He groaned.

“Is aught amiss?” inquired the merry widow from across the table.

Robert swung his head around to face Mrs. Happerton. She had been making eyes at him all night, and he had half a mind to take her up on her unspoken offer. She was certainly attractive enough, although she'd probably be more appealing if her hair were darker. Black, to be precise. Like Victoria's.

It wasn't until he looked down that he realized he'd torn his napkin in two. His cloth napkin.

“My lord?”

He looked back up. “Mrs. Happerton. I must apologize. I have not been appropriately sociable.” He smiled devilishly. “You should give me a scolding.”

He heard Victoria mutter something under her breath. He stole a glance in her direction. Her attention was not as single-mindedly focused on Captain Pays as she would like him to believe.

A footman appeared on Robert's right, holding out a plate of—could it be?—peas. Victoria helped herself to a spoonful, exclaiming, “I adore peas.” She turned to Robert. “If I recall, you detest them. Pity we weren't served pea soup.”

Miss Mayford coughed again, then lurched to her left to avoid Mr. Whistledown's blows to her back.

“Actually,” Robert said, beaming, “I have developed a sudden fondness for peas. Just this evening, as a matter of fact.”

Victoria harrumphed and returned her attention to Captain Pays. Robert slid some peas onto his fork, made certain that no one was looking, took aim, and let fly.

And missed. The peas went flying in every direction, but none of them managed to connect with either Victoria or Pays. Robert grunted in disappointment. That was the sort of evening he was having. And it had started so nicely, too. Torturing Victoria and Lady H. in the drawing room had been such great fun.

The meal wore on. No one enjoyed themselves, with the possible exception of Mr. Whistledown, who seemed oblivious to the barbs being hurled back and forth. Indeed, once the food was served, he seemed oblivious to everything.

By the time dessert was cleared away, five of the six guests seated at the end of the table looked exhausted. The sixth, Mr. Whistledown, just looked full.

Victoria had never been so thankful for anything when Lady Hollingwood suggested that the ladies retire to the drawing room. She had no desire for close contact with her employer, who was surely already deciding the best way to dismiss her. But even Lady H. was preferable to Robert, whose last contribution to the general conversation was, “It is indeed difficult to find good help. Governesses especially.”

In the drawing room the ladies gossiped about this and that. Victoria, as a governess, had not been privy to “this” or “that,” so she remained silent. The frequent glares sent her way by Lady Hollingwood further convinced her to hold her tongue.

After about half an hour, the gentlemen rejoined them for more conversation. Victoria noticed that Robert was not present and breathed a sigh of relief. She simply did not feel up to sparring with him any longer. As soon as she could politely excuse herself and retire to her room, she would.

An opportunity presented itself a few minutes later. Everyone except Victoria had settled into little conversational groups. She edged toward the door, but when she was but three steps away, a male voice brought her to a halt.

“It is my pleasure to meet you again, Miss Lyndon.”

Victoria turned around, her face burning a dull red. “Lord Eversleigh.”

“I did not know you would be gracing us with your presence this evening.”

“I was a last minute replacement.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Vinton's putrid stomach.”

Victoria smiled tightly and said, “If you will excuse me, I must be getting back to my chamber.” With the briefest of nods she slipped out of the drawing room.

From across the room, Robert narrowed his eyes as he watched Lord Eversleigh sweep his body into a vaguely mocking bow. Robert had been late returning to the drawing room, having stopped in a bath chamber to relieve himself along the way. When he arrived he had found Eversleigh cornering Victoria.

And the way he was looking at her made Robert's blood boil. Captain Pays, for all his dashing good looks, was relatively harmless. Eversleigh was completely without morals or scruples.

Robert started to cross the room, wanting to rip Eversleigh's head from his shoulders, but deciding to try a word or two of warning instead. But before he could reach him, Lady Hollingwood stood and announced the evening's entertainment. Singing and playing in the music room and cards for the gentlemen should they desire to gamble.

Robert tried to pin down Eversleigh as the crowd dispersed, but Lady Hollingwood descended on him with an expression that could only be called purposeful, and he found himself trapped in conversation for the better part of an hour.

Chapter 9

Robert stood on the fringes of the music room, trying not to listen to the way Miss Mayford was mauling Scarlatti at the harpsichord. But her musical endeavors were not responsible for the sick feeling in his stomach.

Funny how one's conscience surfaced at the damnedest of times.

He'd spent the last few days dreaming about ruining Victoria. He hadn't been sure which he would enjoy more—the actual ruination, which promised to be a most heady affair indeed, or the simple knowledge that he had brought her low.

But that evening something had shifted in Robert's heart. He didn't want anyone ever looking at Victoria with the kind of lecherous derision he'd seen in Eversleigh's eyes. And he wasn't particularly enamored with the polite interest he'd noticed in the good captain's expression, either.

And he knew that he wanted her with him. If the last seven years were any indication, he didn't do very well without her. He might not trust her entirely, but he still wanted her in his life.