wo months passed. Robert and Victoria met on every occasion, exploring the countryside, and whenever possible, exploring each other.

Robert told her of his fascination with science, his passion for racehorses, and his fears that he would never be the man his father wanted him to be.

Victoria told him of her weakness for romantic novels, her ability to stitch a seam straighter than a yardstick, and her fears that she would never live up to her father's strict moral standards.

She loved pastries.

He hated peas.

He had the appalling habit of putting his feet up when he sat down—on a table, a bed, whatever.

She always planted her hands on her hips when she was flustered, and never quite managed to look as stern as she hoped.

He loved the way her lips pursed when she was annoyed, the way she always considered the needs of others, and the mischievous way she teased him when he acted too self-important.

She loved the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was exasperated, the way he liked to stop and examine the shape of a wildflower, and the way he sometimes acted domineering just to see if he could rile her.

They had everything—and absolutely nothing—in common.

In each other they found their own souls, and they shared secrets and thoughts that had heretofore been impossible to express.

"I still look for my mother," Victoria once said.

Robert looked at her oddly. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was fourteen when she died. How old were you?"

"I was seven. My mother died in childbirth."

Victoria's already gentle face softened even more. "I'm so sorry. You barely had a chance to know her, and you lost a sibling as well. Was the baby a brother or a sister?"

"A sister. My mother lived just long enough to name her Anne."

"I'm sorry."

He smiled wistfully. "I remember what it felt like to be held by her. My father used to tell her that she was coddling me, but she didn't listen."

"The doctor said my mother had a cancer." Victoria swallowed painfully. "Her death wasn't peaceful. I like to think that she's somewhere up there"—she waved her head toward the sky— "where she isn't in any pain."

Robert touched her hand, deeply moved.

"But sometimes I still need her. I wonder if we ever stop needing our parents. And I talk to her. And I look for her."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You'll think I'm silly."

"You know I would never think that."

There was a moment of silence, and then Victoria said, "Oh, I say things like, 'If my mother is listening, then let the wind rustle the leaves of that branch.' Or, 'Mama, if you're watching, make the sun go behind that cloud. Just so I know you're with me.'"

"She's with you," Robert whispered. "I can feel it."

Victoria settled into the cradle of his arms. "I've never told anyone about that. Not even Ellie, and I know she misses Mama just as much as I do."

"You'll always be able to tell me everything."

"Yes," she said happily, "I know."

It was impossible to keep their courtship a secret from Victoria's father. Robert called at the vicar's cottage nearly every day. He told the vicar that he was teaching Victoria to ride, which was technically the truth, as anyone who watched her limp about the house after a lesson could attest.

Still, it was obvious that the young couple shared deeper feelings. The Reverend Mr. Lyndon vehemently disapproved of the match, and told Victoria as much on every possible occasion.

"He will never marry you!" the vicar boomed, using his best sermon voice. Such a tone never failed to intimidate his daughters.

"Papa, he loves me," Victoria protested.

'It doesn't matter if he does or doesn't. He won't marry you. He's an earl and will someday be a marquess. He won't marry a vicar's daughter."

Victoria took a deep breath, trying not to lose her temper. "He is not like that, Father."

"He is like any man. He will use you and discard you."

Victoria blushed at her father's frank language. "Papa, I—"

The vicar jumped on top of her words, saying, "You are not living in one of your silly novels. Open your eyes, girl."

"I am not as naive as you think."

"You are seventeen years old!" he yelled. "You couldn't be anything but naive."

Victoria snorted and rolled her eyes, aware that her father hated such unladylike mannerisms. "I don't know why I bother to discuss this with you."

"It is because I am your father! And by God, you will obey me." The vicar leaned forward. "I have seen the world, Victoria. I know what's what. The earl's intentions cannot be honorable, and if you allow him to court you further, you will find yourself a fallen woman. Do you understand me?"

"Mama would have understood," Victoria muttered.

Her father's face turned red. "What did you say?"

Victoria swallowed before repeating her words. "I said that Mama would have understood."

"Your mother was a God-fearing woman who knew her place. She would not have crossed me on this measure."

Victoria thought about how her mother used to tell silly jokes to her and Ellie when the vicar wasn't paying attention.

Mrs. Lyndon hadn't been as serious and grave as her husband had thought. No, Victoria decided, her mother would have understood.

She stared at her father's chin for a long moment before finally lifting her eyes to his and asking, "Are you forbidding me to see him?"

Victoria thought her father's jaw might snap in two, so tense was his facial expression. "You know I cannot forbid it," he replied. "One word of displeasure to his father, and I will be tossed out without a reference. You must break it off."

"I won't," Victoria said defiantly.

"You must break it off." The vicar showed no sign of having heard her. "And you must do it with supreme tact and grace."

Victoria glared at him mutinously. "Robert is calling on me in two hours. I shall go walking with him."

"Tell him you cannot see him again. Do it this afternoon, or by God I'll make you sorry."

Victoria felt herself grow weak. Her father had not struck her for years—not since she was a child—but he looked furious enough to lose his temper completely. She said nothing.

"Good," her father said in a satisfied manner, mistaking her silence for acquiescence. "And be sure to take Eleanor with you. You are not to leave this house in his company without the accompaniment of your sister."

"Yes, Papa." On that measure, at least, Victoria would obey. But only that.

Two hours later Robert arrived at the cottage. Ellie swung open the door so quickly he didn't even manage to bring the knocker down for a second rap.

"Hello, my lord," she said, her grin just a bit cheeky. And no wonder—Robert had been paying her a full pound for every outing on which she managed to make herself disappear. Ellie had always believed wholeheartedly in bribery, a fact for which Robert was undyingly grateful.

"Good afternoon, Ellie," he replied. "I trust your day has been pleasant."

"Oh, very much, my lord. I expect it to grow even more pleasant very shortly."

"Impertinent baggage," Robert muttered. But he didn't really mean it. He rather liked Victoria's younger sister. They shared a certain pragmatism and a penchant for planning for the future. If he'd been in her position, he'd have been demanding two pounds per outing.

"Oh, you're here, Robert." Victoria came bustling into the hall. "I didn't realize you had arrived."

He smiled. "Eleanor opened the door with remarkable alacrity."

"Yes, I suppose she did." Victoria shot her sister a slightly waspish look. "She is always very prompt when you are calling."

Ellie lifted her chin and allowed herself a half smile. "I like to look after my investments/'

Robert burst out laughing. He extended his arm to Victoria. "Shall we be off?"

"I just need to get a book," Ellie said. "I have a feeling that I will have a great deal of time to read this afternoon." She darted down the hallway and disappeared into her chamber.

Robert gazed at Victoria as she fastened her bonnet. "I love you," he mouthed.

Her fingers fumbled over the bonnet's strings.

"Should I say it louder?" he whispered, a wicked grin crossing his face.

Victoria shook her head vehemently, her eyes darting over to the closed door of her father's study. He had said that Robert didn't love her, said that he couldn't love her. But her father was wrong. Of that Victoria was certain. One had only to look at Robert's twinkling blue eyes to know the truth.

"Romeo and Juliet!"

Victoria blinked and looked up at the sound of her sister's voice, thinking for a moment that Ellie had been referring to her and Robert as those ill-fated lovers. Then she saw the slim volume of Shakespeare in her sister's hand. "Rather depressing reading for such a sunny afternoon," Victoria said.

"Oh, I disagree," Ellie replied. "I find it most romantic. Except for the bit about everyone dying at the end, of course."

"Yes," Robert murmured. "I can see where one wouldn't find that bit romantic."

Victoria grinned and nudged him in the side.

The threesome made their way outside, crossing the oDen field and heading into the forest.

After about ten minutes Ellie sighed and said, "I suppose this is where I leave off." She spread a blanket on the ground and looked up at Robert with a knowing smile.

He tossed her a coin and said, "Eleanor, you have the soul of a banker."

"Yes, I do, don't I?" she murmured. Then she sat down and pretended not to notice when Robert grabbed Victoria's hand and dashed out of sight.

Ten minutes later they arrived at the grassy shore of the pond where they'd first met. Victoria barely had time to spread out a blanket before Robert had pulled her down to the ground.

"I love you," he said, kissing the corner of her lips.

"I love you," he said, kissing the other corner.

"I love you," he said, yanking off her bonnet.

"I love—"

"I know, I know!" Victoria finally laughed, trying to stop him from pulling out all of her hairpins.

He shrugged. "Well, I do."

But her father's words still echoed in her head. He will use you. "Do you truly?" she asked, staring intently into his eyes. "Do you truly love me?"

He grasped her chin with uncharacteristic force. "How can you even ask that?"

"I don't know," Victoria whispered, reaching up to touch his hand, which immediately gentled its hold. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I know you love me. And I love you."

"Show me," he said, his voice barely audible.

Victoria licked her lips nervously, then moved her face across the inch that separated them.

The moment her lips touched his, Robert was on fire. He sank his hands in her hair, locking her against him. "God, Torie." he rasped. "I love the feel of you, the smell of you...."

She responded by kissing him with renewed fervor, tracing his full lips with her tongue as he had taught her to do.

Robert shuddered, feeling white-hot need rock through him. He wanted to sink himself into her, wrap her legs around his waist, and never let go. His fingers found the buttons on her dress, and he began to undo them.

"Robert?" Victoria pulled away, startled by this new intimacy.

"Shhh, darling," he said, passion making his voice rough. "I just want to touch you. I have been dreaming of nothing else for weeks." He cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her summer dress and squeezed.

Victoria moaned with pleasure and relaxed, allowing him to complete his task.

Robert's fingers were shaking with anticipation, but somehow he managed to open enough buttons to let her bodice fall open. Victoria's hands immediately flew up to cover her nakedness, but he gently pushed them away. "No," he whispered. "They're perfect. You're perfect."

And then, as if to illustrate his point, he brought his hand forward and grazed the tip of her breast with his palm. Round and round he went, moving his hand in tiny circles, sucking in his breath as her nipple tightened into a hard bud. "Are you cold?" he whispered.

She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again, saying, "I don't know."

"I'll warm you." He cupped his hand and wrapped it around her breast, branding her with the heat of his skin. "I want to kiss you," he said hoarsely. "Will you let me kiss you?"

Victoria tried to moisten her throat, which had gone quite dry. He had kissed her a hundred times before. A thousand possibly. Why was he suddenly asking her permission?

When his tongue drew a lazy circle around her nipple, she found out. "Oh, my God!" she burst out, barely able to believe what he was doing. "Oh, Robert!"

"I need you, Torie." He buried his face between her breasts. "You don't understand how I need you."

"I-I think we must stop," she said. "I can't do this.... My reputation..." She had no idea how to put her thoughts into words. Her father's warning rang ceaselessly in her ears. He will use you and discard you.

She saw Robert's head at her breast. "Robert, no!"

Robert inhaled raggedly and pulled her gaping bodice together. He tried to redo the buttons, but his hands were trembling.

"I'll do it," Victoria said quickly, turning so that he would not see the red shame on her face. Her ringers were shaking, too, but they proved more nimble than his, and eventually she managed to right her appearance.

But he saw her pink cheeks, and it nearly killed him to think that she was ashamed of her behavior. "Torie," he said softly. When she didn't turn around he used two fingers to gently prod her chin until she faced him.

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Oh, Torie," he said, wanting desperately to haul her into his arms, but settling for touching her cheek. "Please don't berate yourself."

"I shouldn't have let you."

He smiled gently. "No, you probably shouldn't have. And I probably shouldn't have tried. But I'm in love. It's no excuse, but I couldn't help myself."

"I know," she whispered. "But I shouldn't have enjoyed it so much."

At that Robert let out a bark of laughter so loud that Victoria was sure Ellie would come crashing through the woods to investigate. "Oh, Torie," he said, gasping for air. "Don't ever apologize for enjoying my touch. Please."

Victoria tried to shoot him an admonishing glance, but her eyes were far too warm. She allowed her good humor to rise back to the surface. "Just so long as you don't apologize for enjoying mine."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him in the breadth of an instant. He smiled seductively, looking rather like the rake Victoria had once accused him of being. "That, my darling, has never been a danger."

She laughed softly, feeling her earlier tension slip from her body. She shifted position, settling her back against his chest. He was absently toying with her hair, and it felt like sheer heaven.

"We'll be married soon." he whispered, his words coming with an urgency she hadn't expected. "We'll be married soon, and then I will show you everything. I'll show you how much I love you."

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 clapped 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?"

Robert crossed his arms. "I'm utterly sane."

"I forbid it."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I don't see how you can forbid it. I'm of age. And," he added as an afterthought, hoping to appeal to his father's softer side, "I'm in love."

"Goddamn it, boy! I'll disinherit you."

Apparently his father didn't have a softer side.

Robert raised an eyebrow and practically felt his eyes turn from light blue to steely gray. "Go ahead." he said nonchalantly.

"Go ahead?!" Castleford spluttered. "I'll turn you out on your ear! Cut you off without a farthing! Leave you to—"

"What you'll do is leave yourself without an heir." Robert smiled with a hard determination he had never known he possessed. "How unfortunate for you that Mother was never able to present you with another child. Not even a daughter."

"You! You!" The marquess began to turn red with rage. He took a few deep breaths and continued in a calmer fashion. "Perhaps you have not reflected adequately upon the unsuit-ability of this girl."

"She is entirely suitable, sir."

"She won't—" Castleford broke off when he realized that he was yelling again. "She won't know how to fulfill the duties of a noblewoman."

"She is quite bright. And one could find no fault with her manners. She has received a gentle education. I am certain she will make an excellent countess." Robert's expression softened. "Her very nature will bring honor to our name."

"Have you asked her father yet?"

"No. I thought I owed you the courtesy of informing you of my plans first."

"Thank God," Castleford breathed. "We still have time."

Robert's hands curled into harsh fists, but he held his tongue.

"Promise me you won't ask for her hand yet."

"I will do no such thing."

Castleford regarded the firm resolve in his son's eyes and met it with a harsh stare. "Listen to me well, Robert," he said in a low voice. "She cannot love you."

"I fail to see how you could know that, sir."

"Goddamn it, son. All she wants is your money and your title."

Robert felt a rage welling up within him. It was unlike anything he had ever known. "She loves me," he bit out.

"You will never know if she loves you." The marquess slammed his hands down on his desk for emphasis. "Never."

"I know it now," Robert said in a low voice.

"What is it about this girl? Why her? Why not one of the dozens you have met in London?"

Robert shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. She brings out the best in me, I suppose. With her by my side, I can do anything."

"Good God," his father snapped. "How did I raise a son who spouts such romantic drivel?"

"I can see that this conversation is pointless," Robert said stiffly, taking a step toward the door.

The marquess sighed. "Robert, don't leave."

Robert turned back around, quite unable to show his father the disrespect of countermanding a direct request.

"Robert, please listen to me. You must marry within your own class. That is the only way you will ever be sure that you were not married for your money and position."

"It has been my experience that women of the ton are quite interested in marrying for money and position."

"Yes, but it is different"

Robert thought that this was a rather weak argument, and he said so.

His father raked his hand through his hair. "How can this girl know what she feels for you? How could she help but be dazzled by your title, your wealth?"

"Father, she is not like that." Robert crossed his arms. "And I will marry her."

"You will be making the biggest—"

"Not another word!" Robert exploded. It was the first time he had ever raised his voice to his father. He turned to leave the room.

"Tell her I've cut you off without a farthing!" Castleford yelled. "See if she'll have you then. See if she loves you when you have nothing."

Robert turned, his eyes narrowing ominously. "Are you telling me that I have been disinherited?" he asked, his voice chillingly soft.

"You're perilously close to it."

"Have I or have I not?" Robert's tone demanded an answer.

"You may very well be. Do not cross me on this measure."

"That isn't an answer."

The marquess leaned forward, his eyes steady on Robert's. "If you were to tell her that marriage to her would almost certainly result in a vast loss of fortune, you would not be lying."

Robert hated his father in that moment. "I see."

"Do you?"

"Yes." And then almost as an afterthought, he added, "Sir." It was the last time he addressed his father with that title of respect.