He was standing with his back to her, staring down at the sluggish fire in the grate.
“I have had quite enough of this,” she said in a clear voice. “For some reason that I can’t fathom, you now despise me. I have come to ask you if you would like to have this farce of a marriage annulled.”
Rafael slowly turned to face her. “Annulled?”
“That’s right. I can’t imagine spending much more time with a man who can’t bear my company.”
“It’s a pity, but I fear that our marriage can’t be annulled.”
“It can, most certainly.”
“I don’t believe I could prove that I hadn’t been intimate with you, madam. After all, you aren’t a virgin, and I doubt that even you, with all your glibness, could pretend that.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Are you also pregnant?”
“Are you insane?”
He sliced his hand through the air. “Stop it, Victoria. Stop your damned lies. How many men, besides my twin, have you bedded?”
She released a long breath. “So,” she said very slowly, “that is why Damien wanted to speak to you. May I ask what he told you, exactly?”
He said brutally, “He told me that you seduced him, that you were so eager he took you once in the portrait gallery, against the wall, that you were a slut, a wanton. God, madam, your eagerness last night proved it.”
She could only stare at him. Her tumbling thoughts straightened themselves out. So his rage of the previous night had nothing to do with her leg. He had believed his brother’s lies. She said aloud, her voice as cold as shards of ice, “So, because I wanted to become your wife, you thought me a slut? You believed your brother and his lies?” Suddenly she laughed, a raw, ugly sound that made him start. “You believed him because I was enjoying your caresses and kisses? It is too much, Rafael. Goodness, if I’d known, I would have shrieked and fought you and fainted. You’re a fool. You may keep half of my money. After all, I do have the protection of your name, as little as that means. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m returning to London. I will see Mr. Westover. Good night.”
She turned on her heel and stomped through the adjoining door.
“You are in the same situation, Victoria,” he shouted after her. “You haven’t a bloody sou. Are you so damned ignorant that you don’t know that a wife’s money becomes her husband’s upon her marriage?”
She stopped in her tracks. She turned to face him. She said slowly, “I don’t believe you. It’s my money, not yours.”
“Believe it,” he said. “You are as poor as you were when you punished Damien by running from him. How much is it you still have? Fifteen pounds? I wager that won’t get you all that far.”
“I don’t believe you,” she repeated. No, she wouldn’t believe him, she couldn’t. It couldn’t be possible.
“I suppose,” he said brutally, “that you could sell your body. You are young enough and beautiful enough to find yourself a generous protector. Unless, of course, you’re pregnant. Are you with child, Victoria?”
Her fingers closed around a particularly ornate Chinese vase sitting in isolated splendor on a table. She saw red, whirled around, and hurled it at him.
10
It is not enough to aim, you must hit.
—ITALIAN PROVERB
Rafael ducked quickly enough to save his head, but not quickly enough to spare his upper arm. The vase struck hard and bounced off, shattering against the wooden floor.
He unconsciously flexed his arm, saying nothing. Victoria was standing rigid as a stone, her eyes on the floor, on the shards of vase.
He heard himself say very calmly, “You have an excellent arm and a good aim.”
“I wish I had a pistol.”
“If you did, and you had the gall to aim it at me, I would thrash you senseless.”
“A man’s threat,” she said harshly, “just as a man uses his strength to ravish an unwilling woman. You are all despicable. I had believed you different, more fool I. Good-bye, Captain Carstairs. You needn’t see me off in the morning.” She gave him a mocking little salute and turned the door handle.