She studied him as he blinked furiously, the champagne bubbles no doubt giving ill effect. “But you do in general think that couples should breed,” she prompted.
“Are we truly talking about breeding?” he asked, his brows rising toward the ceiling.
“Should we not?” she asked, surprised. “Is there a list of topics that we should not discuss? I rather thought as husband and wife we might be able to be more open with each other. Is this a mistake on my part?”
“No,” he assured, his voice all but barking. He took another long drink. “Not at all. You may venture whatever topic it is that you wish with me, and I shall do my very best not to be too astounded.”
“Oh dear,” she observed. “I did not think I could astound you so. Given your reputation—”
“Victory,” he cut in softly. “I think you’ll astound me whenever we are together, and I’m rather glad of it.”
“I thought you said we were to spend little time together.”
“Correct,” he confirmed. “But I do think we should establish your importance to the ton.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, her heart slamming against her ribs. “Aren’t I important simply by being your duchess?”
“Yes,” he agreed easily. “But I think that we should make it clear to the ton that I approve of you, that I think you rightfully belong as the Duchess of Chase, and that you should be admired and respected for the capable woman that you are.”
“Hmm.” She scowled, feeling a wave of warm contentment under the onslaught of champagne. “Surely we can just project such an image to all and they will accept it.”
“You loathe the ton, don’t you?” he asked.
“Is it so very obvious?” she said sardonically, then returned to her champagne.
“Yes,” he stated, his lips twitching.
“You’d loathe them, too, if they’d made you feel like a goat amongst racehorses.”
He harrumphed. “Goats are marvelous creatures. Far superior to delicate racehorses. Goats are intelligent, resourceful, and nothing stops them.”
His indignation on her behalf was a glorious sight to behold.
In fact, his declaration of admiration for goats made him the most endearing of creatures, even if he was well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and a Herculean beauty of a man.
He gave a terse nod. “Never you fear, Victory,” he said. “We shall put you into society. And as a duchess, you may behave however you wish and the ton shall have to bow and scrape to you.”
He beamed, quite pleased, waving for more champagne. “Then, a few weeks after having established your position, you may do whatever you please. You can go down to the country or run off to Italy.”
“I shall not run off anywhere,” she corrected, taking the glass he offered her. “I shall go off boldly, thank you very much.”
He swept an elaborate bow toward her. “I stand corrected.”
She all but giggled with pleasure as she took another drink. Giggled! She did not giggle. She squared her shoulders and stared at him most seriously. “Then we are of an understanding.”
He stared back at her for a long moment. “Victory,” he said, “you put the ton to shame. You are a marvel.”
She couldn’t draw breath. Not under the heady feels of his admiration. “Can you stop saying things like that?”
“I mean every word I say,” he insisted. “I admire you, and I think that you are a marvel.”
Despite herself, her heart thundered against her chest. Her skin positively tingled at his nearness. Her stomach tightened…in a most pleasing way.
She hated the fact that this beautiful man was complimenting her so profusely. Because, though she hated to admit it, she could not deny the feelings he’d begun to evoke in her.
She did not feel nothing in his presence as she wished. No, she felt quite the opposite.
It was terrifying indeed, for such a thing could only lead to heartbreak.