“Absolutely.” He smiled over at her, sat down, and patted the ground next to him. “There is not need to worry. My reputation is not so very black. More of a charcoal gray.”
She giggled again, causing Robert to feel as if he must be King of the Universe.
“My name is actually Miss Lyndon,” she said, sitting beside him.
He leaned back, resting on his elbows. “Miss Big Trouble Lyndon, I presume?”
“My father certainly thinks so,” she replied pertly. Then her face fell. “I really should go. If he caught me here with you…”
“Nonsense,” Robert said, suddenly desperate to keep her there beside him. “There is no one about.”
She sat back, her manner still somewhat hesitant. After a long pause she finally said, “Is your name truly Robert?”
“Truly.”
“I imagine the son of a marquess would have a long list of names.”
“I'm afraid so.”
She sighed dramatically. “Poor me. I have but two.”
“And they are?”
She looked sideways at him, the expression in her eyes most definitely flirtatious. Robert's heart soared.
“Victoria Mary,” she replied. “And you? If I may be so bold to ask.”
“You may. Robert Phillip Arthur Kemble.”
“You forgot your title,” she reminded him.
He leaned toward her and whispered, “I didn't want to scare you.”
“Oh, I'm not that easily frightened.”
“Very well. Earl of Macclesfield, but it's only a courtesy title.”
“Ah, yes,” Victoria said. “You don't get a real title until your father dies. Aristocrats are an odd lot.”
He raised his brows. “Such sentiments could probably still get one arrested in some parts of the country.”
“Oh, but not here,” she said with a sly smile. “Not on your land, by your lake.”
“No,” he said, staring into her blue eyes and finding heaven. “Certainly not here.”
Victoria appeared not to know how to react tothe pure hunger in his gaze, and she looked away. There was a full minute of silence before Robert spoke again.
“Lyndon. Hmmm.” He cocked his head in thought. “Why is that name so familiar?”
“Papa is the new vicar of Bellfield,” Victoria replied. “Perhaps your father mentioned him.”
Robert's father, the Marquess of Castleford, was obsessed with his title and his lands, and frequently lectured his son on the importance of both. Robert had no doubt that the new vicar's arrival had been mentioned as a part of one of the marquess's daily sermons. He also had no doubt that he hadn't been listening.
He leaned toward Victoria interestedly. “And do you enjoy life here in Bellfield?”
“Oh, yes. We were in Leeds before this. I do miss my friends, but it's much lovelier in the country.”
He paused. “Tell me, who is your mysterious Robert?”
She cocked her head. “Are you truly interested?”
“Truly.” He covered her small hand with his. “I should like to know his name, since it appears I may have to do him bodily harm if he ever again attempts to meet you alone in the woods.”
“Oh, stop.” She laughed. “Don't be silly.”
Robert lifted her hand to his lips and placed a fervent kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I'm deadly serious.”
Victoria made a feeble attempt to pull her hand back, but her heart wasn't in it. There was something about the way this young lord was staring at her, his eyes flashing with an intensity that scared and excited her. “It was Robert Beechcombe, my lord.”
“And does he have designs on you?” he murmured.
“Robert Beechcombe is eight years old. We were to go fishing. I suppose he bowed out. He did say that his mother might have some chores for him to do.”
Robert suddenly laughed. “I am beyond relieved, Miss Lyndon. I detest jealousy. It's a most unpleasant emotion.”
“I-I can't imagine what it is you would feel jealous about,” Victoria stammered. “You have made no promises to me.”
“But I intend to.”
“And I have made none to you,” she said, her tone finally growing firm.
“A situation I will have to rectify,” he said with a sigh. He lifted her hand again, this time kissing her knuckles. “For example, I should very much like your promise that you will never again even so much as look at another man.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Victoria said, utterly bewildered.