orfolk, England

Seven years later

Victoria chased the five-year-old across the lawn, tripping over her skirts so frequently that she finally snatched them up in her hands, not caring that her ankles were bared for the world to see. Governesses were supposed to behave with the utmost decorum, but she had been chasing the tiny tyrant for the better part of an hour, and she was about ready to give up on propriety altogether.

"Neville!" she yelled. "Neville Hollingwood! Stop your running this instant!"

Neville didn't show the least inclination of slowing down.

Victoria rounded the corner of the house and halted, trying to discern which way the child had run.

"Neville!" she called out. "Neville!"

No answer.

"Little monster," Victoria muttered.

"What did you say, Miss Lyndon?"

Victoria swung around to face Lady Hollingwood, her employer. "Oh! I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not realize you were here."

"Obviously," the older lady said acidly, "or you wouldn't have called my son such filthy names."

Victoria didn't much think that "little monster" qualified as filthy, but she bit down her retort and instead replied, "I meant it as an endearment, Lady Hollingwood. Surely you must know that."

"I do not approve of sarcastic endearments, Miss Lyndon. I suggest that you spend your evening reflecting upon the presumptuousness of your ways. It is not your place to assign nicknames to your betters. Good day."

It was all Victoria could do not to gape as Lady Hollingwood turned on her heel and swept away. She didn't care if Lady Hollingwood's husband was a baron. There was no way in this world that she would ever think of five-year-old Neville Hollingwood as her better.

She gritted her teeth and yelled, "Neville!"

"Miss Lyndon!"

Victoria groaned inwardly. Not again.

Lady Hollingwood took a step toward her, then stopped, lifting her chin imperiously in the air. Victoria had no choice but to walk over to her and say, "Yes, my lady?"

"I do not approve of your uncouth yelling. A lady never raises her voice."

"I am sorry, my lady. I was only trying to find young Master Neville."

"If you had been watching him properly, you would not find yourself in this situation."

It was Victoria's opinion that the boy was as slippery as an eel and that Admiral Nelson himself couldn't have held on to him for more than two minutes, but she kept these thoughts private. Finally she said, "I am sorry, my lady."

Lady Hollingwood's eyes narrowed, clearly indicating that she didn't for one minute believe that Victoria's apology was sincere. "See that you behave with more decorum this evening."

"This evening, my lady?"

"The house party, Miss Lyndon." The older woman sighed as if it were the twentieth time she'd had to explain this to Victoria, when in truth she'd never before mentioned it. And the lower servants, never spoke to Victoria, so she was rarely privy to gossip.

"We will be entertaining guests for the next few days," Lady Hollingwood continued. "Very important guests. Several barons, a few viscounts, and even an earl. Lord Hollingwood and I move in lofty circles."

Victoria shivered as she remembered the one time she had had occasion to brush shoulders with the nobility. She hadn't found them particularly noble.

Robert. His face came unbidden to her mind.

Seven years and she could still remember every detail. The way his eyebrows arched. His laugh lines when he smiled. The way he had always tried to tell her he loved her when she least expected it.

Robert. His words had been proven false, indeed.

"Miss Lyndon!"

Victoria snapped out of her reverie. "Yes, my lady?"

"I would prefer it if you would endeavor not to cross paths with our guests, but if that proves impossible, do try to conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum."

Victoria nodded, really wishing that she didn't need this job so badly.

"That means you mustn't raise your voice."

As if anyone other than nasty Neville ever gave her cause to raise her voice. "Yes, my lady."

Victoria watched as Lady Hollingwood stalked off again, making sure that she was well out of sight. Then, as she resumed her search for Neville, she took great pleasure in saying, "I'm going to find you, you bloody little beast."

She tramped into the west garden, each step she took punctuated by a mild mental curse. Oh, if her father could hear her thoughts! Victoria sighed. She hadn't seen her family in seven long years. She still corresponded with Eleanor, but she'd never returned to Kent. She couldn't forgive her father for tying her up that fateful evening, and she couldn't bear to face him, knowing that he had been correct in his judgment of Robert.

But governessing had not proven easy, and Victoria had held three positions in the past seven years. It seemed most ladies didn't like their children's governesses to have silky sable hair and dark blue eyes. And they certainly didn't like them to be quite so young and pretty. Victoria had become quite adept at fending off unwanted attentions.

She shook her head as she scanned the lawn for Neville. In that measure, at least, Robert had not proven any different from the other young men of his class. All they seemed to be interested in was luring young women to their beds. Especially young women whose families were not powerful enough to demand marriage after the act.

The Hollingwood position had seemed a godsend. Lord Hollingwood wasn't interested in anything besides his horses and hounds, and there were no older sons to plague her on their visits home from university.

Unfortunately there was Neville, who had been a little terror from the first day. Spoiled and ill-mannered, he practically ruled the household, and Lady Hollingwood had forbidden Victoria from disciplining him.

Victoria sighed as she walked across the lawn, praying that Neville hadn't gone into the hedgerow maze. "Neville!" she called out, trying to keep her voice down.

"In heere, Lyndon!"

The little wretch always refused to call her Miss Lyndon. Victoria had brought the matter up with Lady Hollingwood, who had only laughed it off, remarking on how original and clever her son was.

"Neville?" Please, not the maze. She'd never learned her way around it.

"In the maze, you clodhead!"

Victoria groaned and muttered, "I hate being a governess." And it was true. She hated it. Hated every second of this beastly subservience, hated having to pander to spoiled children. But most of all she hated the fact that she'd been forced into this. She'd never been given a choice. Not really. She hadn't believed for one moment that Robert's father wasn't going to spread vicious gossip about her. He wanted her out of the district.

It was governessing or ruin. Victoria entered the maze. "Neville?" she asked cautiously. "Over here!"

It sounded like he was to her left. Victoria took a few steps in that direction.

"Oh, Lyndon!" he shrieked. "I bet you can't find me!"

Victoria ran around a corner, and then another, and another. "Neville!" she yelled. "Where are you?"

"Here I am, Lyndon."

Victoria nearly screamed with frustration. It sounded as if he was straight through the hedge to her right. The only problem was that she had no idea how to get to the other side. Maybe if she went around that corner...

She made a few more twists and turns, wretchedly aware that she was completely lost. Suddenly she heard an awful sound. Neville's laugh. "I'm free, Lyndon!" "Neville!" she yelled, her voice growing shrill. "Neville!"

"I'm going home now," he taunted. "Have a nice night, Lyndon!"

Victoria sank down onto the ground. When she made her way free, she was going to kill that boy. And she was going to enjoy doing it.

Eight hours later Victoria still hadn't found the exit. After two hours of searching, she finally sat down and cried. Tears of frustration were becoming increasingly common these days. She couldn't imagine that the household had failed to note her absence, but she rather doubted that Neville had confessed to leading her into the maze. The wretched boy had probably

sent whomever was looking for her in the exact opposite direction. Victoria would be lucky if she only had to spend one night outside.

She sighed and looked up at the sky. It was probably nine in the evening, but twilight still hung in the air. Thank goodness Neville hadn't thought to play his prank in the winter, when the days were short.

The tinkle of music floated through the air, a sign that the festivities of the house party had begun, obviously without a thought to the missing governess.

"I hate being a governess," Victoria muttered for about the twelfth time that day. It didn't make her feel better to say it out loud, but she did so anyway.

And then finally, after she had begun to fantasize about the scandal that would ensue once the Hollingwoods found her dead body in the maze three months hence, Victoria heard voices.

Oh, thank the heavens. She was saved. Victoria jumped to her feet and opened her mouth to shout out a greeting.

Then she heard what the voices were saying.

She shut her mouth. Oh, blast

"Come here, you big stallion." a female voice giggled.

"You're always so original, Helene." The male voice epitomized civilized boredom, but he did sound slightly interested in what the lady had to offer.

Oh, this was just her luck. Eight hours in the maze and the first people to join her were a pair of trysting lovers. Victoria rather doubted they would be pleased to learn of her presence. Knowing the nobility, they would probably find some way to make this awkward situation look as if it were her fault.

"I hate being a governess," she breathed hotly, sitting back down on the ground. "And I hate the nobility."

The female voice interrupted its giggles long enough to say, "Did you hear something?"

"Shut up, Helene."

Victoria sighed and clapped her hand to her forehead. The couple was beginning to sound quite amorous, despite the man's somewhat lazy rudeness.

"No, I'm sure I heard something. What if it's my husband?"

"Your husband knows what you are, Helene."

"Did you just insult me?"

"I don't know. Did I?"

Victoria could just imagine the man crossing his arms and leaning against the hedgerow.

"You're very naughty, did you know that?" Helene said.

"You certainly like to remind me of it."

"You make me feel naughty, too."

"I don't think you've ever needed assistance in that endeavor."

"La, sir, I'm going to have to punish you."

Oh, please, Victoria thought, sliding her hand to cover her eyes.

Helene let out another trill of high-pitched giggles. "Catch me if you can!"

Victoria heard the rhythm of running feet and sighed, thinking that she would be trapped in the maze with this couple for an extremely awkward amount of time. Then the footsteps came closer and closer. Victoria looked up just in time to see a blond woman come tearing around the corner. She didn't even have time to yell out before Helene tripped over her and landed ungracefully on the ground.

"What the hell?" Helene screeched.

"Now, now, Helene," came the male voice from around the corner. "Such language is unbecoming to your pretty mouth."

"Shut up, Macclesfield. There is a girl here. A girl." Helene turned to Victoria. "Who the devil are you? Did my husband send you?"

But Victoria didn't hear her. Macclesfield? Macclesfield? She shut her eyes in agony. Oh, dear Lord. Not Robert. Please, anyone but Robert.

Heavy, booted footsteps rounded the corner. "Helene, what the hell is going on?"

Victoria slowly looked up, her blue eyes huge and terrified.

Robert.

Her mouth went dry. She couldn't breathe. Oh, God. Robert. He looked older. His body was still rock hard and powerful, but there were lines on his face that hadn't been there seven years ago, and his eyes looked forever grim.

He didn't see her at first, his attention still on the fuming Helene. "She's probably that misplaced governess Hollingwood was talking about." He turned to look at Victoria. "Been missing since--"

The blood drained from his face. 'You."

Victoria swallowed nervously. She'd never thought to see him again, had never even tried to prepare herself for how she might feel if she did. Her body felt strange, rather queer, and she wanted nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself in it.

Well, that was not entirely true. Part of her wanted very much to scream out her fury and rake her nails across his cheeks.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he bit out.

Victoria gathered up her pride and looked back at him defiantly. "I am the misplaced governess."

Helene kicked Victoria in the hip. "You'd better call him 'my lord' if you value your position, girl. He is an earl, and you would do well not to forget it."

"I am well aware of what he is."

Helene flicked her head in Robert's direction. "Do you know this girl?"

"I know her."

It took all of Victoria's will not to cringe at the ice in his voice. She was wiser now than she'd been seven years ago. And stronger, too. She rose to her feet, stood straight, looked him in the eye, and said, "Robert."

"That's a fine greeting," he drawled.

"What's the meaning of this?" Helene demanded. "Who is she? What are you—" Her head swung from Victoria to Robert.

"Did she call you Robert?"

Robert didn't once take his eyes off Victoria. "You'd better leave, Helene."

"I most certainly will not." She crossed her arms.

"Helene," he repeated, his voice laced with low warning.

Victoria heard the veiled fury in his voice, but apparently Helene did not, because she said, "I can't imagine what you would have to say to this... this governess person."

Robert turned to Helene and roared, "Leave us!"

She blinked. "I don't know the way out."

"A right, two lefts, and another right," he bit out.

Helene opened her mouth as if to say more, then obviously thought better of it. With one last nasty glance in Victoria's direction, she quit the scene. Victoria was more than half inclined to follow her. "A right, two lefts, and another right," she breathed to herself.

"You're not going anywhere," Robert barked.

His imperious tone was just enough to convince Victoria that there was no use even attempting to make polite conversation with him. "If you'll excuse me," she said, stalking past him.

His hand landed on her arm like a thunderstorm. "Get back here, Victoria."

"Don't give me commands," she burst out, whirling to face him. "And don't speak to me in that tone of voice."

"Goodness," he mocked. "Such demands for respect. Most odd coming from a woman whose idea of faith—"

"Stop!" she yelled. She wasn't certain what he was talking about, but she couldn't bear to listen to his scathing tone of voice. "Just stop! Stop!"

Amazingly, he did. He looked rather shocked by her outburst. Victoria wasn't surprised. The girl he'd known seven years ago had never screamed like that. She'd never had cause to. She tugged at her arm and said, "Please leave me alone."

"I don't want to."

Victoria's head snapped up. "What did you say?"

He shrugged a shoulder and assessed her rudely. "I find myself rather interested in what I missed seven years ago. You're quite beautiful."

Her mouth fell open. "As if I would—"

"I wouldn't be so hasty to refuse me," he interrupted. "Of course you couldn't possibly hope for marriage, but there is no longer any threat of my being disinherited. I, my dear, am appallingly wealthy."

His father had called her "my dear." And he'd used that same condescending tone. Victoria swallowed down the urge to spit in his face and said, "How perfectly lovely for you."

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I must say, I never thought I'd meet you again under these circumstances."

"I had hoped I never would," she retorted.

"The governess," he said, using an oddly thoughtful tone of voice. "What an interesting and precarious position she holds in a household. Neither family nor servant."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "I rather doubt you're as well acquainted as I with the 'interesting position' of the governess."

He cocked his head in a deceptively friendly manner. "How long have you been doing this? I find it rather amusing that England's elite is trusting you with their children's moral education."

"I could certainly do a better job of it than you."

He let out an abrupt laugh. "But then I never pretended to be good and true. I never pretended to be a young man's dreams." He leaned forward and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. His touch was chillingly gentle. "I never pretended to be an angel."

"Yes," she choked out. "You did. You were everything I dreamed of, everything I'd ever wanted. And all you wanted—"

His eyes glittered dangerously as he pulled her closer. "What did I want, Victoria?"

She twisted her head to the side, refusing to answer him.

He let her go abruptly. "I suppose there is no point in reiterating all my foolish hopes."

She laughed hollowly. "Your hopes? Well, I'm so sorry you weren't able to get me into bed with you. That must have certainly broken your heart."

He leaned forward, his eyes menacing. "It's never too late to dream, is it?"

"That is one dream you will never see fulfilled."

He shrugged, his expression telling her that he didn't much care one way or the other.

"God, I meant so little to you, didn't I?" she whispered.

Robert stared at her, unable to believe her words. She had meant everything to him. Everything. He'd promised her the moon, and he'd meant it. He had loved her so much—he would have found a way to pull that sphere from the sky and hand it to her on a platter if she'd only demanded it.

But she'd never really loved him. She'd only loved the idea of marrying a wealthy earl. "Torie," he said, preparing to give her a blistering setdown.

She never gave him the opportunity. "Don't call me Torie!" she burst out.

"I seem to recall that I was the one to give you that particular nickname," he reminded her.

"You gave up all rights to it seven years ago."

"I gave up all rights?" he said, barely able to believe that she was trying to pin blame on him. Memories of that pathetic night flashed through his mind. He'd waited for her in the chilly night air. Waited for more than an hour, every fiber of his being alive with love, desire, and hope. And she'd simply gone to sleep. Gone to sleep without a single care for him.

Fury exploded in his body, and he pulled her closer, his hands biting into her flesh. "You seem to have conveniently forgotten the facts of our relationship, Torie."

She yanked her arm free with a strength that surprised him. "I said don't call me that. I am not her anymore. I haven't been for years."

His lips twisted humorlessly. "And who are you, then?"

She stared at him for a moment, obviously trying to decide whether or not to answer his question. Finally she said, "I am Miss Lyndon. Or these days I am more commonly just Lyndon. I am not even Victoria anymore."

His eyes swept over her face, not quite recognizing what he saw there. There was a certain strength to her that she hadn't possessed at seventeen. And her eyes held a steeliness that unnerved him. "You're right," he said with a purposefully bored shrug. "You're not Torie. You probably never were."

Victoria pursed her lips and refused to reply.

"And for that I thank you," he continued in a mockingly grand voice.

Her eyes flew to his face.

He raised his hand as if making a toast. "To Victoria Mary Lyndon! For providing me with an education no man should lack."

Victoria's stomach grew queasy and she took a step back. "Don't do this, Robert."

"For showing me that women are useless and vain—"

"Robert, no."

"—that they serve one purpose only." He drew his thumb across her lips with agonizing slowness. "Although I must say they perform that duty exceedingly well."

Victoria stood stock still, trying so hard not to let her heart leap at the feel of his fingers on her lips.

"But most of all, Miss Victoria Lyndon, I must thank you for showing me the true measure of the heart. The heart, you see, isn't what I thought it was."

"Robert, I don't want to hear this."

He moved with startling speed, grabbing her brutally by the shoulders and pinning her against the hedge. "But you will hear this, Victoria. You will hear everything I have to say to you."

Because she could not shut her ears, she shut her eyes, but this did little to block his overwhelming presence.

"The heart, I have learned, exists only for pain. Love is a poet's dream, but pain—" His fingers tightened around her shoulders. "Pain is so very, very real."

Without opening her eyes, she whispered, "I know more about pain than you will ever learn."

"Pain that you failed to snag yourself a fortune, Victoria? That's hardly what I'm talking about. But—" He lifted his hands off her with a flourish. "I no longer feel pain."

Victoria opened her eyes.

He stared at her face. "I no longer feel anything."

She stared back, her eyes every bit as hard as his. This was the man who had betrayed her. He'd promised her the moon, and instead stolen her soul. Perhaps she wasn't such a noble person, because she was glad that he'd grown so bitter, glad that his was an unhappy life.

He no longer felt anything? She said exactly what she felt. "Good."

He raised a brow at the malicious pleasure in her voice. "I can see I did not misjudge you."

"Good-bye, Robert." A right, two lefts, and another right. She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Robert stood in the maze for an hour, his eyes unfocused, his body slack.

Torie. Just the sound of her name in his mind made him shake.

He'd lied to her when he told her he no longer felt anything. When he'd first seen her, impossibly sitting there in the maze, he'd felt such a rush of pleasure and relief—as if she could fill the emptiness that had engulfed him these past seven years.

But of course she was the one who'd carved his heart hollow.

He had tried to erase her memory with other women—although never, to his father's great dismay, the sort one might consider marrying. He'd consorted with widows, courtesans, and opera singers. He'd even sought out companions with Victoria's unique coloring, as if thick black hair and blue eyes could mend the rift in his soul. And sometimes, when the ache in his heart was particularly strong, he forgot himself and called out her name in the heat of passion. It was embarrassing, but none of his mistresses were indiscreet enough to mention it. They always received an extra token of gratitude when it happened, and they merely redoubled their efforts to please him.

But none of these women had made him forget. Not a day had gone by when Victoria didn't dance through his brain. Her laughter, her smiles.

Her betrayal. The one thing he could never forgive.

Torie. That thick black hair. Those bright blue eyes. Age had only made her more beautiful.

And he wanted her.

Lord help him, he still wanted her.

But he also wanted revenge.

He just didn't know which he wanted more.