Victoria regarded Robert's coat, an article of clothing so expertly tailored it might well be classified as a piece of art. “Bottle green, Neville. It is called bottle green.”

“Bottle green,” he repeated. “Thus far I have learned moss green, and bottle green, and brackish green, which I shall call icky green—”

“Neville!” Victoria reprimanded.

“Very well.” He sighed. I shan't call it icky green. “But—” The boy looked up sharply at Robert. “Do you know what color the stripe on Miss Lyndon's dress is?”

Robert stood, letting his eyes rest on the stripe, which happened to be on her bodice. “No,” said, not looking back down to Neville. “I don't know.”

Victoria fought the urge to cover her breasts with her hands. It was absurd, she knew, because she was fully dressed. But she felt as if Robert could see straight to her skin.

“It's forest green,” Neville proclaimed. “And Miss Lyndon should know, because she has been in the forest at night.”

Robert arched a brow. “Has she?”

Victoria swallowed painfully, trying not to remember the magical evenings she'd sneaked out of her room and run through the forest in Kent with Robert. It was impossible, of course. Those memories played poignantly through her mind every day. “One can't see colors in the dark,” she said peevishly. “The earl said so.”

“But you said that forest green was as dark as the forest at night,” Neville persisted.

“Perhaps if the moon was out,” Robert mused. “One could see a bit of color, and it would be so very romantic.”

Victoria glared at him before turning back to the boy. “Neville,” she said, her voice sounding odd to her ears. “I'm sure the earl is not interested in our color games.”

Robert smiled slowly. “I'm interested in everything you do.”

Victoria tugged at Neville's hand. “We really should not keep his lordship. I am certain he has many important things to do. Things that don't involve us.”

Neville didn't budge. He looked up at Robert and asked, “Are you married?”

Victoria coughed and managed to get out, “Neville, I'm sure that is none of our business.”

“No, Neville, I'm not,” Robert replied.

The boy cocked his head. “Maybe you should ask Miss Lyndon. Then you could come live here with us.”

Robert looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh. “I asked her once.”

“Oh, God.” Victoria groaned. Life didn't get very much worse than this.

“You did?” Neville said.

Robert shrugged his shoulders. “She wouldn't have me.”

Neville whipped his head around to face Victoria. “You said no?” His voice rose to a horrified shriek on the last word.

“I-I-I—” Victoria was spluttering, quite unable to get a word out.

“Miss Lyndon?” Robert prodded, looking as if he hadn't enjoyed himself quite so heartily in many years.

“I didn't say—Oh, for God's sake.” Victoria looked at Robert with a ferocious expression. “You should be ashamed of yourself, my lord.”

“Ashamed?” He feigned innocence.

“Using a young boy like this to satisfy your…your…”

“My what?”

“Your need to hurt me. It is unconscionable.”

“Why, Miss Lyndon, I'm insulted that you would think I would stoop to such levels.”

“There is no need to stoop,” she said icily. “You have always been lodged somewhere between the gutter and hell.”

“Did you say hell?” Neville screeched.

Robert began to shake with silent laughter.

“Neville, we are going back to the house this instant,” Victoria said firmly.

“But my colors! I want to finish with green.”

She snatched his hand and started hauling him toward the house. “We shall have our tea in the green salon.” Victoria didn't bother to look back. The last thing she wanted to see was Robert hunched over with laughter.

If Robert's intention was to torture her into insanity, Victoria thought wryly later that day, he was doing a rather good job of it.

She never dreamed that he would dare seek her out in her room again; she had made it abundantly clear that such behavior was unacceptable. But obviously he didn't care, because at one o'clock, while Neville was taking his riding lesson, he slipped into her room with nary a guilty look.

“Robert!” Victoria exclaimed.

“Are you busy?” he asked, his face a picture of innocence as he closed the door behind him.

“Busy!” she nearly screeched. “Get out!”

“If you didn't want company, you should have locked your door.”

“You can be certain I will adopt that habit in the future.” Victoria paused, trying to unclench her jaw. She wasn't successful. “What are you doing here?” she ground out.

He held up a plate. “Bringing you a piece of chocolate cake. I know how much you love it, and I didn't think Lady H. was the sort to share her sweets with the governess.”

“Robert, you must leave.”

He ignored her. “Although I cannot imagine that Lady H. is unaware that you are far more beautiful than she is, and I would not put it past her to purposefully try to make you fat.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Really, Victoria, you are most unappreciative. Very bad manners. I'm surprised at you.”

Victoria thought that she must be in the middle of a very strange dream. That could be the only explanation. Robert, lecturing her on propriety? “I must be insane,” she muttered. “If you're not, then I must be.”