She glanced around the room, trying to plan her next step, and her gaze fell on a black velvet box on the table beside the bed. She picked it up and opened the clasp, then ground her teeth in rage at the sight of the spectacular diamond necklace that lay within it. It was two inches wide and fashioned to look like a delicate cluster of flowers, with diamonds cut in various shapes to make up the petals and leaves of tulips, roses, and orchids.

Rage billowed in her in a red mist as she picked up the necklace by its clasp, holding it up with two fingers as if it were a poisonous snake, then dropped it into the box in an unceremonious pile.

Now she understood what had bothered her all along about the gifts Jason gave her and the way he wanted to be thanked with a kiss. He was buying her. He actually believed she could be bought—purchased like a cheap dock-side harlot. No—not a cheap one, an expensive one, but a harlot, nonetheless.

After last night, Victoria already felt used and injured; the necklace added another insult to her growing list of Jason’s offenses. She could hardly believe she’d deceived herself into thinking he cared for her, that he needed her. He cared for no one, needed no one. He didn’t want to be loved and he had no love to give anyone. She should have known—he’d said as much.

Men! Victoria thought furiously, her temper adding bright spots of color to her pale cheeks. What monsters they were—Andrew with his false declarations of love, and Jason who thought he could use her and then pay her off with a stupid necklace.

Wincing at the pain between her legs, she climbed out of bed and marched into the marble bath that adjoined her suite on the opposite side of Jason’s. She would get a divorce, she decided. She’d heard of them. She would tell Jason she wanted one, now.

Ruth came in just as Victoria emerged from the bath.

The little maid’s face was wreathed in a secretive smile as she tiptoed into the room and glanced about her. Whatever she expected to see, it obviously was not her mistress striding militantly across the room, already up and bathed, wrapped in a towel, ruthlessly brushing her hair. Nor did she expect to hear the new bride of Jason Fielding, who was rumored to be an irresistible lover, say in a tone of dripping ice, “There’s no reason to creep about in here as if you’re afraid of your shadow, Ruth. The monster is in the next room, not this one.”

“M-monster, miss?” the poor maid stammered blankly. “Oh,” she giggled nervously, thinking she was mistaken, “you must have said ‘the master,’ but I thought you said—”

“I said ‘monster,’ ” Victoria almost snapped. The sound of her waspish voice made her instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I’m just a little . . . well, tired, I guess.”

For some reason, that made the little servant blush and giggle, which irritated Victoria, who was already teetering on the verge of hysteria, despite her efforts to tell herself how cold and logical and determined she was. She waited, drumming her fingers, until Ruth was finished tidying the room. The clock on the mantel showed the hour as eleven as she walked to the door of her suite through which Jason had come last night. She paused with her hand on the handle, trying to compose herself. Her body was shaking like jelly at the thought of confronting him and demanding a divorce, but she meant to do exactly that, and nothing was going to deter her. Once she informed him that their marriage was over, Jason would have no more marital rights. Later, she would decide where she was going and what she would do. For now, she needed to get him to agree to a divorce. Or did she even need his permission? Since she wasn’t certain, she decided it was wise not to alienate him unnecessarily or anger him into refusing. But then, she shouldn’t beat about the bush too long, either.

Victoria straightened her shoulders, tightened the belt of her velvet robe, turned the handle, and marched into Jason’s room.

Suppressing the desire to hit him over the head with the porcelain pitcher beside his bed, she said very civilly, “Good morning.”

His eyes snapped open, his expression instantly alert, wary almost, and then he smiled. That sleepy, sensual smile of his, which before might have melted her heart, now made her grind her teeth in rage. Somehow, she kept her expression polite, almost pleasant.

“Good morning,” Jason said huskily, his eyes running over her voluptuous figure, clad in the sensuous softness of shimmering gold velvet. Recalling the way he had ravaged her last night, Jason dragged his eyes from the low vee of her robe and shifted his body to make room for her beside him on the bed. Deeply touched that she would come in to bid him good morning when she had every right to despise him for last night, he patted the space he had vacated and said gently, “Would you like to sit down?”

Victoria was so busy trying to think of a way to ease into what she had to say that she automatically accepted Jason’s invitation. “Thank you,” she said politely.

“For what?” he teased.

It was exactly the opening Victoria was searching for. “Thank you for everything. In many ways, you’ve been extraordinarily kind to me. I know how displeased you were when I showed up at your door months ago, but even though you didn’t want me here, you let me stay. You bought me beautiful clothes, and you took me to parties, which was excessively kind of you. You fought a duel for me, which wasn’t necessary at all, but was very gallant on your part. You married me in a church, which you didn’t in the least wish to do, and you gave me a lovely party here last night and invited people you didn’t know, just to please me. Thank you for all that.”

Jason reached up, idly rubbing his knuckles against her pale cheek. “You’re welcome,” he said softly.

“Now I’d like a divorce.”

His hand froze. “You what?” he said in an ominous whisper.

Victoria clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap, but she kept her resolve strong. “I want a divorce,” she repeated with false calm.

“Just like that?” he said in an awful, silky voice. Although Jason was very willing to concede he had treated her badly last night, he had not expected anything like this. “After one day of marriage, you want a divorce?”

Victoria took one look at the anger kindling in his glittering eyes and hastily stood up, only to have Jason’s hand clamp about her wrist and jerk her back down. “Don’t manhandle me, Jason,” she warned.

Jason, who had left her last night looking like a wounded child, was now confronted with a woman he didn’t recognize—a coldly enraged, beautiful virago. Instead of apologizing, as he’d intended to do a minute ago, he said, “You’re being absurd. There’ve only been a handful of divorces in England in the last fifty years, and there’ll be no divorce between us.”