hen Victoria awakened the next morning, there was a naked arm thrown over her shoulder and an equally naked leg draped across her hip. The fact that both limbs were attached to a naked man immediately set her heart racing.

She carefully disentangled herself and climbed out of bed, pulling along a blanket to cover some of the skin the blue nightgown left bare. She'd just made it to the door when she heard Robert stir. Victoria grasped the knob, hoping that she could slip out before he opened his eyes, but before she could even twist her hand, she heard a groggy "Good morning" from behind her.

There was nothing for it but to turn around. "Good morning, Robert."

"I trust you slept well."

"Like a baby," she lied. "If you'll excuse me, I am going to change my clothing."

He yawned, stretched, and said, "I can't imagine that your dress wasn't ruined yesterday."

She swallowed, having forgotten the beating her one and only garment had taken the day before. The wind, rain, rocks, and saltwater had rendered it unmendable. Still, it was certainly more appropriate and respectable than what she was wearing now, and she told him so.

"Pity," he said. "The blue gown looks so fetching on you."

She snorted and wrapped the blanket more tightly around her. "It is indecent, and I'm sure that is exactly what you intended when you bought it."

"Actually," he said thoughtfully, "you fill it out even more delightfully than I'd dreamed."

Victoria took "delightful" to be a euphemism for something else altogether, and quickly left the room. She didn't want to be subject to Robert's double-entendres. Even worse, she was terrified that he was beginning to wear her down. She hated to think what she might do if he tried to kiss her again.

She'd probably kiss him back. What a nightmare.

She scooted into her room, where her ruined dress was laying on her bed. The saltwater had left it stiff, and she had to beat and stretch the material until it was pliable enough for her to put it on. She left the blue nightgown on as a chemise; her own itched like the devil and had a piece of seaweed tangled up in the strap.

When she finally stepped in front of the mirror, she couldn't suppress a loud groan. She looked a fright. Her hair was beyond hope. There was no way she would be able to style it properly without washing the salt away, and her cursory inspection of the cottage hadn't unearthed any soap. Her dress was unbearably wrinkled, torn in four places that she could see—no, make that five, she realized as she inspected her hem. Still, it covered her up better than what she'd been wearing before.

And if she wasn't precisely looking her best for Robert—well, the man had up and abducted her. It served him right.

Robert, plain-spoken man that he was, made no attempt to gloss over the fact that her appearance was not up to her usual standards. "You look as if you've been attacked by dogs," he said when they crossed paths in the hall. He had also gotten dressed, but unlike Victoria he looked immaculate. She supposed that he kept a change of clothing here at the cottage so he wouldn't have to pack for trips like these.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Flattery will get you nowhere," and then continued past him down the stairs.

He followed her into the kitchen with a cheerful expression. "Is that so? Then what is the path to your heart? I happily accept any and all advice."

Victoria didn't even miss a beat before she said, "Food."

"Food? Really? That is all it will take to impress you?"

It was difficult to remain grumpy when he was being so jovial, but she tried her best. "It would certainly be a start." Then, as if to punctuate her sentence, her stomach let out a loud roar.

Robert grimaced. "I feel much the same way myself," he said, patting his midsection. He looked down at his belly. It looked flat, but it felt concave. Last night he'd been too cold to attempt to seduce Victoria; this morning he was too damned hungry.

He moved his gaze back to her face. She was looking at him expectantly, as if she'd been saying something to him and he hadn't been listening. "Er, were you speaking to me?" he asked.

She scowled and repeated, "I can't possibly go out looking like this."

He blinked, still chuckling to himself over the image of himself and Victoria—finally making love and then passing out from hunger in the middle of the act.

"Robert," she said impatiently, "will you or won't you go to town? We need food, and I need something to wear."

"Very well," he said, somehow grumbling and smiling at the same time. "I'll go. But I must demand payment."

"Are you mad?" she exclaimed, her voice rising halfway to a shriek. "First you abduct me, completely ignoring my wishes, then I nearly drown trying to save you, and now you have the nerve to tell me that I must pay to eat?"

One side of his mouth lifted into a lazy smile. "Just a kiss," he said. Then, before she had a chance to react, he pulled her against him and kissed her soundly. He had meant it to be a teasing kiss, a nothing-but-fun sort of kiss, but the minute his lips touched hers, he was captured by a hunger that far eclipsed anything his stomach had felt all morning. She was perfect in his arms, small and soft and warm and everything he'd ever dreamed a woman could be.

He touched his tongue to hers, marveling at the soft heat of it. She was yielding to him—no, she had already yielded, and now she was returning his affections.

Robert felt that kiss in his very soul. "You'll love me again," he whispered. And then he rested his chin on her head and just held her close. Sometimes that was enough. Sometimes just feeling her in his arms was all he needed. His body didn't race with desire, his loins didn't harden and throb. He just needed to hold her.

They stayed that way for a full minute. Then he pulled away and saw the wary confusion on her face. Before she could say something he didn't want to hear, he gave her a jaunty grin and said, "Your hair smells like seaweed."

That earned him a whack on the side of his head with an empty sugar sack she'd been holding. Robert only laughed, thankful that she hadn't been carrying a rolling pin.

About an hour after Robert left to go shopping, Victoria realized that they had both overlooked an important point. MacDougal had taken the carriage back to London. As far as she knew, there wasn't even a mount for Robert to ride into town. She hadn't inspected the property very carefully the day before, but she certainly hadn't seen any building in which one could stable a horse.

Victoria wasn't particularly perturbed that Robert would have to walk into town. It was a perfectly lovely day outside, with no sign of yesterday's storm, and the exercise would probably do him good. But she did wonder how he would be able to carry his purchases home. They were both famished—he would need to buy a lot of food. And, of course, she needed a new dress or two.

With a shake of her head she decided not to worry about it. Robert was nothing if not resourceful, and he loved to plan. She couldn't imagine that he wouldn't figure out how to solve this little dilemma.

She wandered aimlessly about the house, giving it a closer inspection than she'd been able to the day before. The cottage was charming, and she didn't understand how Robert could bear to live anywhere else. She supposed he was used to grander lodgings. Victoria let out a regretful sigh. A cottage such as this was all she would ever want. Neat, tidy, homey, with a beautiful view of the water. How could anyone want anything else?

Aware that she was growing maudlin, Victoria snapped herself back to attention and continued her inspection. She knew she was invading Robert's privacy by rifling through his drawers and cabinets, but she didn't feel particularly guilty about it. He had abducted her, after all. She had a few rights as the victim in this little scenario.

And, much as she didn't enjoy admitting it to herself, she knew that she was looking for pieces of herself. Had Robert saved memories of their courtship, mementos of their love? It was unrealistic to think that he would have moved them to this cottage even if he had, but she couldn't stop herself from looking.

She was falling in love with him again. He was wearing her down, just as he said he would. She wondered if there was any way to reverse the tide. She certainly didn't want to love him.

She headed back up to his bedroom and opened the door to what she assumed was his dressing room. In the corner was a tub, and in the tub—could it be? She looked a little more closely. Sure enough, stuck to the bottom of the tub was a half-melted bar of soap that someone—probably Robert—had forgotten to clean up. Victoria had never in her life been so thankful for someone else's lack of housekeeping skills. The last time she had tried to run her hand through her hair, it had gotten stuck there. Being able to wash the salt out was about the closest thing to heaven she could imagine.

Robert would surely be gone for several hours. She would have plenty of time to enjoy a hot bath. With a grunt of exertion, Victoria pulled the tub out of the dressing room and into Robert's room, where sunlight streamed through the windows. Then, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable at the thought of bathing in his private chamber, she pulled the tub down the hall to her room. She tried to pry the soap from the metal, but it felt as if it had been bonded. She decided to leave it. The hot water would probably loosen it up.

It took nearly half an hour and several trips up and down the stairs, but eventually Victoria had the tub full of steaming water. Just the sight of it had her shivering with anticipation. She stripped out of her clothing as fast as could be and stepped into the bathwater. It was hot enough to sting her skin, but it was wet and it was clean and it felt like heaven.

Victoria sighed contentedly as she slowly lowered herself into the metal tub. She watched as the white patches of salt that clung to her skin dissolved in the hot water, then she dunked under the surface to wet her hair. After quite a while of happy soaking, she used her left foot to nudge against the soap still stuck to the bottom.

It wouldn't move.

"Oh, come now," she muttered. "You've had a good twenty minutes." It occurred to her that she was talking to a bar of soap, but after what she'd been through in the past forty-eight hours, she thought she had a right to act a bit oddly if she pleased.

She switched to her right foot and pushed harder. Surely the thing would have loosened by now. "Move!" she ordered, jamming her heel up against the side of it. It was slick and slippery, and all that happened was that her foot slid right over the top.

"Oh, blast," she muttered, sitting up. She was going to have to use her hands to pry it loose. She dug her fingernails in and pulled. Then she got a better idea and twisted. Finally she felt the soap begin to move, and after a few more seconds of twisting and yanking, she had at least some of the bar in her hands.

"Aha!" she yelled, feeling triumphant even if her enemy was only a silly old bar of soap. "I win. I win. I win."

"Victoria!"

She froze.

"Victoria, to whom are you speaking?"

Robert. How on earth could he have traveled to town and back in such a short time? Not to mention do all of his shopping. He'd only been gone an hour. Or was it two?

"Just to myself!" she yelled back, stalling. Dear Lord, he was back, and she hadn't even washed her hair yet. Drat. She really wanted to wash her hair.

Robert's footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Don't you even want to know what I bought?"

There was nothing for it. She would have to come clean. Wincing at her mental pun, Victoria fairly screamed, "Don't come in here!"

The footsteps halted. "Victoria, is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm... I'm just..."

After a long beat, Robert said from just behind the door, "Do you have any plans to complete that sentence?"

"I'm taking a bath."

More silence, then, "I see."

Victoria gulped. "I would rather you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"See. Me, that is."

He let out a loud groan that Victoria heard right through the door and clear across the room. It was impossible not to think about him thinking about her in the tub, and—

"Do you need a towel?"

Victoria exhaled, more than thrilled that he'd interrupted her thoughts, which were taking her in a most dangerous direction. "No," she replied. "I have one here."

"How unfortunate," he muttered.

"I found it with the bed linens," she said, mostly because she felt as if she had to say something.

"Do you need soap?"

"It was stuck to the tub."

"Do you need food? I brought back a half dozen pasties."

Victoria's stomach rumbled, but she said, "I'll have one later, if you don't mind."

"Do you need anything?" He sounded almost desperate.

"No, not really, although—"

"Although what?" he said, very quickly. "What do you need? I'd be happy to bring it to you. Ecstatic. Anything to make you more comfortable."

"Did you happen to buy me a new dress? I'm going to need something to change into. I suppose I could put this one back on, but it's terribly itchy with the salt."

She heard him say, "Just one moment. Don't move. Don't go anywhere."

"As if I had anywhere to go like this," she said to herself, looking down at her naked body.

A moment later she heard Robert running up the hall. "I'm back!" he said. "I have your dress. I hope it fits."

"Anything would be an improvement over—" Victoria gasped as she saw the doorknob turning. "What are you doing?" she shrieked.

Mercifully the doorknob froze in place. She supposed even Robert knew when he was going too far. "Bringing you your dress," he said. But there was a hint of a question in his voice.

"Just open the door a few inches and drop it in," she instructed.

A moment of silence, and then: "I don't get to come inside?"

"No!"

"Oh." He sounded like a disappointed schoolboy.

"Robert, surely you didn't think I would allow you to come in here while I am bathing."

"I was hoping..." His words trailed off into a big heartfelt sigh.

"Just drop the dress inside."

He did as she asked.

"Now close the door."

"Would you like me to drop a pasty inside, too?"

Victoria judged the distance between the tub and the door. She would have to get out of the bath in order to get the food. Not an appealing concept, but then again her stomach was roaring at the thought of a meat pasty. "Could you scoot it across the floor?" she asked.

"Won't it get dirty?"

"I don't care." And she didn't. That's how hungry she was.

"Very well." His hand came into sight, about an inch above the floor. "In which direction?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"In which direction should I push the pasty? I wouldn't want to send it out of your reach."

Victoria thought that what should have been a very simple task was turning into a most complicated endeavor, and she wondered if he'd found some insidious peephole. Maybe he was stalling as he watched her. Maybe he could see her naked body. Maybe—

"Victoria?"

Then she thought of the scientific precision with which he approached everything he did. The crazy man probably did want to know which way to scoot the pasty. "I'm at about one o'clock/' she said, lifting her left hand from the tub and shaking it dry.

Robert's hand twisted slightly to the right, and he sent the pasty careening across the wood floor. It came to a halt when it smacked into the side of the metal tub. "Bull's eye!" Victoria called out. "You can close the door now."

Nothing.

"I said you can close the door now!" she said, her voice a little more stern.

Another heartfelt sigh, and then the door shut. "I'll just wait in the kitchen," he said, his voice small.

Victoria would have answered him, but her mouth was full.

Robert lowered himself onto a stool and let his head drop dejectedly onto the wooden kitchen table. First he'd been cold. Then he'd been hungry. But now—well, to be frank, now his body was in perfect working order, and Victoria was naked in a tub, and he was—

He groaned. He was not comfortable.

He busied himself in the kitchen, putting away some of the food he'd brought home. He wasn't accustomed to the chore, but he rarely brought many servants with him to the Ramsgate cottage, so he was a bit more at home here than he would have been at Castleford or in London. Besides, there wasn't much to unpack; he'd made arrangements for the shopowners to deliver most of his purchases. He'd only brought with him what was ready-made and could be eaten immediately.

Robert finished his chores by popping two rolls into the bread box, and he settled back down onto the stool, trying very hard not to imagine what Victoria was doing right then.

He wasn't successful, and he started feeling so warm he had to open a window.

"Keep your mind off her," he muttered. "No need to think about Victoria. There are millions of people on this planet, and she's just one of them. And there are a number of planets, too. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars..."

Robert ran out of planets in short order and, desperate to keep his mind on anything but Victoria, started in on the Linnaean system of taxonomy. "Kingdom, phylum, then..."

He paused. Was that a footstep he'd heard? No, he must have imagined it. He sighed, then resumed. "... class, order, family, and then... and then..." Damn it, what came next?

He started pounding the table with his fist in an attempt to jog his memory. "Damn, damn, damn," he said, punctuating each pound. He was well aware that he getting a bit too upset over his inability to remember a simple scientific term, but the task had taken on almost desperate proportions. Victoria was upstairs in the tub, and—

"Genus!" he fairly yelled out. "Genus and then species!"

"I beg your pardon?"

He whipped his head around. Victoria was standing in the doorway, her hair still damp. The dress he'd bought her was a hair too long and dragged on the floor, but other than that it fit her quite well. He cleared his throat. "You look—" He had to clear his throat again. "You look fetching."

"Thank you very much," she said automatically. "But what were you yelling about?"

"Nothing."

"I could have sworn you were saying something about the genius of the three seas."

He stared at her, certain that his loins had sapped some of the energy from his brain, because he truly had no idea what she was talking about. "What does that mean?" he asked.

"I don't know. Why did you say it?"

"I didn't say it. I said, 'genus and species.'"

"Oh." She paused. "That would explain everything, I suppose, if I knew what it meant."

"It means..." He looked up. She had an expectant and slightly amused expression on her face. "It's a scientific term."

"I see," she said slowly. "And was there any reason you were shouting it at the top of your lungs?"

"Yes," he said, focusing on her mouth. "Yes, there was."

"Was there?"

He took a step toward her, and then another. "Yes. You see, I was trying to keep my mind off something."

She nervously wetted her lips and blushed. "Oh, I see."

He moved ever closer. "But it didn't work."

"Not even a little bit?" she squeaked.

He shook his head, so close to her now that his nose nearly brushed hers. "I still want you." He shrugged apologetically. "I can't help it."

She did nothing but stare at him. Robert decided that was better than an outright rejection and moved his hand to the small of her back. "I searched the door for a peephole," he said.

She didn't look surprised when she whispered, "Did you find one?"

He shook his head. "No. But I have a very good imagination. Not"—he leaned forward and brushed the lightest of kisses onto her mouth—"as good as the real thing, I'm afraid, but it was enough to lead to my current state of extreme and prolonged discomfort."

"Discomfort?" she echoed, her eyes growing wide and unfocused.

"Mmm-hmm." He kissed her again, another light touch intended to arouse, not invade.

Again she made no move to pull away. Robert's hopes soared, as did his arousal. But he held his desire in check, sensing that she needed to be seduced by words as well as actions. He touched her cheek as he whispered, "May I kiss you?"

She looked startled that he'd asked. "You just did."

He smiled lazily. "Technically I suppose that this"—he brushed another of those feather light kisses across her mouth—"qualifies as a kiss. But what I want to do to you is so different it seems a crime against words to call them the same thing."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

Her curiosity thrilled him. "I think you know," he said, smiling. "But just to refresh your memory..."

He slanted his mouth against hers and kissed % her deeply, nibbling on her lips and exploring her with his tongue. "That is more along the lines of what I intended."

He could sense her being swept away on thetide of his passion. Her pulse was racing and her breath was coming faster and faster. Beneath his hand he could feel her skin burning through the thin fabric of her dress. Her head fell back as he kissed her neck, trailing hot fire along the line of her throat.

She was melting. He could feel it. His hands moved down and curved around her backside, pulling her firmly against him. There was no denying his arousal, and when she didn't move immediately away, he took it as a sign of acquiescence. "Come upstairs with me," he whispered in her ear. "Come and let me love you now."

She didn't quite freeze in his arms, but she did go uncommonly still.

"Victoria?" His whisper had grown harsh.

"Don't ask me to do this," she said, turning If her face away. He cursed under his breath.

"How long are you going to make me wait?"

She didn't say anything. His grip on her tightened. "How long?"

"You're not being fair to me. You know I can't simply... It's just not right."

He let go of her so abruptly that she stumbled. "Nothing has ever been more right, Victoria.You just don't want to see it." He looked at her for one last hungry moment, feeling too angry and rejected to care about her anguished expression. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.