Everything and the Moon

  “Pardon me if I'm not inclined to take you at your word.”

  That stung, and Victoria recalled the time she had snorted with disdain when he'd said he had never broken a promise to her. It was remarkable how unpleasant it was to receive a taste of one's own medicine. She grimaced. “I didn't promise not to try to escape before. I am doing so now.”

  He turned and stared at her with incredulous eyes. “You, my lady, should have been a politician.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Merely that you possess a stunning ability to use words to dance around the truth.”

  Victoria laughed. She couldn't help it. “And what exactly is the truth?”

  He stepped forward purposefully. “You need me.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “You do. You need me in every way a woman needs a man.”

  “Don't say anything more, Robert. I would hate to be driven to violence.”

  He chuckled at her sarcasm. “Love, companionship, affection. You need all of that. Why do you think you were so miserable as a governess? You were alone”.

  “I could get a dog. A spaniel would be more intelligent company than you.”

  He laughed again. “Just look how quick you were to claim me as your husband tonight. You could have made up a name, but no, you chose me.”

  “I was using you,” she spat out. “Using you and your name to protect myself. That is all!”

  “Ah, but even that wasn't enough, was it, my sweet?”

  Victoria didn't particularly like the way he said “my sweet.”

  “You needed the man, too. Those men didn't believe you until I arrived on the scene.”

  “Thank you ever so much,” she ground out, not sounding particularly gracious. “You do have a flair for rescuing me from unpleasant situations.”

  He smirked. “Ah, yes, I am ever useful.”

  “Unpleasant situations that you cause,” she shot back.

  “Really?” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

  “I suppose that I rose out of bed—in my sleep, no less—dragged you from your room, pushed you down the stairs, and then left you in front of the inn to be accosted by two pox-ridden drunkards.”

  She pursed her lips in a prim expression. “Robert, you are behaving in a most unbecoming manner.”

  “Ah, the governess returns.”

  “You abducted me!” she nearly shrieked, completely losing hold of her temper. “You kidnapped me! If you had left me alone, as I have repeatedly asked you to, I would have been safe and sound in my own bed.”

  He stepped forward and jabbed her in the shoulder. “Safe and sound?” he repeated. “In your neighborhood? A bit of a contradiction of terms, I think.”

  “Ah, yes, and you magnanimously took it upon yourself to rescue me from my foolishness.”

  “Someone had to.”

  Her hand shot out to slap his cheek, but he caught her wrist easily. Victoria wrenched it from his grasp. “How dare you,” she hissed. “How dare you condescend to me? You say you love me, but you treat me like a child. You—”

  He cut her off by clamping his hand down on her mouth. “You'll say something you regret.”

  She stomped on his foot. Hard. He was trying to tell her what she wanted again, and she hated him for that.

  “That is it!” he roared. “I have shown the patience of Job with you! I deserve a goddamn sainthood!” Before Victoria had a chance to react to his use of “goddamn” and “sainthood” in the same sentence, Robert picked her up and tossed her effortlessly onto the bed.

  Victoria's mouth fell open. Then she started to slither off the mattress. Robert caught her ankle, though, and held firm. “Let go of me,” she ground out, grabbing the far end of the bed with her hands and trying to pull herself from his grasp. She wasn't successful. “Robert, if you do not let go of my ankle…”

  The lout actually had the nerve to laugh. “What will you do, Victoria? Do tell.”

  Seething with frustration and anger, Victoria stopped pulling and instead used her other foot to kick him soundly in the chest. Robert let out a grunt of pain and released his grip on her ankle, but before Victoria could scramble off the bed, he was on top of her, his weight pinning her against the mattress.

  And he looked furious.

  “Robert,” she began, trying to use a conciliatory tone.

  He stared down at her, his eyes burning with something that wasn't quite desire, although there was a good deal of that, too. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw those two men pawing at you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  Mutely she shook her head.

  “I felt rage,” he said, his grip on her upper arms loosening into what could only be called a caress. “It was primitive, and it was hot, and it was pure.”

  Victoria's eyes widened.

  “Rage that they should touch you. Rage that they should frighten you.”

  Her mouth went dry, and she realized that she was having a hard time taking her eyes off his lips.

  “Do you know what else I felt?”

  “No,” she replied, her voice merely a whisper.

  “Fear.”

  She brought her eyes up to his. “But you knew that I hadn't been injured.”

  He let out a hollow chuckle. “Not that, Torie. Fear that you're going to keep on running, that you will never admit what you feel for me. Fear that you'll always hate me so much that you'll run into danger to avoid me.”

  “I don't hate you.” The words slipped out before she realized that she had just contradicted everything she'd told him in the last twelve hours.

  He touched her hair, then cradled her head with his strong hands. “Then why, Victoria?” he whispered. “Why?”

  “I don't know. I wish I did. I just know that I can't be with you right now.”

  His head lowered until they were nose to nose. Then his lips brushed up against hers, feather light and startlingly erotic. “Now? Or ever?”

  She didn't answer. She couldn't answer, for his mouth had already taken fierce possession of hers. His tongue swooped into her mouth, tasting her with palpable hunger. His hips pressed gently into hers, reminding her of his desire. His hand ran up the length of her body and settled onto the curve of her breast. He kneaded and squeezed, the heat of his skin burning through the material of her dress. Victoria felt herself peaking beneath his touch.

  “Do you know what I feel right now?” he whispered roughly.

  She didn't answer.

  “Desire.” His eyes gleamed. “I want you, Victoria. I want to finally make you mine.”

  In a panic, Victoria realized that he was leaving the decision up to her. How easy it would be to let herself be swept up in the heat of the moment. How convenient to be able to tell herself the next day, Passion made me do it; I wasn't thinking clearly.

  But Robert was forcing her to confront her feelings and to admit to the overwhelming desire that was racing through her body.

  “You said you wanted to make your own decisions,” he whispered into her ear. His tongue delicately traced its outline. “I won't make this one for you.”

  She let out a frustrated moan.

  Robert trailed his hands down the length of her body, pausing ever so slightly at her gently rounded hips. He squeezed, and Victoria could feel the imprint of each and every one of his fingertips.

  His lips curved into a masculine smile. “Perhaps I should help you clarify the issue,” he said, touching his lips to the delicate skin of her neck. “Do you want me?”

  She said nothing, but her body was arching up against his, her hips straining for him.

  He slid his hands under her skirt and moved up her legs until they reached the warm skin at the tops of her stockings. One finger dipped beneath the edge, drawing lazy circles on her bare skin. “Do you want me?” he repeated.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “No?” He moved his lips back up to her ear and softly nibbled. “Are you certain?”

  “N
o.”

  “No, you're not certain or no, you don't want me?”

  She let out a frustrated moan. “I don't know.”

  He contemplated her for a long moment, looking very much as if he wanted to crush her to him. His face was hungry, and his eyes burned in the candlelight. But in the end all he did was roll off her. He got to his feet and crossed the room, the evidence of his desire making his breeches tight. “I won't make this decision for you,” he repeated.

  Victoria sat up, utterly dazed. Her body was shaking with need, and in that moment she hated him for giving her the one thing she'd been asking for all along—control.

  Robert stopped before the window and leaned on the sill. “Make your decision,” he said in a low voice.

  The only sound she made was a strangled cry.

  “Make it!”

  “I-I don't know,” she said, her words sounding lame and pathetic even to her own ears.

  He whirled around. “Then get the hell out of my sight.”

  She flinched.

  Robert strode to the bed and yanked her by the arm. “Tell me yes or tell me no,” he bit out, “but don't demand that I give you a choice and then not make one.”

  Victoria was too startled to react, and before she knew it she had been pushed back into her own room, the connecting door slammed shut between them. She gasped for air, unable to believe how miserable and rejected she felt just then. God, she was such a hypocrite! Robert's words had cut to the quick. She had asked him over and over not to try to control her life, but when he finally put a decision into her hands, she was unable to act.

  She sat on the bed for several minutes until her eyes fell on the package she'd so carelessly thrown aside several hours earlier. It seemed a lifetime had passed since then. What, she wondered with a shaky laugh, was Robert's idea of appropriate nightwear?

  She untied the strings holding the box together and lifted the lid. Even in the dim light of her single candle, she could see that the lingerie was made of the finest silk. With careful fingers Victoria lifted the garment out of the box.

  It was dark blue—a shade hovering somewhere between royal and midnight. Victoria didn't think it was an accident that the silk was the exact color of her eyes.

  She sat down on the bed with a sigh. Her mind held a picture of Robert, examining a hundred nightgowns until he found one he deemed perfect. He did everything with such care and precision.

  She wondered if he made love with the same quiet intensity.

  “Stop!” she said aloud, as if that would rein in her wayward thoughts. She rose to her feet and crossed the room to the window. The moon was high, and the stars were twinkling in a manner that could only be called friendly. Suddenly, more than anything, Victoria wanted another woman to talk to. She wanted her friends at the dress shop, she wanted her sister, she even wanted Robert's aunt Brightbill and cousin Harriet.

  Most of all, she wanted her mother, who had died so many years earlier. She stared up into the heavens and whispered, “Mama, are you listening?” then scolded herself for foolishly hoping that a star would shoot through the night. Still, there was something soothing about talking to the darkened sky.

  “What should I do?” she said aloud. “I think I might love him. I think I might have always loved him. But I hate him, too.”

  A star glinted sympathetically.

  “Sometimes I think it would be so lovely to have someone to take care of me. To feel protected and loved. I went for so long without feeling that way. Without even a friend. But I also want to be able to make my own decisions, and Robert is taking that away from me. I don't think he means to. He just can't help it. And then I feel so weak and powerless. All the time I was a governess I was at the mercy of others. God, how I hated that.”

  She paused to brush a tear from her cheek. “And then I wonder—do all these questions mean anything, or am I just afraid? Maybe I am nothing but a coward, too scared to take a chance.”

  The wind whispered across her face, and Victoria took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air. “If I let him love me, will he break my heart again?”

  The night sky made no response.

  “If I let myself love him, can I still be my own person?”

  This time a star twinkled, but Victoria wasn't sure how to interpret that gesture. She stood at the window for several minutes more, content to let the breeze caress her skin. Finally exhaustion claimed her and, fully clothed, she climbed into bed, not even realizing that she was still clutching the blue nightgown Robert had given her.

  Ten feet away Robert stood at his own window, silently contemplating what he had overheard. The wind had carried Victoria's words to him, and, much as it went against his scientific nature, he couldn't help but believe that some benevolent spirit had pushed that wind along.

  His mother. Or maybe Victoria's. Or perhaps both, working together from the heavens to give their children another chance at happiness.

  He had been so close to giving up hope, but then he'd been given a gift more precious than gold—a brief glimpse into Victoria's heart.

  Robert raised his eyes to the sky and thanked the moon.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning was almost surreal.

  Victoria didn't wake up feeling particularly refreshed. She still felt drained, both emotionally and physically, and she was just as confused as ever about her feelings for Robert.

  After she had washed her face and smoothed out her clothing, she knocked softly on his door. There was no answer. She decided to enter anyway, but she did so with a certain degree of apprehension. She well remembered his fit of temper the night before. Nibbling on her lower lip, she pushed open the door.

  Only to be frightened out of her wits by MacDougal, who was dozing comfortably on Robert's bed.

  “Good Lord!” she managed to say after she let out a shriek of surprise. “What are you doing here? And where is Lord Macclesfield?”

  MacDougal smiled at her in a friendly manner as he rose to his feet. “He's seeing to the horses.”

  “Isn't that your job?”

  The Scotsman nodded. “His lordship is rather particular about his horseflesh.”

  “I know,” Victoria said, her mind traveling back seven years to when Robert had—unsuccessfully—tried to teach her to ride.

  “Sometimes he likes to inspect the animals himself. Usually when he's thinking about something.”

  Probably how to most effectively flog me, Victoria thought. There was a beat of silence, and then she said, “Is there any particular reason why you came up to his room?”

  “He wanted me to escort you to breakfast.”

  “Ah, yes,” she said with a slight tinge of bitterness. “Keep the prisoner guarded at all times.”

  “Actually he mentioned something about your being accosted last night. He didn't want you to feel uncomfortable—a woman alone and all that.”

  Victoria smiled tightly, duly chastened. “Shall we be off, then? I am famished.”

  “Do you have anything you would like me to take down for you, my lady?”

  Victoria was of half a mind to correct him and tell him that she wasn't anybody's lady, but she just didn't have the energy. Robert had probably already told his servant that they were as good as married anyway. “No,” she replied. “His lordship didn't give me very much time to pack, if you recall.”

  MacDougal nodded. “Verra well, then.”

  Victoria took a couple of steps toward the door, and then she remembered the blue night-gown lying on the bed in the next room. She ought to leave it behind, she thought spitefully. She ought to have torn it into shreds the night before. But that artfully cut piece of silk gave her an odd sort of solace, and she didn't want to abandon it.

  And, she rationalized, if she did, Robert would probably come up to retrieve it before they departed.

  “Just one moment, MacDougal,” she said, dashing back to the adjoining room. She bundled up the nightgown and tucked it under her arm.

  S
he and MacDougal made their way downstairs. The Scotsman steered her toward a private dining room, where he said Robert would meet her for breakfast. Victoria was surprisingly hungry, and she put her hand against her stomach in a vain attempt to stop it from grumbling. Good manners dictated that she wait for Robert, but she doubted that any etiquette book had ever addressed the particularities of her uncommon situation.

  Victoria waited for a minute or so, and then, when her stomach let out its third grumble, she decided not to bother with good manners, and reached for the plate of toast.

  After a few minutes, two eggs, and a tasty slice of kidney pie, she heard the door open and Robert's voice. “Enjoying your meal?”

  She looked up. He looked friendly, polite, and impossibly cheerful. Victoria was instantly suspicious. Wasn't this the same man who had forcibly ejected her from his room the night before?

  “I'm famished,” Robert declared. “How is the food? Is it to your liking?”

  Victoria washed down a bite of toast with some tea. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “I like you.”

  “Last night you didn't,” she muttered.

  “Last night I was, shall we say, misinformed.”

  “Misinformed? I suppose you stumbled on a wealth of information in the last ten hours?”

  He grinned wickedly. “I did, indeed.”

  Victoria set her teacup on its saucer with slow, precise movements. “And would you care to share this with me? Your new fount of knowledge?”

  He looked at her intently for a split second and then said, “Would you be so kind as to pass me a slice of that kidney pie?”

  Victoria's fingers curled around the edge of the pie pan and she pulled the dish out of his reach. “Not just yet.”

  He chuckled. “You play dirty, my lady.”

  “I am not your lady, and I want to know why you're acting so bloody cheerful this morning. By all rights you should be frothing at the mouth.”

  “By all rights? Then you think my anger last night was justified?”

  “No!” The word came out a touch more forcefully than Victoria would have liked.

  He shrugged. “It's no matter, as I'm no longer angry.”