ictoria had never thought of herself as a particularly violent person—indeed, she didn't even have much of a temper—but Robert's oh-so-casual statement pushed her right over the edge.

Her body reacted without any direction whatsoever from her brain, and she launched herself at him, her hands clutching perilously close to his neck. "You fiend!" she screamed. "You godawful, bloody, blasted fiend!"

If Robert wanted to comment upon her less-than-ladylike language, he kept it to himself. Or perhaps his reticence had something to do with the way her fingers were pressing into his windpipe.

"How dare you?" she shrieked. "How dare you? All that time you were just pretending to listen to my talk of independence."

"Victoria," he gasped, trying to pry her fingers from his throat.

"Have you been plotting this all along?" When he didn't answer she began to shake him. "Have you?"

When Robert finally managed to get her off him, it required such force that Victoria was sent sprawling across the carriage. "For the love of God, woman” he exclaimed, still gasping for air, "were you trying to kill me?"

Victoria glared at him from her position on the floor. "It does seem a meritorious plan."

"You'll thank me for this someday," he said, knowing full well that such a condescending statement would enrage her.

He was right. He watched as her face grew redder by the half second. "I have never been so furious in my entire life," she finally hissed.

Robert rubbed his sore throat and said with great feeling, "I believe you."

"You had no right to do this. I can't believe you respect me so little that you would—you would—" She broke off and snapped her head around, a horrible thought occurring to her. "Oh my God! Did you poison me?"

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"I was very tired. I fell asleep so quickly."

"That was nothing but a lucky coincidence," he said with a little wave of his hand. "One for which I was most grateful. It really wouldn't have done for you to have been screaming your way through the London streets."

"I don't believe you."

"Victoria, I am not the villain you seem to think me. Besides, was I anywhere near your food today? I didn't even give you a box of pastries."

That much was true. The day before, Victoria had delivered a stinging diatribe on the wastefulness of one person being given so much food, and extracted a promise from Robert that he would donate any pastries he'd already purchased to a needy orphanage. And as furious as she was with him, she had to admit that he was not the sort to use poison.

"If it makes any difference." he added, "I had no plans to abduct you until yesterday. I had been hoping that you would come to your senses before drastic measures became necessary."

"Is it so very difficult for you to believe that I regard a life without you as sensible?"

"When such a life includes living in the worst sort of slum, yes."

"It isn't the 'worst' sort of slum," she said peevishly.

"Victoria, a man was stabbed to death in front of your building two nights ago!" he shouted.

She blinked. "Really?"

"Yes, really," he hissed. "And if you think I am going to stand by idly until the inevitable happens and you become the victim—"

"I beg your pardon, but it appears I am a victim. Of kidnapping at the very least."

He looked down at her with an irritated expression. "And at the very most?"

"Rape," she shot back.

He leaned back smugly. "It wouldn't be rape."

"I could never want you again after what you've done to me."

"You'll always want me. You might not want to want me just now, but you do."

Silence reigned for a moment. Finally, with eyes like slits, Victoria said, "You're no better than Eversleigh."

Robert's hand closed around her shoulder with stunning force. "Don't you ever compare him to me."

"And why not? I think the comparison is most apt. You have both abused me, both used force—"

"I have not used force." he said between gritted teeth.

"I haven't seen you open the door to this carriage and give me the option of leaving." She crossed her arms in an attempt to appear resolute, but it was hard to maintain one's dignity while on the floor.

"Victoria," Robert said in an excruciatingly patient tone of voice, "we are in the middle of the Canterbury Road. It is dark, and there is no one around. I can assure you that you do not want to exit the carriage at this time."

"Goddamn you! Do you have any idea how much I hate it when you presume to tell me what I want?"

Robert gripped the seat of the carriage bench so hard his fingers shook. "Do you want me to stop the carriage?"

"You wouldn't do it even if I asked."

With a movement that spoke of barely leashed violence, Robert slammed his fist against the front wall three times. Within seconds the carriage came to a halt. "There!" he said. "Get out."

Victoria's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.

"Would you like me to help you down?" Robert kicked open the door and jumped out. He held out his hand for her. "I live to be of service to you."

"Robert, I don't think—"

"You haven't been thinking all week," he snapped.

If she could have reached him, she would have slapped him.

MacDougal's face appeared next to Robert's. "Is aught amiss, my lord? Miss?"

"Miss Lyndon has expressed an interest in departing our company," Robert said.

"Here?"

"Not here, you idiot," Victoria hissed. And then, because MacDougal looked so affronted, she was compelled to say, "I meant Robert, not you."

"Are you getting down or not?" Robert demanded.

"You know I'm not. What I would like is for you to return me to my home in London, not abandon me here in—" Victoria turned to MacDougal. "Where the devil are we, anyway?"

"Near to Faversham, I would think."

"Good," Robert said. "We'll stop there for the night. We have made excellent time, but there is no sense exhausting ourselves by pushing on to Ramsgate."

"Right." MacDougal paused, then said to Victoria, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable on the bench, Miss Lyndon?"

Victoria smiled acidly. "Oh, no, I'm quite comfortable here on the floor, Mr. MacDougal. I prefer to feel every rut and bump in the road intimately."

"What she prefers is to be a martyr," Robert muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!"

Robert ignored her and gave some instructions to MacDougal, who disappeared from view. He then climbed back into the carriage, shut the door, and ignored Victoria, who was still fuming on the floor. Finally she said, "What is in Ramsgate?"

"I own a cottage on the shore. I thought we might enjoy a bit of privacy there."

She snorted. "Privacy? Now there is a frightening thought."

"Victoria, you are beginning to try my patience."

"You are not the one who has been abducted, my lord."

He cocked a brow. "Do you know, Victoria, but I am beginning to think that you are enjoying yourself."

"You suffer from too much imagination," she shot back.

"I do not jest," he said, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "I think there must be something appealing in being able to vent one's offended sensibilities."

"I have every right to be outraged," she growled.

"I'm sure you think you do."

She leaned forward in what she hoped was a menacing manner. "I truly believe if I had a gun right now I would shoot you."

"I thought you were partial to pitchforks."

"I am partial to anything that would do you bodily harm."

"I do not doubt it," Robert said, chuckling.

"Don't you care that I hate you?"

He let out a long breath. "Let me make one thing clear. Your safety and well-being are my highest priorities. If removing you from that slum you insisted on calling home means that I must live with your hatred for a few days, then so be it."

"It won't be only a few days."

Robert didn't say anything.

Victoria sat there on the floor of the carriage, trying to collect her thoughts. Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes, and she started to take frequent and shallow breaths—anything to prevent her tears' mortifying spill down her cheeks. "You did the one thing..." she said, her words tinged with the nervous laughter of one who knows she has been beaten. "The one thing..."

He turned his head to face her. "Would you like to get up?"

She shook her head. "All I wanted was a bit of control over my own life. Was that so much to ask?"

"Victoria—"

"And then you did the one thing that would take that away from me," she interrupted, her voice growing louder. "The one thing!"

"I acted in your best int—"

"Do you have any idea what it feels like to have someone take your decisions away from you?"

"I know what it feels like to be manipulated," he said in a very low voice.

"It's not the same thing," she said, turning her head so he wouldn't see her cry.

There was a moment of silence as Robert tried to compose his words. "Seven years ago I had my life planned out to the very last detail. I was young, and I was in love. Madly, desperately in love. All I wanted was to marry you and spend the rest of my life making you happy. We'd have children," he said wistfully. "I always imagined them looking like you."

"Why are you saying this?"

He stared at her, drilling her with his eyes, even though she refused to return his gaze. "Because I know what it feels like to have one's dreams ripped away. We were young and stupid, and if we'd had any sense we would have realized what our fathers did to keep us apart. But it wasn't our fault."

"Don't you understand? I don't care about what happened seven years ago anymore. It doesn't matter to me."

"I think it does."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "I don't want to talk about it any longer."

"Very well." Robert picked up a newspaper and began to read.

Victoria sat on the floor and tried not to cry.

Twenty minutes later the carriage rolled to a halt in front of a small inn just off the Canterbury Road in Faversham. Victoria waited in the carriage while Robert went in to procure rooms.

A few minutes later he emerged. "Everything is arranged," he said.

"I hope you got me my own room," she said stiffly.

"Of course."

Victoria declined—somewhat forcefully—his offer of assistance, and she jumped down from the carriage on her own. Excruciatingly aware of his hand on the small of her back, she was led into the building. As they passed through the front room, the innkeeper called out, "I do hope you and your wife enjoy your stay, my lord."

Victoria waited just until they had turned the corner on the way to the staircase. "I thought you said we have separate rooms," she hissed.

"We do. I had no other option than to tell him you are my wife. It is clear that you are not my sister." He touched a lock of her sable hair with exquisite tenderness. "And I did not want anyone to think that you are my paramour."

"But—"

"I imagine the innkeeper simply thinks that we are a married couple who do not enjoy each other's company."

"At least part of that statement is true," she muttered.

He turned to her with a surprisingly radiant smile. "I always enjoy your company."

Victoria stopped in her tracks and just stared at him, utterly dumbfounded by his apparent good humor. Finally she said, "I cannot decide if you are insane, stubborn, or merely stupid."

"I opt for stubborn, if I get a vote."

She let out an exasperated breath of air and marched ahead of him. "I'm going to my room."

"Wouldn't you like to know which one it is?"

Victoria could positively feel his grin at her back. "Would you care to tell me," she said between clenched teeth, "the number of my room?"

"Three."

"Thank you," she said, and then wished that courtesy hadn't been so methodically drummed into her at a young age. As if he deserved her gratitude.

"I'm number four," he called out helpfully. "Just in case you want to know where to find me."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary." Victoria reached the top of the stairs, turned the corner, and began to look for her room. She could hear Robert a few paces behind her.

"One never knows." When she didn't comment, he added, "I can think of a host of reasons you may need to contact me." When she continued to ignore him, he added, "A thief might try to invade your room. You might have a nightmare."

The only bad dreams she might have, Victoria thought, would be about him.

"The inn might be haunted," he continued. "Just think of all the scary ghosts lurking about."

Victoria was quite unable to ignore that one. She turned slowly around. "That is the most implausible idea I have ever heard."

He shrugged. "It could happen."

She merely stared at him, looking very much as if she was trying to determine how to get him admitted to an asylum.

"Or," he added, "you might miss me."

"I rescind my earlier statement," she snapped. "That is the most implausible idea I have ever heard."

He clasped his heart dramatically. "You wound me, my lady."

"I am not your lady."

"You will be."

"Ah, look," she said with patently false brightness. "Here is my room. Good night." Without waiting for Robert to respond, Victoria entered her room and shut the door in his face.

Then she heard the key turn in the lock.

She gasped. The beast had locked her in!

Victoria indulged herself in a quick stamp of her foot, then flopped on her bed with a loud groan. She couldn't believe he had the gall to lock her in her room.

Well, actually, she could believe it. The man had abducted her, after all. And Robert never left a detail to chance.

Victoria fumed on her bed for several minutes. If she tried to escape Robert, she would have to do it that evening. Once he got her to his cottage by the sea, she doubted he'd let her out of his sight. And knowing Robert's penchant for privacy, she could safely assume that his cottage was isolated.

No, it would have to be now. Luckily Faver-sham was not so very far from Bellfield, where her family still lived. Victoria didn't particularly want to visit her father; she had never forgiven him for tying her up all those years ago. But the Reverend definitely seemed a lesser evil than Robert.

Victoria crossed the room to the window and peered out. It was a daunting distance to the ground. There was no way she'd make it without injury. Then her eyes fell on a door, and not the one to the hall.

A connecting door. She had a good idea to whose room it connected. How utterly ironic that the only way she would be able to escape was through his room.

She crouched down and squinted at the doorknob. Then she examined the door frame. It looked as if the door might stick. Opening it would be loud, and Robert would probably awaken. If he woke up before she even made it to the hall, she'd never escape. She would have to find a way to leave the connecting door slightly open without raising his suspicion.

Then it came to her.

Victoria took a deep breath and slammed the door open. "I might have known you'd have so little respect for my privacy!" she bellowed. She was aware that she was invading his privacy by barging into his room, but it seemed the only way to get the blasted door open without—

She gasped, forgetting whatever it was she'd been thinking about.

Robert was standing in the middle of the room, his chest bared. His hands were on the fastenings of his breeches. "Would you like me to continue?" he said mildly.

"No, no, that won't be necessary," she stammered, turning seven shades of red, from crimson to beet.

He smiled lazily. "Are you certain? I'd be happy to oblige you."

Victoria wondered why she couldn't seem to take her eyes off him. He was really quite magnificent, she thought in a bizarre burst of objectivity. His years in London had clearly not been inactive ones.

He took advantage of her dazed silence to hand her a small package.

"What is this?" she asked suspiciously.

"It occurred to me when I was making my plans that you might need something in which to sleep. I took the liberty of procuring you a nightgown."

The thought of him buying her lingerie was so startlingly intimate that Victoria nearly dropped the package. "Where did you get this?" she asked.

"I didn't get it from another woman, if that is what you want to know." He stepped forward and touched her cheek. "Although I must say that I'm touched to see you so jealous."

"I'm not jealous." she ground out. "It's just that—If you bought it at Madame Lambert's, I should be—"

"I didn't buy it at Madame Lambert's."

"Good. I should be quite angry to find out that one of my friends assisted you in this nefarious endeavor."

"I wonder how long you'll remain so angry with me," he said softly.

Victoria's head snapped up at his abrupt change of subject. "I'm going to bed." She took two steps toward the connecting door, then turned around. "I shan't be modeling this gown for you."

He offered her a seductive smile. "I never dreamed you would. However I'm quite pleased to hear that you at least contemplated the idea."

Victoria let out a low growl and stomped back into her room. She was so furious with him that she nearly slammed the door shut. But then, remembering her initial goal, she grasped the knob and closed the door so that it just touched the jamb. If Robert noticed that it was not closed properly, he would not think she had left it open as an invitation. She had made her

anger too clear for him to jump to that conclusion. No, he would probably just assume that, in her distraction, she had overlooked a detail.

And if she was lucky he wouldn't notice the door at all.

Victoria tossed the offending package onto her bed and considered her plan for the rest of the night. She would have to wait several hours before attempting her escape. She had no idea how long it would take Robert to fall asleep, and since she had only one chance to flee, it seemed prudent to give him plenty of time to doze off.

She stayed awake by mentally reciting all her least favorite passages from the Bible. Her father had always insisted that she and Ellie commit large portions of the book to memory. An hour passed, then another, then another. Then yet another hour passed, and Victoria halted in mid-psalm as she realized that it was four in the morning. Surely Robert was sleeping soundly

by now.

She took two tiptoed steps toward the door, then stopped. Her boots had nice hard soles on them and they clattered as she walked. She would have to remove them. Her bones let out a loud creak as she sat on the floor and unlaced her shoes. Finally, footwear in hand, she continued her silent trek toward the connecting door.

Heart pounding, she placed her hand on the knob. Since she hadn't shut the door properly, she didn't have to twist it. She gave it a light tug, and then, with very controlled movements, pulled the door open.

She poked her face into the room first, then breathed a silent sigh of relief. Robert was sleeping soundly. The blasted man didn't appear to be wearing anything under the bed sheets, but Victoria quickly decided not to contemplate that fact just then.

She tiptoed toward his door, mentally thanking whomever it was who had decided to lay a rug in his room. It made her procession all the more quiet. Finally she reached the door. Robert had left the key in the lock. Ah, this would be the trickiest part. She had to get the door unlocked and slip out without waking him.

It occurred to her then that it was actually quite a good thing that Robert slept in the nude. If she did wake him up, she would be able to get quite a good head start while he pulled on his clothing. He might be determined to get her into his clutches, but she rather doubted that his determination extended to running through the streets of Faversham wearing nary a stitch.

She wrapped her fingers around the key and turned her head. The lock made a loud click. She caught her breath and looked over her shoulder. Robert made a sleepy, rumbling sort of noise and rolled over, but other than that he made no sign he was waking up.

With pent up breath, Victoria slowly pulled the door open, praying that the hinges wouldn't creak. It made a tiny noise,

causing Robert to move a bit more and smack his lips in a curiously appealing manner. Finally she got the door halfway open and slipped through.

Escape! It was almost too easy; the triumph Victoria had expected to feel just wasn't there. She ran through the hall and made her way down the stairs. No one was on duty, so she was able to slip out the front door unnoticed.

Once out in the open, however, she realized that she had no idea where to go. It was about fifteen miles to Bellfield; not too far to walk when one was really determined, but Victoria didn't particularly relish the thought of walking along the Canterbury Road by herself at night. She would probably do better to find a place to hide near the inn and wait for Robert to depart.

Victoria eyed her surroundings as she put her shoes back on. The stables might do, and there were a few shops nearby that might have places to hide. Perhaps—

"Well, well, wot 'ave we 'ere?"

Victoria's heart sank into her instantly queasy stomach. Two large, dirty, and from the looks of it drunken men were closing in on her. She took a step backward—back toward the inn.

"Oy still got a few pennies left," one of them said. "Wot's yer price, missy?"

"I'm afraid you have the wrong idea," Victoria said, her words coming out terribly rushed.

"Come on now, lovey," the other said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. "We just want a bit of sport. Be a good lovey to us."

Victoria let out a surprised scream. The man's hand was biting into her skin. "No, no," she said, panic beginning to set in. "I'm not that kind of—" She didn't bother to finish the sentence; they didn't seem to be paying attention.

"I am a married woman," she lied, using a louder tone of voice.

One of them actually tore his eyes off her breasts for a moment and looked up. He blinked, then shook his head.

Victoria sucked in her breath. They obviously had no scruples concerning the sanctity of marriage. Finally, out of desperation, she burst out, "My husband is the earl of Macclesfield! If you touch a hair on my head, he'll have you killed. I swear he will."

That gave them pause. Then one of them said, "Wot's the wife of a bloody earl doing out by 'erself in the middle of the night?"

"It's a very long story, I assure you," Victoria improvised, still backing up toward the inn.

"I think she's making it up," the one holding her arm said. He yanked her closer to him with a movement surprisingly fast for one so inebriated. Victoria tried not to gag at his foul breath. Then she changed her mind and tried to gag. Vomit might be just the thing to dampen his ardor.

"We're just going to 'ave a bit of fun tonight," he whispered. "You and me and—"

"I wouldn't try it," drawled a voice Victoria knew all too well. "I don't like it when people touch my wife."

She looked up. Robert was standing next to the man—where had he come from so quickly?—and had a gun pressed up against his temple. He wasn't wearing a shirt, he wasn't even wearing shoes, and he had another gun tucked into the waistband of his breeches. He looked at the drunkard, smiled humorlessly, and said, "She makes me a bit irrational."

"Robert," Victoria said in a shaky voice, for once desperately glad to see him.

He jerked his head to the side, indicating for her to move into the doorway to the inn. She did so immediately.

"I'm going to start counting," Robert said in a deadly voice. "If the two of you aren't out of my sight by the time I get to ten, I'm going to shoot. And I won't aim for your feet."

The villains started to run before Robert even got to two. He counted all the way to ten, anyway. Victoria watched him from the doorway, tempted to run back up to her room and barricade herself inside while he ticked off the numbers. But she found herself rooted to the spot, quite unable to take her eyes off Robert.

When he was done he whirled around. "I suggest you don't provoke my temper any further this evening," he bit off.

She nodded. "No, I'll just be going to sleep. We can discuss this in the morning, if you like."

He didn't say anything, just let out a low growl as they mounted the steps back up to their chambers. Victoria wasn't particularly heartened by this reaction.

They reached his door, which had clearly been flung open in haste. Robert practically dragged her through the doorway and slammed the door shut. He let go of her to twist the key in the lock, and Victoria took advantage of this opportunity to run to the connecting door. "I'll just be going to bed," she said quickly.

"Not so fast." Robert's hand closed around her upper arm and he reeled her back in. "Do you really think I'm going to allow you to spend the rest of the night in there?"

She blinked. "Well, yes. I rather thought you were."

He smiled, but it was a dangerous sort of smile. "Wrong."

She thought her knees might give out. "Wrong?"

Before she knew what he was about, he'd scooped her up in his arms and dropped her on the bed. "You, my devious friend, are spending the night here. In my bed."