Her hands dropped to her sides, and she didn't respond for a moment. "I think you're the first person to ask that."
The tremor in her voice was unmistakable, and he wanted to find a way to comfort her. Was her brother such a cad that he'd neglected his sister's tender feelings?
"What was your father like?" he asked, knowing that the cozy warmth of the kitchen had lulled him into asking more personal questions than he ought.
Lady Juliet looked over at him with her deep blue gaze. "He loved horses," she said with an affectionate smile. She lifted the kettle from the stove, then poured the steaming water into a teapot. "Our neighbor breeds horses, and the two men could talk for hours at a time about them. My father taught me to ride almost before I could walk. He gave me my first pony on my third birthday."
Victor nodded. "I expect you're an excellent horsewoman now."
She lifted one of her shoulders. "I ride as often as I can, when it's not raining of course."
Victor glanced at the dark window that blocked out the rainy night. "What about your mother?"
"She died when I was twelve." Lady Juliet turned to the teapot, but not before Victor saw the fresh sadness in her eyes. She lifted the teapot and poured the tea through a strainer into the two cups she'd set on the sideboard. She delivered one steaming cup to him, then she set a pitcher of milk and a small bowl of crushed sugar on the table.
"I never knew my mother," Victor said when she took a chair across the table from him. It had been years since he'd spoken of his mother to anyone. In fact, he wasn't sure when he last had. Perhaps it had been at Eton when they were all required to write an essay about their family lineage.
"Were you a baby when she died?" Lady Juliet asked, her gaze filled with compassion.
Under ordinary circumstances, Victor would have despised any pity or commiseration. But here, now, he didn't mind the way this woman was looking at him. In fact, it made him feel like they had something in common, since death put everyone on a level playing field. "She died from blood loss after giving birth to me."
Instead of saying how sorry she was, or how horrible of a death, or some other pitying comeback, Lady Juliet said, "Childbirth is a great risk to all women."
Victor took a sip of the steaming tea. The burn felt good in his throat. "Yes, and it has made my decision all that easier." He felt Lady Juliet's gaze on him, so when he looked up, he wasn't surprised to see her curious expression. "I've decided to marry the woman my father has selected. I do not love her. Therefore, if she doesn't survive childbirth, I won't turn into a drunken, pathetic man like my father."
Lady Juliet's lips parted in a soft gasp. "I am sure you don't mean you won't care for your wife, even if it's not a love match."
Victor took another scalding swallow, then winced. He should pour some milk in to cool the temperature, but he refrained. "I mean it with all my heart, Lady Juliet. Taking care of someone is not the same thing as caring for them."
She rose to her feet without a word, crossed to where he sat and added a spoonful of sugar to his tea. He watched her movements as she reached for the milk jug and added a small trickle. Then she picked up a spoon and stirred. Finally, she retook her seat and gazed across the table at him with frankness.
"Sometimes when life has dealt us a bitter blow, someone else must add the sweetness back into it," she said in a soft voice, tilting her head toward his teacup as if she'd given him a concrete example. "That's how I envision marriage to be. Whatever challenges we face in life, if we have a partner to face them with, we can find joy."
Victor studied her for a moment, her deep blue eyes, her golden hair barely tamed by the ribbon she'd added to it, the v-opening of her robe that exposed the dip of her night rail so that her delicate collarbones were visible. He picked up the teacup and took another drink. The heat had calmed, and the taste was akin to a pastry. It was, to be honest, sweet and delicious.
"Perhaps you're right, Lady Juliet," Victor said in a slow voice. "I've no doubt that you'll enjoy the fruits of such a marriage. As for a man like me, those sorts of opportunities never come knocking."
"What are you? Thirty in age?" she asked. "Surely you can't profess to have the bitterness of a man twice your age."
"I'm nearly thirty, but I have as much right to bitterness as the next man."
"Did you fight in the war?" she pressed.
He was taken aback by her direct question, yet his chuckle didn't seem to bother her. "I'm the only son of the Duke of Wycliff. All I was allowed to do was transport a few private letters."
Her eyes widened a fraction. He probably should have told her sooner who his father was. "You were a spy?" she asked.
"I wouldn't go that far-"
"The eldest sons of dukedoms are valuable to the estate and seen as a commodity," she said. "It's no wonder your father didn't want you to go to war and risk your life."
"That's a pretty thought in your pretty head," Victor said. "My father could care less if I was alive. But his estate solicitor informed me I'd be disinherited if I took up any sort of uniform."
She sipped her tea as if she were considering his statement. "You must love your home, at least," she observed.
Her words had a way of driving straight into his heart and twisting hard. "It's the only thing I'll ever be able to call my own in this life."
Lady Juliet held his gaze, not looking away. "I suppose that's the truth of a man in your position. And I suppose that's why a woman wants to have children, despite the risk to her life. Once I marry, my dowry and possessions become the property of my husband. Only my children will belong to me."
Victor decided not to contradict her words because in truth, a woman's children legally belonged to the father. He was curious about Lady Juliet and her future, especially since her brother had tried to wager away her hand and dowry. "Is a wedding on the horizon for you, Lady Juliet?"
"Oh, no," she said, looking down at her teacup.
Victor didn't miss the flush of her cheeks. "You've been proposed to?"
She hesitated, then gave a short nod.
Victor's curiosity grew. He took another swallow of the sweet concoction she'd made for him and leaned forward, his gaze intent on hers. "Has your brother consented?"
Lady Juliet waved a hand in front of her face as if to ward off a fainting spell. "Goodness, no. It was just today . . . I mean yesterday. But I cannot fathom myself marrying the man."
Victor arched his brows, waiting for more.
She exhaled and rested her chin on her hand, still avoiding his gaze. "It was surely out of pity. Our age difference is great, and I've lived an isolated life, so I am not very interesting."
Victor bit back a smile. "I think you're very interesting."
Her cheeks stained red, and she rose to her feet, collecting her half-finished teacup. "You're bred to compliment ladies."
He rose as well and blocked her path to the sink. "Horses are bred, not me."
She looked up at him. "I didn't mean-"
"I know what you meant," he said. "But this . . . gentleman . . . who asked for your hand is no fool, and he's not asking you out of pity."
She stared at him as if he were out of his mind, and perhaps he was, because he did something then he knew he'd regret. Eventually. He took the tea things from her hands and set them in the sink, then he turned to find that she hadn't moved at all. He grasped one of her hands and brought it to his lips.
She merely watched him as he pressed a kiss on her smooth skin.
"Lady Juliet, you are a beautiful and enchanting creature," he said in a low voice. "And you are undoubtedly well on your way to breaking a dozen men's hearts."
She laughed.
Victor was at first startled by her outburst, then charmed.
"You, sir, are getting ahead of yourself." She poked a finger against his chest as if they were children teasing each other. "Since my brother has gambled away most of our funds, there will be nothing left for me to have a season. Of course, at nearly twenty years of age, I'm a bit old to debut in London anyway. So I will most likely break only one or two hearts-and they will be very aged hearts-before some poor sop with a crumbling manor house from the north will court me for my dowry."
"From the north, eh?" Victor grinned. "Care to make a wager?"
Her eyes glinted as she laughed again. "I'm no gambler, Lord Locken."
"I beg to differ," he said. "You gamble every time you climb upon a horse. You gambled by opening the door when a stranger knocked upon it."
She tapped a finger to her lips-those pale rose and perfectly shaped lips-and Victor felt a thrill of warmth brush his skin as if she'd touched him instead.