Everything and the Moon (The Lyndon Sisters #1)(9)

Victoria shivered with anticipation. He was speaking against her skin, and she could feel his breath near her ear.

“We'll be married,” he repeated. “Just as soon as we can. But until then I don't want you to feel ashamed of anything we have done. We love each other, and there is nothing more beautiful than two people expressing their love.” He turned her around until their eyes met. “I didn't know that before I met you. I—” He swallowed. “I had been with women, but I didn't know that.”

Deeply moved, Victoria touched his cheek.

“No one will strike us down for loving before we are married,” he continued.

Victoria wasn't certain whether “loving” referred to the spiritual or the physical, and all she could think to say was, “No one except my father.”

Robert closed his eyes. “What has he said to you?”

“He said I must not see you anymore.”

Robert swore softly under his breath and opened his eyes. “Why?” he asked, his voice coming out a bit harsher than intended.

Victoria considered several replies but finally opted for honesty. “He said you won't marry me.”

“And how would he know that?” Robert snapped.

Victoria drew back. “Robert!”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. It's just—How could your father possibly know my mind?”

She placed her hand on his. “He doesn't. But he thinks he does, and I'm afraid that is all that matters just now. You are an earl. I am the daughter of a country vicar. You must admit that such a match is most unusual.”

“Unusual,” he said fiercely. “Not impossible.”

“To him it is,” she replied. “He'll never believe your intentions are honorable.”

“What if I speak with him, ask him for your hand?”

“That might appease him. I have told him that you want to marry me, but I think he thinks I'm making it up.”

Robert rose to his feet, drawing her up with him, and gallantly kissed her hand. “Then I shall have to formally ask him for your hand tomorrow.”

“Not today?” Victoria asked with a teasing glance.

“I should inform my father of my plans first,” Robert replied. “I owe him that courtesy.”





Robert hadn't yet told his father about Victoria. Not that the marquess could forbid the match. At four and twenty Robert was of an age to make his own decisions. But he knew that his father could make life difficult with his disapproval. And considering how often the marquess urged Robert to settle down with the daughter of this duke or that earl, he had a feeling that a vicar's daughter wasn't quite what his father had in mind for him. And so it was with firm resolve and some trepidation that Robert knocked on his father's study door.

“Enter.” Hugh Kemble, the Marquess of Castleford, was seated behind his desk. “Ah, Robert. What is it?”

“Have you a few moments, sir? I need to talk with you.”

Castleford looked up with impatient eyes. “I'm quite busy, Robert. Can it wait?”

“It is of great import, sir.”

Castleford set down his quill with a gesture of annoyance. When Robert did not start speaking immediately, he prompted, “Well?”

Robert smiled, hoping that would set his father's mood aright. “I have decided to marry.”

The marquess underwent a radical transformation. Every last touch of irritation disappeared from his expression, replaced by pure joy. He jumped to his feet and clasped his son into a hearty hug. “Excellent! Excellent, my boy. You know I have wanted this—”

“I know.”

“You are young, of course, but your responsibilities are grave. It would be the end of me if the title passed out of the family. If you do not produce an heir…”

Robert declined to mention that if the title passed out of the family, his father would already be dead, so he would not know of the tragedy. “I know, sir.”

Castleford sat down against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms genially. “So, tell me. Who is it? No, let me guess. It's Billington's daughter—the blond gel.”

“Sir, I—”

“No? Then it must be Lady Leonie. Smart pup, you are.” He nudged his son. “Old duke's only daughter. She'll come into quite a portion.”

“No, sir,” Robert said, trying to ignore the avaricious gleam in his father's eye. “You are not acquainted with her.”

Castleford's face went blank with surprise. “I'm not? Then who the devil is she?”

“Miss Victoria Lyndon, sir.”

Castleford blinked. “Why is that name familiar?”

“Her father is Bellfield's new vicar.”

The marquess said nothing. Then he burst out laughing. It was several moments before he was able to gasp, “Good God, son, you had me going there for a moment. A vicar's daughter. Quite beyond anything.”

“I'm quite serious, sir,” Robert ground out.

“A vicar's…heh heh—What did you say?”

“I said I'm quite serious.” He paused. “Sir.” Castleford took stock of his son, desperately searching for a hint of jest in his expression. When he found none he fairly yelled, “Are you mad?”