In the plush, silken cocoon of her bed at Wakefield, Victoria turned her face into the pillow, her body shaking with wrenching sobs. “Oh, Mama,” she wept brokenly. “Oh, Mama, I miss you so. . . .”
Jason paused outside her bedroom and raised his hand to knock, then checked himself at the sound of her harsh weeping, his forehead furrowed into a frown. She would probably feel better if she cried everything out of her system, he thought. On the other hand, if she continued crying like that, she would surely make herself ill. After a few seconds’ uncertainty he went to his own room, poured some brandy into a glass and returned to hers.
He knocked—as she had arrogantly instructed him to do earlier—but when she didn’t answer, he opened the door and went inside. He stood at her bedside, watching her shoulders shake with the spasms of wrenching grief that tore from her.
He had seen women cry before, but their tears were always dainty and deliberate, intended to bend a man’s will. Victoria had stood on that stairway hurtling verbal spears at him like an enraged warrior, then had retreated to her own room to weep in pathetic secret.
Jason put his hand on her shoulder. “Victoria—”
Victoria rolled over onto her back and jerked up onto her elbows, her eyes the deep blue of wet velvet, her thick sooty lashes sparkling with tears. “Get out of here!” she demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Get out this very minute, before someone sees you!”
Jason looked at the tempestuous, blue-eyed beauty before him, her cheeks flushed with anger, her titian hair tumbling riotously over her shoulders. In her prim, high-collared white nightdress, she had the innocent appeal of a bewildered, heartbroken child; yet there was defiance in the set of her chin and angry pride blazing in her eyes, warning him not to underestimate her. He remembered her daring impertinence in the library when she deliberately read that note aloud and then made no effort to hide her satisfaction at disconcerting him. Melissa had been the only woman who ever dared defy him, but she did it behind his back. Victoria Seaton did it right to his face, and he almost admired her for it.
When he made no move to leave, Victoria irritably dashed the tears from her cheeks, tugged the bedcovers up to her chin, and began inching backward until she was sitting up against the pillows. “Do you realize what people would say if they knew you were in here?” she hissed. “Have you no principles?”
“None whatsoever,” he admitted impenitently. “I prefer practicality to principles.” Ignoring Victoria’s glower, he sat down on the bed and said, “Here, drink this.”
He held a glass of amber liquid close enough to her face for Victoria to smell the strong spirits. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Drink it,” he said calmly, “or I’ll pour it down your throat.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Yes, Victoria, I would. Now drink it down like a good girl. It will make you feel better.”
Victoria could see there was no point in arguing and she was too exhausted to put up a physical fight. She took a resentful sip of the vile amber liquid and tried to thrust it back into his hand. “I feel much better,” she lied.
A spark of amusement lit his eyes, but his voice was implacable. “Drink the rest.”
“Then will you go away?” she said, capitulating ungraciously. He nodded. Trying to get it over with as if it were bad-tasting medicine, she took two quick swallows; then she doubled over choking as the liquid seared a fiery path all the way down to the pit of her stomach. “It’s awful,” she gasped, falling back against the pillows.
For several minutes Jason remained silent, giving the brandy time to spread its comforting warmth through her. Then he said calmly, “In the first place, Charles announced our engagement in the newspaper, not I. Secondly, you have no more desire to be betrothed to me than I do to you. Isn’t that correct?”
“Absolutely,” Victoria averred.
“Then why are you crying because we aren’t betrothed?”
Victoria gave him a look of haughty disdain. “I was not doing anything of the sort.”
“You weren’t?” Amused, Jason looked at the tears still clinging to her curly lashes and handed her a snowy white handkerchief. “Then why is your nose red, your cheeks puffy, your face pale, and—”
A self-conscious giggle, induced by the brandy, welled up inside Victoria, and she dabbed at her nose. “It’s very ungentlemanly of you to remark on that.”
A lazy smile transformed his harsh features. “Surely I haven’t done anything to give you the impression that I’m a gentleman!”
It was the exaggerated dismay in his voice that brought a reluctant smile to her lips. “Nothing whatsoever,” she assured him. Taking another sip of the brandy, she leaned back against the pillows. “I wasn’t crying over that ridiculous engagement—that only made me angry.”
“Then why were you crying?”
Rolling the glass between her palms, she studied the swirling liquid. “I was crying for my mother. Lady Kirby said I would have to live down her reputation, and it made me so furious I couldn’t think what to say.” She shot a quick glance at him beneath her lashes, and because he seemed to be genuinely concerned and approachable for once, she continued haltingly, “My mother was kind and gentle and sweet. I began remembering just how wonderful she was, and it made me cry. You see, ever since my parents died, I have these—peculiar spells where I feel perfectly fine one moment and then suddenly, I start to miss them terribly, and it makes me cry.”
“It’s natural to cry for people you love,” he said, so gently that she could hardly believe it was him speaking.
Strangely comforted now by his presence and his deep, resonant voice, Victoria shook her head. “I cry for myself,” she confessed guiltily. “I cry from self-pity because I’ve lost them. I never realized I was so cowardly.”
“I’ve seen brave men cry, Victoria,” he said quietly.
Victoria studied his hard, sculpted features. Even with the softening effect of candleglow on his face, he looked supremely invulnerable. It was impossible to imagine him with tears in his eyes. With her normal reserve greatly diminished by the brandy, Victoria tipped her head to the side and asked softly, “Have you ever cried?”
Before her disappointed gaze, his expression became aloof. “No.”
“Not even when you were a little boy?” she persisted, trying to lighten his mood by teasing him.