Everything and the Moon (10 page)

Robert leaned down and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “Until tomorrow, Torie,” he whispered. “We'll talk tomorrow. I'm not going to let you leave me again.”

When he left the room he noticed that Eversleigh was gone. With grim determination, he set out to find him. He had to make certain that the bastard understood one simple fact: if Eversleigh even so much as breathed a syllable of Victoria's name ever again, the next beating Robert gave him wouldn't stop within an inch of his life.

 

Victoria woke up the next morning and tried to go about her daily routine as if nothing had happened. She washed her face, pulled on her dress, ate breakfast with Neville.

But every now and then she'd notice little tremors in her hands. And she found herself trying not to blink, for every time she closed her eyes she saw Eversleigh's face as he descended upon her.

She conducted her morning lesson with Neville, then accompanied the boy down to the stables for his riding lesson. Normally she welcomed these brief respites from the demands of her job, but today she was loath to part with the little boy's company.

The last thing she wanted was to be alone with her thoughts.

 

Robert saw her from across the lawn, and he dashed out to intercept her before she reentered the house. “Victoria!” he called out, his voice a touch breathless from running.

She looked at him, her eyes flashing with a moment of terror before filling with relief.

“I'm sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“You didn't. Well, actually you did, but I'm rather glad it's only you.”

Robert forced down the fresh wave of fury rising within him. He hated to see her so fearful. “Don't worry about Eversleigh. He left for London early this morning. I saw to it.”

Her entire body sagged, as if all the tension she was carrying drained right out of her. “Thank God,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

“Victoria, we must talk.”

She swallowed. “Yes, of course. I must thank you properly. If you hadn't—”

“
stop
thanking me!” he exploded.

She blinked, confused.

“What happened last night was as much my fault as anyone else's,” he said bitterly.

“No!” she cried out. “No, don't say that. You saved me.”

Part of Robert wanted nothing more than to let her go on thinking him a hero. She had always made him feel big and strong and noble, and he had missed that after their separation. But his conscience wouldn't allow him to accept gratitude where none was due.

He let out a shaky breath. “We will discuss that later. Right now there are more pressing matters.”

She nodded and let him lead her away from the house. She looked up with questioning eyes when she realized they were heading for the hedgerow maze.

“We'll need privacy,” he explained.

She allowed herself a small smile, the first she'd felt all day. “Just so long as I know the way out.”

He chuckled and wended his way through the maze until they reached a stone bench. “Two lefts, a right, and two more lefts,” he whispered.

She smiled again as she smoothed her skirts down and sat. “It is engraved on my brain.”

Robert sat beside her, his expression suddenly growing a touch hesitant. “Victoria— Torie.”

Victoria's heart fluttered at the way he switched to the use of her nickname.

Robert's face moved expressively, as if he was seeking out the best words. Finally he said, “You cannot stay here.”

She blinked. “But I thought you said that Eversleigh has left for London.”

“He has. But that doesn't matter.”

“It matters a great deal to me,” she said.

“Torie, I can't leave you here.”

“What are you saying?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I cannot leave knowing that you are unprotected. What happened last night could easily happen again.”

Victoria looked at him steadily. “Robert, last night was not the first time I have been subjected to unwanted attentions from a gentleman.”

His entire body tensed. “Was that supposed to set my mind at ease?”

“I have never before been attacked with such force,” she continued. “I am merely trying to say that I have become quite adept at fending off advances.”

He gripped her shoulders. “If I hadn't intervened last night, he would have raped you. Possibly even killed you.”

She shuddered and looked away. “I can't imagine that anything like…like…
that
will ever come to pass again. And I can protect myself against the odd pinch and lewd word.”

“That is unacceptable!” he exploded. “How can you let yourself be demeaned that way?”

“No one can demean me but myself,” she said in a very low voice. “Don't forget that.”

He let his hands drop away from her shoulders and stood. “I know that, Torie. But you shouldn't have to remain in this intolerable situation.”

“Oh, really?” She let out a hollow laugh. “And how am I supposed to extricate myself from this situation, as you so delicately put it? I have to eat, my lord.”

“Torie, don't be sarcastic.”

“I'm not being sarcastic! I have never been more thoroughly serious in my life. If I do not work as a governess, I will starve. I don't have any other choice.”

“Yes, you do,” he whispered urgently, dropping to his knees before her. “You can come with me.”

She stared at him in shock. “With you?”

He nodded. “To London. We can leave today.”

Victoria swallowed nervously, trying to suppress the urge to throw herself into his arms. Something burst to life within her, and she suddenly remembered exactly how she'd felt so many years ago when he had first said he wanted to marry her. But heartbreak had made her wary, and she measured her words carefully before asking, “What exactly are you proposing, my lord?”

“I'll buy you a house. And hire a staff.”

Victoria felt every last hope for the future drain away. Robert wasn't proposing marriage. And he never would. Not if he made her his mistress first. Men didn't marry their mistresses.

“You'll never want for anything,” he added.

Except love, Victoria thought miserably. And respectability. “What would I have to do in return?” she asked, not because she had any intention of accepting his insulting offer. She just wanted to hear him say it.

But he looked dumbfounded, startled that she'd voiced the question. “You…Ah…”

“
What
, Robert?” she asked sharply.

“I just want to be with you,” he said, clasping her hands. His eyes slid away from hers, as if he realized just how lame his words were.

“But you won't marry me,” she said, her voice dull. How silly of her to have thought, even for a moment, that they could be happy again.

He stood. “Surely you didn't think…”

“Obviously not. How could I possibly think that you, the Earl of Macclesfield, would deign to marry a vicar's daughter?” Her voice grew shrill. “Goodness, I've probably been plotting to fleece you out of your fortune for seven years.”

Robert winced at her unexpected attack. Her words poked at something unpleasant in his heart—something that felt a bit like guilt. The image of Victoria as a greedy adventuress had never rung completely true, but what else was there for him to think? He'd seen her himself, lying in bed, sleeping soundly on the night they were supposed to elope. He felt the protective armor around his heart lock back into place and said, “Sarcasm doesn't become you, Victoria.”

“Fine.” She waved her arm at him. “Then our discussion is concluded.”

His hand shot out like a bullet and wrapped around her wrist. “Not quite.”

“Release me,” she said in a low voice.

Robert took a deep breath, trying to use the time to get over the incredibly strong urge to shake her. He couldn't believe the little nitwit would rather stay here at a job she detested than come with him to London. “I am going to say this one more time,” he said, his hard stare drumming into her. “I am not going to leave you here to be pawed at by every unscrupulous male who happens along.”

She laughed, which really infuriated him. “Are you saying,” She asked, “that the only unscrupulous male with whom I may consort is
you
?”

“Yes. No! For the love of God, woman, you can't stay here.”

She lifted her chin proudly. “I don't see any other option.”

Robert ground his teeth together. “I just got through telling you—”

“I said,” she stated pointedly, “that I don't see any other option. I will be no man's mistress.” She wrenched herself free of him and walked out of the maze.

And, he realized in a daze, out of his life.

R
obert returned to London and attempted to immerse himself in his regular routine. He was miserable, though, so miserable that he didn't even bother to try to convince himself that he didn't care about Victoria's rejection.

He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep. He felt like a character in a very bad, melodramatic poem. He saw Victoria everywhere—in the clouds, in the crowds, even in his damned
soup
.

If he hadn't been so wretchedly pathetic, Robert later reflected, he probably wouldn't have bothered to answer his father's summons.

Every few months, the marquess sent Robert a letter requesting his presence at Castleford Manor. At first the notes were terse orders, but lately they'd taken on a more conciliatory, almost imploring tone. The marquess wanted Robert to take a greater interest in his lands; he wanted his son to show pride in the marquessate that would one day be his. Most of all he wanted him to marry and produce an heir to carry on the Kemble name.

All of this was spelled out quite clearly—and with increasing graciousness—in his letters to his son, but Robert merely scanned the notes and then tossed them into the fireplace. He hadn't been back to Castleford Manor in more than seven years, not since that awful day when his every dream had been shattered, and his father, instead of patting him on the back and offering him comfort, had shouted with glee and danced a jig right on his priceless mahogany desk.

The memory still made Robert's jaw clench with fury. When he had children he'd offer them support and understanding. He certainly wouldn't laugh at their defeats.

Children. Now there was an amusing concept. He wasn't very likely to leave his mark on the world in the form of little heirs. He couldn't bring himself to marry Victoria, and he was coming to realize that he couldn't imagine himself married to anyone else.

What a muck.

And so, when the latest note from his father arrived, saying that he was on his deathbed, Robert decided to humor the old man. This was the third such note he'd received in the past year; none of them had proved to be even remotely truthful. But Robert packed his bags and left for Kent anyway. Anything to get his mind off
her
.

When he arrived at his childhood home, he was not surprised to find that his father was not ill, although he did look quite a bit older than he'd remembered.

“It's good to have you home, son,” the marquess said, looking rather surprised that Robert had actually answered his summons and come down from London.

“You look well,” Robert said, emphasizing the last word.

The marquess coughed.

“A chest cold, perhaps?” Robert asked, raising a brow in an insolent manner.

His father shot him an annoyed glance. “I was just clearing my throat, and you well know it.”

“Ah, yes, healthy as horses, we Kembles are. Healthy as mules, and just as stubborn, too.”

The marquess let his nearly empty glass of whiskey clunk down on the table. “What has happened to you, Robert?”

“I beg your pardon?” This was said as Robert sprawled out on the sofa and put his feet on the table.

“You are a miserable excuse for a son. And get your feet off the table!”

His father's tone was just as it had always been when Robert was a young boy and had committed some awful transgression. Without thinking, Robert obeyed and set his feet on the floor.

“Look at you,” Castleford said with distaste. “Lazing your days away in London. Drinking, whoring, gambling away your fortune.”

Robert smiled humorlessly. “I'm an appallingly good card player. I've doubled my portion.”

His father turned slowly around. “You don't care about anything, do you?”

“I once did,” Robert whispered, suddenly feeling very hollow.

The marquess poured himself another glass of whiskey and downed it. And then, as if making a last-ditch effort, he said, “Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

Robert looked up sharply and his mouth went dry. His father rarely mentioned his mother. It was several moments before he was able to say, “You don't know how she would have felt. You never really knew her. You don't know what love is.”

“I loved her!” the marquess roared. “I loved your mother in ways you will never know. And by God, I knew her dreams. She wanted her son to be strong and honest and noble.”

“Don't forget my responsibilities to the title,” Robert said acidly.

His father turned away. “She didn't care about that,” he said. “She just wanted you to be happy.”

Robert closed his eyes in agony, wondering how his life would have been different if his mother had been alive when he'd courted Victoria. “I see that you have made it a priority to see her dreams fulfilled.” He laughed bitterly. “Clearly, I am a happy man.”

“I never meant for you to be like this,” Castleford said, his face showing every one of his sixty-five years and a good ten more. He shook his head and sank down onto a chair. “I never wanted this. My God, what have I done?”

A very queer feeling began to spread in Robert's stomach. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“She came here, you know.”

“
Who
came here?

“Her. The vicar's daughter.”

Robert's fingers tightened around the arm of the sofa until his knuckles grew white. “Victoria?”

His father gave a curt nod.

A thousand questions raced through Robert's mind. Had the Hollingwoods turned her out? Was she ill? She must be ill, he decided. Something must be dreadfully wrong if she'd actually sought out his father. “When was she here?”

“Right after you left for London.”

“Right after I—What the devil are you talking about?”

“Seven years ago.”

Robert sprang to his feet. “Victoria was here seven years ago and you never told me?” He began to advance on his father. “You never said a word?”

“I didn't want to see you throw your life away.” Castleford let out a bitter laugh. “But you did that anyway.”

Robert clenched his fists at his sides, knowing that if he didn't he was liable to go for his father's throat. “What did she say?”

His father didn't answer quickly enough. “What did she
say
?” Robert bellowed.

“I don't remember precisely, but…” Castleford took a deep breath. “But she was quite put out that you had left for London. I think she really meant to keep her assignation with you.”

A muscle worked violently in Robert's throat, and he doubted he was capable of forming words.

“I don't think she was after your fortune,” the marquess said softly. “I still don't think a woman of her background could ever make a proper countess, but I will admit—” He cleared his throat. He was not a man who liked to show weakness. “I will admit that I might have been mistaken about her. She probably did love you.”

Robert was frighteningly still for a moment, and then he suddenly whirled around and slammed his fist against the wall. The marquess stepped back nervously, aware that his son very likely had wanted to plant that fist squarely in his face.

“God
damn
you!” Robert exploded. “How could you have done this to me?”

“At the time I thought it was best. I see now that I was wrong.”

Robert closed his eyes, his face agonized. “What did you say to her?”

The marquess turned away, unable to face his son.

“
What did you say to her
?”

“I told her you'd never intended to marry her.” Castleford swallowed uncomfortably. “I told her you were just dallying with her.”

“And she thought…Oh, God, she thought…” Robert sank down on his haunches. When she'd discovered he'd left for London, Victoria must have thought that he'd been lying to her all along, that he'd never loved her.

And then he'd insulted her by asking her to become his mistress. Shame washed over him, and he wondered if he would ever be able to look her in the eye again. He wondered if she would even allow him enough time in her presence to apologize.

“Robert,” his father said. “I'm sorry.”

Robert rose slowly, barely aware of his motions. “I will never forgive you for this,” he said, his voice flat.

“Robert!” the marquess yelled.

But his son had already left the room.

 

Robert didn't realize where he was going until the vicar's cottage came into view.
Why
had Victoria been in bed that night? Why hadn't she met him as she'd promised?

He stood in front of the house for five long minutes, doing nothing but staring at the brass knocker on the front door. His thoughts were running in every direction, and his eyes were so unfocused that he didn't see the ruffle of the curtains in the drawing room window.

The door suddenly opened, and Eleanor Lyndon appeared. “My lord?” she said, obviously surprised to see him.

Robert blinked until he was able to focus on her. She looked much the same, except that her strawberry blond hair, which had always been such a cloud around her face, was now pulled back into a neat bun. “Ellie,” he said hoarsely.

“What are you doing here?”

“I-I don't know.”

“You don't look well. Would you—” She swallowed. “Would you like to come in?”

Robert nodded unsteadily and followed her into the drawing room.

“My father isn't here,” she said. “He's at the church.”

Robert just stared at her.

“Are you certain you're not ill? You look rather queer.”

He let out a funny little breath, one that would have been a laugh if he hadn't been so dazed. Ellie had always been refreshingly forthright.

“My lord? Robert?”

He remained silent for a few moments more, and then he suddenly asked, “What happened?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“What happened that night?” he repeated, his voice taking on a desperate urgency.

Comprehension dawned on Ellie's face and she looked away. “You don't know?”

“I thought I did, but now I…I don't know anything anymore.”

“He tied her up.”

Robert felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. “What?”

“My father,” Ellie said with a nervous swallow. “He woke up and found Victoria packing her bags. Then he tied her up. He said you would ruin her.”

“Oh, my God.” Robert couldn't breathe.

“It was awful. Papa was in such a rage. I've never seen him like that. I wanted to help her. I really did. I covered her up with her blankets so she wouldn't catch a chill.”

Robert thought of her lying in bed. He'd been so furious with her, and all the time she'd been bound hand and foot. He suddenly felt intensely ill.

Ellie continued her story. “But he tied me up, too. I think he knew that I would have freed her so she could go to you. As it was, she sneaked out of the house and ran to Castleford Manor just as soon as she was free. When she returned, her skin was all scratched from running through the woods.”

Robert looked away, his mouth moving but unable to form words.

“She never forgave him, you know,” Ellie said. Her shoulders lifted into a sad shrug. “I have made my peace with my father. I don't think what he did was right, but we have reached an understanding of sorts. But Victoria…”

“Tell me, Ellie,” Robert urged.

“She never returned home. We haven't seen her in seven years.”

He turned to her, his blue eyes intense. “I didn't know, Ellie. I swear it.”

“We were very surprised when we learned you'd left the district,” she said flatly. “I thought Victoria might perish of a broken heart.”

“I didn't know,” he repeated.

“She thought you'd been planning to ravish her, and that when you didn't succeed you grew bored and left.” Ellie's gaze dropped to the floor. “We didn't know what else to think. It was what my father had predicted all along.”

“No,” Robert whispered. “No. I loved her.”

“Why did you leave, then?”

“My father had threatened to cut me off. When she didn't meet me that night, I assumed she'd decided I wasn't worth it anymore.” He felt ashamed just saying the words. As if Victoria would have ever cared about such a thing. He stood suddenly, feeling so off balance that he had to hold on to the end of a table for a moment to steady himself.

“Would you like a spot of tea?” Ellie asked as she rose. “You really don't look at all well.”

“Ellie,” he said, his voice growing resolute for the first time during their conversation, “I haven't been well for seven years. If you'll excuse me.”

He left without another word, and in a great hurry.

Ellie had no doubt where he was going.

 

“
What do you mean you turned her out
?”

“Without a reference,” Lady Hollingwood said proudly.

Robert took a deep breath, aware that for the first time in his life he was sorely tempted to punch a woman in the face. “You let—” He stopped and cleared his throat, needing the time to get his temper under control. “You dismissed a gently bred woman without a character? Where do you expect her to go?”

“I can assure you that is none of my concern. I certainly did not want that trollop near my son, and it would have been unconscionable of me to give her a reference so that she might corrupt other young children with her unsavory influence.”

“It would behoove you not to call my future countess a trollop, Lady Hollingwood,” Robert said tightly.

“Your future countess?” Lady Hollingwood's words came out in a panicked rush. “Miss Lyndon?”

“Indeed.” Robert had long ago perfected the art of the glacial stare, and he speared Lady Hollingwood with one of his best.

“But-but you cannot marry her!”

“Is that so?”

“Eversleigh told me that she all but threw herself at him.”

“Eversleigh is an ass.”