowler— threaten to set my eyelashes on fire?”
Victoria’s giggle caught in her throat as she noticed the ominous glitter in those green eyes and the muscle leaping in his hard jaw. Behind that sardonic facade of his, there was a terrible burning anger, she realized. Automatically, she began backing away as Jason moved forward, towering over her. Despite the civilized elegance of his superbly tailored evening clothes, he had never looked more dangerous, more overpowering than he did as he came toward her with that deceptively lazy, stalking stride of his.
Victoria started backing around her bed, then stopped moving and quelled her rioting, irrational fear. She had not done anything wrong, and here she was behaving like a cowardly child! She would discuss this whole thing reasonably and rationally, she decided. “Jason,” she said, with only a small quiver in her reasonable voice, “are you angry?”
He stopped a few inches from her. Brushing back the sides of his black velvet jacket, he put his hands on his hips, his booted feet planted apart, his legs spread in a decidedly aggressive stance. “You could say that,” he drawled in an awful voice. “Where the hell have you been?”
“At—at Lady Dunworthy’s ball.”
“Until dawn?” he sneered.
“Yes. There’s nothing unusual in that. You know how late these things go—”
“No, I don’t know,” he said tightly. “Suppose you tell me why the minute you are out of my sight you forget how to count!”
“Count?” Victoria repeated, growing more frightened by the moment. “Count what?”
“Count days,” he clarified acidly. “I gave you permission to be here for two days, not four!”
“I don’t need your permission,” Victoria burst out unwisely. “And don’t pretend you care whether I’m here or at Wakefield!”
“Oh, but I do care,” he said in a silky voice, stripping off his jacket with slow deliberation and beginning to unbutton his white lawn shirt. “And you do need my permission. You’ve become very forgetful, my sweet—I’m your husband, remember? Take off your clothes.”
Wildly, Victoria shook her head.
“Don’t make me angry enough to force you,” he warned softly. “You won’t like what happens if you do, believe me.”
Victoria believed that wholeheartedly. Her shaking hands went to the back of her dress, awkwardly fumbling with the tiny fasteners. “Jason, for God’s sake, what’s wrong?” she pleaded.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated scathingly, tossing his shirt on the floor. “I’m jealous, my dear.” His hands went to the waistband of his trousers. “I’m jealous, and I find the feeling not only novel, but singularly unpleasant.”
Under other circumstances, Victoria would have been overjoyed at his admission of jealousy. Now it only made her more frightened, more tense, and her fingers more awkward.
Seeing her lack of progress, Jason reached out and roughly spun her around, his hands unfastening the tiny loops at the back of her gown with an ease that spoke of long experience in undressing women. “Get into bed,” he snapped, giving her a shove in that direction.
Victoria was a mass of quivering rebellion and jellied fear by the time he joined her and pulled her roughly into his arms. His mouth came down on hers in a hard, punishing kiss and she clamped her teeth together, gasping at the harsh pressure.
“Open your mouth, damn you!”
Victoria braced her hands against his chest and averted her face from his. “No! Not this way. I won’t let you!”
He smiled at that—a hard, cruel smile that chilled her blood. “You’ll let me, my sweet,” he whispered silkily. “Before I’m done with you, you’ll ask me.”
Furious, Victoria shoved against his chest with an unexpected strength born of fear and rolled out from under him.
She had almost got her feet to the floor when he caught her arm and yanked her back onto the bed, jerking her hands up and pinioning them above her head, then throwing his leg over both of hers. “That was very foolish,” he whispered, and slowly bent his head.
Tears of fear sprang to Victoria’s eyes as she lay pinned on her back like a trussed hare, watching Jason’s mouth descend purposefully toward hers. But instead of a renewed, painful assault like the last one, his mouth took hers in a long, insolently thorough kiss while his free hand began roving up and down her body, his fingers cupping a rosy breast, lightly squeezing the thrusting nipple, then drifting lower down her flat abdomen, stroking and caressing the triangular mound of curly golden hair, until her traitorous body began to respond to his skillful hand. Victoria squirmed in frantic earnest as his fingers moved lower yet, but it was no use—he wedged his leg between her knees and his fingers gained entry to the place they sought.
Liquid heat began to race through her, eventually sapping her strength, melting her resistance, and her lips parted beneath his. His tongue drove into her mouth, filling it, then withdrawing, while his fingers within her began to match the slow, driving movements of his tongue. The incredibly erotic onslaught of her senses was more than Victoria could withstand. With a silent moan of surrender she gave herself up to him, turning her face fully toward him and returning his kiss, her body pliant beneath him. The moment she did, Jason released her hands.