Everything and the Moon (The Lyndon Sisters #1)(4)

Robert. She sighed. He had such a lovely laugh.

“…more in?”

Victoria looked up. “I'm sorry. Were you speaking to me?”

“I was saying,” Ellie said with a decided lack of patience, “that I tasted the stew earlier today. It needs salt. Would you like me to put more in?”

“No, no. I added a bit a few minutes ago.”

“Whatever is wrong with you, Victoria?”

“What do you mean?”

Ellie exhaled in an exasperated gesture. “You haven't heard two words of what I've said. I keep trying to talk to you, and all you do is gaze out the window and sigh.”

Victoria leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?”

Ellie leaned forward. “You know I can.”

“I think I'm in love.”

“I don't believe that for one second.”

Victoria's mouth fell open in consternation. “I just told you that I have undergone the most life altering transformation in a woman's life, and you don't believe me?”

Ellie scoffed. “Who in Bellfield could you possibly fall in love with?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“I already said I could.”

“Lord Macclesfield.”

“The marquess's son?” Ellie fairly yelled. “Victoria, he's an earl.”

“Keep your voice down!” Victoria looked over her shoulder to see if they had caught their father's attention. “And I am well aware that he is an earl.”

“You don't even know him. He was in London when the marquess had us up to Castleford.”

“I met him today.”

“And you think you're in love? Victoria, only fools and poets fall in love at first sight.”

“Then I suppose I'm a fool,” Victoria said loftily, “because Lord knows I am no poet.”

“You are mad, sister. Utterly mad.”

Victoria lifted her chin and looked down her nose at her sister. “Actually, Eleanor, I don't think I've ever been saner than I am at this very moment.”





It took Victoria hours to fall asleep that night, and when she did she dreamed of Robert. He was kissing her. Gently on the lips and then traveling along the planes of her cheek. He was whispering her name.

“Victoria…”

“Victoria…”

She came suddenly awake.

“Victoria…”

Was she still dreaming?

“Victoria…”

She scrambled out from under her covers and peered out the window that hung over her bed. He was there.

“Robert?”

He grinned and kissed her nose. “The very one. I cannot tell you how glad I am that your cottage is only one story tall.”

“Robert, what are you doing here?”

“Falling madly in love?”

“Robert!” She tried to keep herself from laughing, but his good spirits were infectious. “Really, my lord. What are you doing here?”

He swept his body into a gallant bow. “I've come to court you, Miss Lyndon.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I cannot think of a better time.”

“Robert, what if you had gone to the wrong room? My reputation would be in tatters.”

He leaned against the windowsill. “You mentioned honeysuckle. I sniffed about until I found your room.” He sniffed in demonstration. “My olfactory senses are quite refined.”

“You're incorrigible.”

He nodded. “That, or perhaps merely in love.”

“Robert, you cannot love me.” But even as she said the words, Victoria heard her heart begging him to contradict her.

“Can't I?” He reached through the window and took her hand. “Come with me, Torie.”

“N-no one calls me Torie,” she said, trying to change the subject.

“I'd like to,” he whispered. He moved his hand to her chin and drew her toward him. “I'm going to kiss you now.”

Victoria nodded tremulously, unable to deny herself the pleasure she'd been dreaming about all evening.

His lips brushed hers in a feather-light caress. Victoria shivered against the tingles that shot down her spine.

“Are you cold?” he whispered, his words a kiss against her lips.

Silently, she shook her head.

He drew back and cradled her face in his hands. “You're so beautiful.” He pinched a lock of her hair between his fingers and examined its silkiness. Then he moved his lips back to hers, brushing against them back and forth, allowing her to accustom herself to his nearness before he moved in closer. He could feel her trembling, but she made no move to pull away, and he knew that she was as excited by the encounter as he was.

Robert moved his hand to the back of her head, sinking his fingers into her thick hair as he darted out his tongue to trace the outline of her lips. She tasted like mint and lemons, and it was all he could do not to pull her through the window and make love to her right there on the soft grass. Never in his twenty-four years had he felt this particular brand of need. It was desire, yes, but with a stunningly powerful rush of tenderness.

Reluctantly he drew away, aware that he wanted far more than he could ask her for that evening. “Come with me,” he whispered.