“Done the deed,” intoned Victoria with a hint of melodrama.
She put her cup down and clapped. “Very clever. I salute overcoming rules meant to keep women trapped.”
He studied her. Did she mean it? She certainly seemed to. He was rather glad that she saw so much of the real him. If she saw all of it, though, would she run? Would she abandon?
His father certainly almost had when he told him the truth.
It had been such a rendering moment.
Everything had completely collapsed.
Everything that he thought he’d known about himself gone in an instant.
His mother had never recovered from the irreversible fury of her husband that their true heir had been lost, replaced…by a fake.
He was a fake in so many things.
He couldn’t bear to lose Victoria like that, to lose her esteem, which he had only just gathered. It would be beyond painful to see another person look at him as if he was scum, nothing.
His own father’s disdain had been nearly unbearable. He’d seemed to care, until his true son had died. Then…then the tide of resentment had risen to the surface.
Chase took a long swig of the acrid, dark coffee, savoring its bold notes. Then he took another swallow, needing it desperately. He was exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping. And not just for pleasurable reasons with Victory.
He had been staring up at his ceiling, night after night, consumed with thoughts of how this couldn’t last.
Nothing good ever had.
“You know,” she said, folding the paper, “Catharine has been invited to Lady Tewksbury’s. I think we should go out this evening and make a bold show of it.” She waggled her brows. “Let’s give them all something to gossip about.”
It was a relief to no longer have to pretend to be the bounder in private.
And Victoria was now helping him, taking some of the burden away, having to constantly pretend in society. With her by his side, perhaps he could make something new for himself.
“You know,” he began, “I’m very glad that you’re going into battle like this with me.”
She winked. “Are we going into battle?”
He laughed. “One is always waging battle in the ton. Seeing who will come out victorious.”
“With my name,” she teased, “it will clearly be me.” Her smile dimmed. “I never really fancied the idea of going into war. It always seemed like a very foolish business to me, usually done for very selfish reasons by selfish men. Not always, of course. But often. However, this is a good cause. And I am happy to stand by you.”
He reached across the table and held out his hand.
Without hesitation, she took it and said, “Yes, my general, my dear friend, let us slay all those fellows who would ruin their wives’ lives. I am happy to be of assistance.”
Dear friend.
Before he could even reply, she pulled her hand back and buried her nose into the paper, having moved on to an article that was no doubt more interesting to her.
Something about Greece perhaps, or Egypt. He was tempted to ask, but she was so completely consumed by it that he did not bother.
God, if only he could have her single-minded nature to love something so fully, so thoroughly, that the entire room disappeared. He had a distinct feeling right now that he could call her name and she would not even look up at him.
She was so transfixed.
But then he thought it was indeed he who was becoming transfixed by something. Consumed by something. Her.
He was becoming consumed by his wife. It was terrifying, if he was honest. In fact, every day was a strange mix of joy and fear. Fear that he was going to destroy it all. Fear that he was living on the edge with his vow. Oh, he was certain never to spill his seed inside her. It was a largely effective measure. But he was chancing things. Something he never would have done before. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt it was because of the joy she gave him. A joy he did not have the strength to deny himself.