Chapter Ten
Victoria undid the ribbons tied carefully at her throat. In one tug, she released her simple wedding Spencer of dove gray.
As she let go of the ribbon, she caught her husband staring at her. He looked…perplexed.
She froze. It made her feel…quite warm.
She didn’t know what to make of that look. He’d said that he did not feel well, but this look was not one of one who was ill.
“Chase,” she asked abruptly, “are you certain you’re all right? You have the strangest expression at present.”
“Do I?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her room.
Her room.
What a remarkable thought.
“Yes,” she replied as she considered him in the great, cavernous space. “You do.”
Much like the owner, the space was beautiful.
The entire house was magnificent. The ceiling towered overhead, a fire crackled under the marble mantle, and her bed was an impressive, towering thing.
Her father’s townhouse in London was lavish. But it was new.
This house was history alive.
It was the sort of stuff that made her very body thrill. The entire room made her feel invigorated because when she looked up at the ceiling, she could see the crests of hundreds of years ago, the symbols of Chases interspersed with the Tudors, which showed their unity.
The symbols of great kings and great warriors surrounded them. It sent a shiver of excitement down her body.
As she turned to her husband, she realized that he was the product of all those centuries.
Some families seemed to dwindle as the years went by, but her husband, on the other hand? He was only more vigorous, more fascinating.
He stood by the fire, having caused the flames to grow.
The room warmed under his ministrations, and she found herself tugging at her sleeves.
Drat.She couldn’t quite do it. It was most irritating, the need for a lady’s maid. Surely, one should be able to dress themselves! But the fashion of the day did occasionally make certain garments more challenging than others.
“Would you mind being of assistance?” she said. “This is rather tailored, and it’s difficult to get off by myself.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and a muscle tightened in his jaw, which now bore a slight shadow. “If you require it, or we could call your lady’s maid.”
She smiled at him and his reliance on staff. “Of course we could, and I’m sure that she’ll come if we do. But you’re standing right there.” She blinked, trying to make sense of his reticence. Did he think it beneath him? “Is this a difficulty?”
“No,” he said tightly.
“Oh, good,” she said, smiling. It was a relief he could be practical. “This is really most bothersome. You’ve made a splendid fire, and I’m feeling the effects. Once this is off, I shall feel more myself.”
His gaze darkened at her words, and he crossed the room in slow strides.
She stilled.
Again, why was he looking at her thus? Suddenly her skin tingled for an altogether different reason, she was sure. This was no mere reaction to the fire. This was a reaction to him.
Goodness.