She had long since removed her veil and asked the orchestra to play more lively tunes, then charmed the villagers by asking them to teach her the local dances. By the time the moon was riding high in the sky, everyone was dancing and clapping and thoroughly enjoying themselves, including Victoria, who had now finished five glasses of wine. Evidently she was trying to drink herself into a stupor, Jason thought sarcastically, noting the flush on her cheeks. Disgust knotted his stomach as he thought of his hopes for tonight, for their future. Like a fool, he had believed happiness was finally within his grasp.

Lounging against a tree, he watched her, wondering why women were so attracted to him until he married them, and then they loathed him. He had done it again, he thought furiously. He had made the same idiotic mistake twice—he had married a woman who agreed to have him because she wanted something from him, not because she wanted him.

Melissa had wanted every man she saw, except him. Victoria wanted only Andrew—good, gentle, kind, spineless Andrew.

The only difference between Melissa and Victoria was that Victoria was a much better actress, Jason decided. He had known Melissa was a selfish, calculating bitch from the start, but he had thought Victoria was closer to an angel ... a fallen angel, of course—thanks to Andrew—but he hadn’t held that against her. Now he did. He despised her for having given herself freely to Andrew, yet wanting to avoid giving herself to her husband, which was exactly what she was trying to do by consuming enough wine to render her insensible. He hated the way she had trembled in his arms and avoided his gaze when he danced with her a few minutes ago, and then she had shuddered when he suggested it was time to go inside.

Dispassionately, Jason wondered why he could make his mistresses cry out in ecstasy, but the women he married wanted nothing to do with him the moment the vows were said. He wondered why making money came so easily to him, but happiness always eluded him. The vicious old bitch who had raised him had evidently been right—he was the spawn of the devil, undeserving of life, let alone happiness.

The only three women who had ever been part of his life— Victoria, Melissa, and his foster mother—had all seen something in him that made him loathsome and ugly in their sight, although both his wives had hidden their revulsion until after the wedding, when his wealth was finally theirs.

With implacable resolve, Jason approached Victoria and touched her arm. She jumped and pulled away as if his touch burned her. “It’s late and it’s time to go in,” he said.

Even in the moonlight her face turned noticeably pale and a trapped, haunted look widened her eyes. “B-but it’s not really late—”

“It’s late enough to go to bed, Victoria,” he told her bluntly.

“But I’m not the least bit sleepy!”

“Good,” Jason said with deliberate crudity. He knew she understood because her whole body began to tremble. “We made a bargain,” he said harshly, “and I expect you to keep your part of it, no matter how distasteful you find the prospect of going to bed with me.”

His icy, authoritative voice chilled her to the bone. Nodding, Victoria walked stiffly into the house and up to her new rooms, which adjoined Jason’s.

Sensing her withdrawn mood, Ruth silently helped Victoria remove her wedding gown and put on the cream satin and lace negligee Madame Dumosse had created especially for use on her wedding night.

Bile rose in Victoria’s throat and terror clutched at her insides when Ruth went over to turn the bed down. The wine she had drunk, hoping to quiet her fears, was now making her dizzy and sick. Instead of calming her as it had earlier, it was making her feel violently ill and horribly unable to control her emotions. She wished devoutly she hadn’t touched it. The only other time she’d had more than a sip of the stuff was after her parents’ funeral, when Dr. Morrison insisted she have two glasses. It had made her retch that time, and he had told her she might be one of those people whose systems couldn’t tolerate it.

With Miss Flossie’s lurid description screaming through her mind, Victoria walked toward the bed. Soon her blood would be spilled on these sheets, she thought wildly. How much blood? How much pain? She broke out in a cold sweat, and dizziness swept over her as Ruth plumped up the pillows. Like a puppet she climbed in, trying to control her quaking panic and rising nausea. She mustn’t scream or show her revulsion, Miss Flossie had told her, but when Jason pulled the connecting door open and strode into the room wearing a maroon brocade dressing robe that showed much of his bare chest and legs, Victoria couldn’t stifle her gasp of fear. “Jason!” she burst out, pressing back into the pillows.

“Who were you expecting—Andrew?” he asked conversationally. His hands went to the satin belt that held the sides of his dressing robe together, and Victoria’s fear escalated to panic. “D-don’t do that,” she pleaded wildly, unable to speak or think coherently. “A gentleman surely doesn’t disrobe in front of a lady, even if they are m-married.”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before, but in case you’ve forgotten, I’ll remind you again that I’m no gentleman.” His hands pulled at the ends of the satin belt. “However, if the sight of my ungentlemanly body offends your sensibilities, you can solve that problem by closing your eyes. The only other solution is for me to get into bed and then remove my robe, and that option offends my sensibilities.” He opened the robe, shrugging out of it and Victoria’s eyes widened in mute terror on his huge, muscular body.

Whatever tiny, secret hope Jason had harbored that she might yet submit willingly to his advances vanished when she closed her eyes and averted her face from him.

Jason stared at her and then, with deliberate crudity, he yanked the sheets from her fists and swept them away. He got into bed beside her and wordlessly untied the bow at the low bodice of her satin and lace negligee; then he sucked in his breath as he beheld the nude perfection of her body.

Victoria’s breasts were full and ripe, her waist tiny, her hips gently rounded. Her legs were long and incredibly shapely, with slim thighs and trim calves. As his gaze roved over her, a blush stained her smooth ivory skin and when he laid his hand tentatively against one voluptuous breast, her whole body lurched and stiffened, rejecting his touch.

For an experienced woman, she was as cold and unyielding as a stone, lying there, her averted face twisted with revulsion. Jason considered trying to seduce her into cooperating, then tossed the idea aside with contempt. She had nearly left him at the altar this morning, and she obviously had no desire to suffer his prolonged caresses.