O’Malley then turned to Lord Fielding, intending to utter more false excuses, but his mouth went dry when he met Jason’s piercing, relentless gaze and saw him rubbing his finger meaningfully along the edge of his knife as if he were testing its sharpness.
O’Malley ran his forefinger between his collar and neck, cleared his throat, and hastily mumbled to Victoria, “I-I’ll get yer ladyship another glass of wine.”
“Lady Fielding doesn’t drink wine with dinner,” Jason drawled, stopping him in his tracks. He glanced at her as an afterthought. “Or have you changed your habits, Victoria?”
Victoria shook her head, puzzled by the unspoken communication that seemed to be flying back and forth between Jason and poor O’Malley. “But I think I’d like some tonight,” she added, trying to soothe over a situation she didn’t understand.
The servants withdrew, leaving them to dine in the oppressive splendor of the ninety-foot-long dining room. Heavy silence hung over the entire meal, punctuated only by the occasional clink of gold flatware against Limoges porcelain as they ate—a silence that was made more awful for Victoria because she was acutely aware of the dazzling gaiety that would be surrounding Jason right now if he’d gone to London, rather than remaining here with her.
By the time the plates were being cleared away and dessert brought in, her misery had turned to desperation. Twice she had tried to break through the barrier of silence by commenting on such nonabrasive topics as the weather and the excellence of their ten-course meal. Jason’s replies to these conversational gambits were polite but unencouragingly brief.
Victoria fidgeted with her spoon, knowing she had to do something, and quickly, because the gap between them was widening with every moment, growing deeper with every day, until soon there would be no way to bridge it.
Her dismal anxiety was temporarily forgotten when O’Malley marched in with dessert and, with an ill-concealed smile, set before them a small, beautiful cake, decorated with two intertwined, colorful flags—one British, the other bearing the stars and stripes of America.
Jason glanced at the cake and lifted his sardonic gaze to the meddlesome footman. “Am I to assume Mrs. Craddock was in a patriotic mood today?” O’Malley’s face fell, his eyes taking on a wary look as his master regarded him with cold displeasure. “Or is this supposed to remind me, symbolically, that I’m married?”
The footman blanched. “Never, milord.” He waited, impaled on Jason’s gaze, until Jason finally dismissed him with a curt nod.
“If this was supposed to represent our marriage,” Victoria said with unintentional humor, “Mrs. Craddock should have decorated the cake with two crossed swords, not two flags.”
“You’re right,” Jason agreed blandly, ignoring the beautiful little cake and reaching for his wineglass.
He sounded so infuriatingly uninterested in the terrible state of their marriage that Victoria panicked and plunged into the topic she’d been trying to bring up all evening. “I don’t want to be right!” She dragged her gaze to his unreadable face. “Jason, please—I want things to be different between us.”
He looked mildly surprised as he leaned back in his chair and studied her impassively. “Exactly what sort of arrangement do you have in mind?”
His manner was so distant and unconcerned that Victoria’s nervousness doubled. “Well, I’d like us to be friends, for one thing. We used to laugh together and talk about things.”
“Talk away,” he invited.
“Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about?” she asked earnestly.
Jason’s eyes moved over her intoxicating features. He thought, I want to talk about why you need to drink yourself into oblivion before you can face going to bed with me. I want to talk about why my touch makes you sick. He said, “Nothing in particular.”
“Very well, then, I’ll start.” She hesitated, and then said, “How do you like my gown? It is one you had Madame Dumosse make for me.”
Jason’s gaze dropped to the creamy flesh swelling invitingly above the low green bodice of the gown. She looked ravishing in green, he thought, but she should have had emeralds to wear around her slim throat to complement the gown. If things were different, he would have dismissed the servants and pulled her onto his lap, and then he would have unfastened the back of her gown, exposing her intoxicating breasts to his lips and hands. He would have kissed each one, then carried her upstairs and made love to her until they were both too weak to move. “The gown is fine. It needs emeralds,” he said.
Victoria’s hand flew self-consciously to her bare throat. She did not have any emeralds. “I think you look very nice, too,” she said, admiring the way his expensively tailored dark blue jacket clung to his splendid shoulders. His face was so tanned, his hair so dark, that his white shirt and neckcloth stood out in dazzling contrast. “You’re very handsome,” she said wistfully.
A glimmer of a startled smile appeared at his lips. “Thank you,” he said, visibly taken aback.
“You’re welcome,” Victoria replied and, because she thought he seemed pleased by her compliment to his looks, she seized on that as an acceptable topic of conversation. “When I first saw you, I thought you were frightening-looking, did you know that? Of course, it was nearly dark and I was nervous, but—well—you’re so huge that it was frightening.”
Jason choked on his wine. “To what are you referring?”
“To our first meeting,” Victoria clarified innocently. “Remember—I was outside in the sunlight, holding that piglet, which I gave to the farmer, and then you dragged me inside the house and it was dark compared to outdoors—”
Jason stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry I treated you uncivilly. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll spend the evening doing some work.”
“No,” Victoria said hastily, also standing up, “please don’t work. Let’s do something else—something we can do together. Something you’d like.”
Jason’s heart slammed into his ribs. He gazed down at her flushed cheeks and saw the invitation in her imploring blue eyes. Hope and disbelief collided in his chest, exploding, as he laid his hand tenderly against her flushed cheek, slowly running it back, smoothing her heavy silken hair.
Victoria trembled with pleasure because he was finally treating her with warmth. She should have tried to draw him out days ago, rather than suffering in silence. “We could play chess if you like,” she said happily. “I’m not very good at it, but if you have cards—”