Everything and the Moon

by Julia Quinn

  “I am not the same girl you tried to take advantage of, if that is what you mean.” She stood straight and tall. “It has been seven years, Robert. I am a different person now. As, apparently, are you.”

  Robert left the room without another word, swiftly making his way from the servants' quarters to the guest wing where he'd been given a room.

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  He hadn't been. That could be the only explanation. Why else would he arrange for Victoria's charge to be entertained all morning and then steal into her room?

  “Because she makes me feel alive,” he whispered to himself.

  He couldn't remember the last time his senses were so finely tuned, the last time he'd felt such an exquisitely heady rush.

  No, that wasn't entirely true. He remembered all too well. It had been the last time he'd held her in his arms. Seven years ago.

  It was some consolation to learn that those years had not brought her happiness, either. She had been a scheming adventuress, intent upon marrying into a fortune, but all she had found was a miserable position as a governess.

  Circumstances had certainly brought her low. He might be dead inside, but at least he had the freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted to do it. Victoria was desperately trying to hold on to a livelihood she hated, always fearing that she'd be tossed out without a reference.

  That was when it occurred to him. He could have her and his revenge, too.

  His body sang at the thought of holding her in his arms, of kissing every inch of that delectable body.

  His mind raced at the idea that they might be discovered by Victoria's employers, who would then never allow her to watch over their precious Neville.

  Victoria would be cut adrift. He doubted she would return to her father. She had too much pride for that. No, she would be all alone, with no one to turn to.

  Except him.

  He would need a very good plan this time.

  Robert had spent two hours lying motionless on his bed, ignoring knocks on the door, ignoring the clock that told him that breakfast was no longer being served. He'd simply put his hands behind his head, looked up at the ceiling, and started to scheme.

  If he was going to woo Victoria into his bed, he would have to charm her there. This was not a problem. Robert had spent the last seven years in London, and he certainly knew how to be charming.

  He was, in fact, widely reputed to be one of the most charming men in all Britain, which was why he'd never lacked for female companionship.

  But Victoria presented a new challenge. She was vastly distrustful of him and seemed to think that all he wanted was to seduce her. Which wasn't far from the truth, of course, but it would not aid his cause to let her continue to believe that his motives were so impure.

  He would have to win back her friendship first. The concept was oddly appealing, even as his body hardened at the mere thought of her.

  She would try to push him away. He was certain of that. Hmmm. He would have to be charming and persistent. In fact, he would probably have to be more persistent than charming.

  Robert bounded out of bed, splashed some very cold water on his face, and left the room with only one aim.

  Finding Victoria.

  She was sitting under a shady tree, looking heartbreakingly lovely and innocent, but Robert tried to ignore the latter. Neville was some twenty yards away, screaming about Napoléon and slashing a toy saber wildly through the air. Victoria had one eye on the boy and one eye on a small notebook in which she was slowly writing.

  “This doesn't seem like such a dreadful job,” Robert said, lowering himself to the ground next to her. “Sitting under a shady tree, enjoying the afternoon sunshine…”

  She sighed. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

  “Not precisely. I believe you told me to leave your room. Which I did.”

  She stared at him as if he were the world's biggest fool. “Robert,” she said, not needing to finish the sentence. Her beleaguered tone said it all.

  He shrugged. “I missed you.”

  At that, her mouth fell open. “Do try to come up with something even slightly believable.”

  “Enjoying the country air?” He leaned back and supported himself with his elbows.

  “How can you come here and make polite conversation?”

  “I thought that was what friends did.”

  “We are not friends.”

  He grinned rakishly. “We could be.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “We couldn't.”

  “Now, now, Torie, don't work yourself into a snit.”

  “I am NOT—” She broke off, realizing that she was working herself into a snit. She cleared her throat and then forced her voice into carefully modulated tones. “I am not working myself into a snit.”

  He smiled at her in an annoyingly condescending manner.

  “Robert—”

  “I do like the sound of my given name on your lips.” He sighed. “Always have.”

  “My lord—” she ground out.

  “That's even better. It implies a certain subservience that is most appealing.”

  She gave up trying to communicate and turned her entire body away from him.

  “What are you writing?” he asked, directly over her shoulder.

  Victoria stiffened at the feel of his breath on her neck. “Nothing of interest to you.”

  “Is it a diary?”

  “No. Go away.”

  He gave up on charm in favor of persistence and craned his head to get a better view. “Are you writing about me?”

  “I said it's not a diary.”

  “I don't believe you.”

  She whirled around. “Would you cease pestering—” Her words stopped short when she found herself nose to nose with him. She pulled back.

  He smiled.

  She pulled back farther.

  He smiled wider.

  She pulled back even farther. She fell over.

  Robert immediately jumped to his feet and offered her his hand. “Would you like some assistance?”

  “NO!” Victoria pulled herself upright, grabbed her blanket, and stalked over to another tree. She settled back down, hoping he would take the hint, but doubting he actually would.

  He didn't, of course. “You never did tell me what you were writing,” he said as he sat down beside her.

  “Oh, for goodness' sake!” She thrust the notebook into his hands. “Read it if you must.”

  He scanned the lines and cocked a brow. “Lesson plans.”

  “I am a governess.” It was perhaps the most sarcastic tone she'd ever used.

  “You're quite good,” he mused.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “How does one know how to be a governess?” he asked. “It isn't as if one can attend governess school.”

  Victoria closed her eyes for a moment, trying to fight back a wave of nostalgia. That was exactly the sort of question Robert would have asked when they were younger. “I don't know how others do it,” she finally replied. “But I try to emulate my mother. She taught Ellie and me before she died. And then I took over and taught Ellie until I had nothing left to teach.”

  “I can't imagine your running out of things to teach.”

  Victoria smiled. “By the time Ellie was ten, she was teaching me mathematics. She has always been—” She broke off, horrified by how comfortable she'd grown with him in these past few minutes. She stiffened and said, “It's no matter.”

  One corner of Robert's mouth lifted into a knowing smile, as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking. He looked back down at her notebook and turned a page. “You obviously take great pride in what you do,” he said. “I thought you hated this position.”

  “I do. But that doesn't mean that I will do less than my best. That would be unfair to Neville.”

  “Neville is a brat.”

  “Yes, but he deserves a good education.”

  He stared at her, surprised by her convicti
ons. She was a beautiful schemer whose only criterion for a husband was a fortune. And yet she worked herself to the bone to ensure that a detestable little boy received a good education.

  He handed the notebook back to her. “I wish I'd had a governess like you.”

  “You were probably worse than Neville,” she retorted. But she smiled as she said it.

  His heart leapt, and he had to remind himself that he didn't like her, that he was out to seduce and ruin her. “I can't imagine that there is anything wrong with the boy that a bit of discipline can't mend.”

  “If it were only that easy. Lady Hollingwood has forbidden me to discipline him.”

  “Lady H. is a corkbrain, as my young cousin Harriet would say.”

  “Why did you come to her house party, then? She was quite beside herself that an earl would be in attendance.”

  “I don't know.” He paused, then leaned forward. “But I'm glad I did.”

  She didn't move for a few seconds, couldn't have moved if her life depended on it. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and it was so achingly familiar. “Don't do this,” she whispered.

  “This?” He swayed forward, and his lips brushed her cheek in the most feather-light of caresses.

  “Don't!” she said sharply, remembering her anguish at his desertion so many years before. She didn't need her heart broken again. It wasn't even completely mended from their last encounter. She jerked herself away and stood up, saying, “I have to tend to Neville. There is no telling what kind of trouble he will get himself into.”

  “Tend away,” he murmured.

  “Neville! Neville!”

  The boy came galloping over. “Yes, Lyndon?” he said insolently.

  Victoria clenched her teeth for a moment, trying to ignore his rudeness. She'd long since given up trying to get him to call her Miss Lyndon. “Neville, we—”

  But she didn't get to finish, because in the space of a second, Robert was on his feet and looming over the boy. “What did you say?” he demanded. “How did you address your governess?”

  Neville's mouth fell open. “I called her…I called her…”

  “You called her Lyndon, didn't you?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. I—”

  “Do you realize how disrespectful that is?”

  This time it was Victoria's mouth that fell open.

  “No, sir, I did not. I—”

  “Miss Lyndon works very hard to take care of you and give you an education, does she not?”

  Neville tried to speak, but nothing came out.

  “From now on you will address her as Miss Lyndon. Do you understand?”

  By this point Neville was staring at Robert with an expression that hovered between awe and terror. He nodded furiously.

  “Good,” Robert said firmly. “Now shake my hand.”

  “Sh-shake your hand, sir?”

  “Yes. By shaking my hand you officially promise to address Miss Lyndon properly, and a gentleman never reneges on his promises, does he?”

  Neville thrust his tiny hand forward. “No, sir.”

  The two males shook hands, and then Robert gave the boy a little pat on the back. “Run along back to the nursery, Neville. Miss Lyndon will follow in a moment.”

  Neville practically sprinted back to the house, leaving Victoria slackjawed and utterly limp. She turned to Robert, nearly dumbstruck. “What did you…How did you…”

  Robert beamed. “Just offering you a bit of assistance. I hope you don't mind.”

  “No!” Victoria said with great emotion. “No, I don't mind. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure, I assure you.”

  “I had better see to Neville.” Victoria took several steps toward the house, then turned around, her expression still dazed. “Thank you!”

  Robert leaned back against the tree trunk, utterly pleased with his progress. Victoria couldn't stop thanking him. It was a most satisfying state of affairs.

  He should have disciplined the boy ages ago.

  Chapter 6

  A full day passed before Victoria saw him again. A full day of waiting, of wondering, of dreaming about him even when she knew that was absolutely the wrong thing to be doing.

  Robert Kemble had broken her heart once, and she had no reason to believe that he wouldn't do it again.

  Robert. She had to stop thinking of him that way. He was the earl of Macclesfield, and his title dictated his behavior in a way she could never hope to understand.

  It was the reason he'd rejected her, the reason he'd never once seriously contemplated marrying a poor vicar's daughter. It was probably the reason he'd lied to her. During the past few years Victoria had learned that seducing young innocents was considered a kind of sport among noblemen. Robert had just been following the rules of his world.

  His world. Not hers.

  And yet he had solved her problems with Neville. He certainly didn't have to do that. The young boy was now treating her as if she were the queen. Victoria had never had such a peaceful day of governessing in her career.

  Oh, she knew that heroes were supposed to slay dragons and quote verse and all that, but maybe, just maybe, all it really took to be a hero was getting the world's most difficult five-year-old to behave.

  Victoria shook her head. She couldn't afford to place Robert on a pedestal. And if he tried to see her alone again, she would have to send him on his way. It didn't matter if her heart soared when she saw him, or if her pulse raced, or if her—

  She forced herself to stop in mid-thought and turned her mind back to the matter at hand. She and Neville were taking their daily walk around the Hollingwood grounds. For the first time in memory, he hadn't stomped on her foot or poked at some poor insect with a stick. And he called her Miss Lyndon every chance he got. Victoria was pleased that he had finally learned a lesson in manners. Perhaps there might be hope for the boy after all.

  Neville raced ahead, then whirled around and ran back to her side. “Miss Lyndon,” he said with great gravity, “have we any special plans for today?”

  “I am glad you asked, Neville,” she replied. “We're going to play a new game today.”

  “A new game?” He looked at her with a bit of suspicion, as if he had already discovered all of Britain's worthwhile games.

  “Yes,” she said briskly, “we are. Today we are going to discuss colors.”

  “Colors?” he said with that particular brand of disgust only a boy of five years can convey. “I already know my colors.” He began to list them. “Red, blue, green, yellow—”

  “We are going to learn new colors,” she cut in.

  “…purple, orange…” He was shouting now.

  “Neville Hollingwood!” Victoria spoke in her sternest voice.

  He quieted down, something he probably wouldn't have done before Robert's intervention.

  “Do I have your attention now?” Victoria asked.

  Neville nodded.

  “Excellent. Now then, today we are going to study the color green. There are many different shades of green. For example, the leaf on that tree over there is not the exact same color as the grass we are standing on, is it?”

  Neville's little head shot back and forth between the leaf and the grass. “No,” he said, as if not quite believing what he was seeing. “It's not.” He looked up excitedly. “And it's not quite the same color as the stripe on your dress!”

  “Very good, Neville. I'm very proud of you.” He beamed.

  “Let us see how many different shades of green we can find. And once we're done we shall find names for all these greens.”

  “There is moss on the rocks in the pond.”

  “Yes, indeed. We shall call that moss green.”

  “What is the green on your dress called?”

  Victoria looked down and surveyed her drab dress. “I believe it is called forest green.”

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “It's much darker than the forest.”

  “Not at night.”

&
nbsp; “I've never been outside in the forest at night.”

  Victoria smiled. “I have.”

  “You have?” He looked at her with new respect.

  “Mmm-hmm. Now then, what other colors can you find?”

  “What about the dress my mama was wearing this morning? It was an icky color, but it was green.”

  Victoria was inclined to agree with his assessment of Lady Hollingwood's dress, but she wasn't about to say so. “Your mother's dress was not ‘icky,’ Neville,” she said diplomatically. “And we call that color—er, I suppose it would be called brackish green.”

  “Brackish.” He let the word roll around in his mouth for a moment before pointing a stubby finger to Victoria's right. “What about his lordship's coat? That's green, too.”

  Victoria felt her stomach plummet to somewhere in the vicinity of her feet as she turned her head. She groaned. It would have to be Robert. There were at least a dozen “his lordships” on the property for the house party, but no, it would have to be Robert walking toward them.

  Not that she thought this was any coincidence.

  “Good morning, Miss Lyndon, Master Neville.” Robert swept into a courtly bow.

  Victoria nodded her head, trying to ignore the way her heart was soaring and her pulse was racing. She let out a snort, thoroughly disgusted with herself.

  “That is certainly a nice greeting,” Robert said, smiling at her reaction.

  His gaze locked with hers, and Victoria felt the breath leave her body. She probably would have stood stock still all afternoon, staring into his eyes, if Neville had not interrupted them.

  “My lord! My lord!” came the voice from below.

  Reluctantly, both Victoria and Robert looked down.

  “We're practicing colors,” Neville said proudly.

  “Is that so?” Robert crouched down to the boy's level. “Did you know that objects have their colors because of certain properties of light? One cannot see colors in the dark. Scientists call this concept the wave theory of light. It's a relatively new discovery.”

  Neville blinked.

  “My lord,” Victoria said, unable to suppress a smile. He'd always been so passionate about the sciences. “Perhaps that is a bit beyond the scope of a five-year-old.”