“Yes, you have said as much.”
“I will be lucky if she only dismisses me. I am sure she is fantasizing about some other more painful form of torture even as we speak.”
“Chin up, Torie. It's our turn.” Robert took her arm and led her into the dining room, where they took their places. The other guests looked startled to see Robert at the end of the table. He smiled blandly and said, “Lady Hollingwood granted me a boon. Miss Lyndon is an old childhood friend, and I wanted to sit with her.”
The other guests nodded furiously, clearly relieved to be provided with an explanation for this egregious breach of etiquette.
“Miss Lyndon,” barked a portly middle-aged man. “I do not believe we have met. Who are your people?”
“My father is the vicar in Bellfield, in Kent.”
“Very close to Castleford,” Robert added. “We were children together.”
Victoria barely suppressed a snort. Children, indeed. They had done things no child should do.
While she was sitting there fuming, Robert introduced her to the people at their end of the table. The man on Victoria's left was Captain Charles Pays, of His Majesty's navy. Victoria thought he was rather handsome in a non-Robert sort of way. The portly man was Mr. Thomas Whistledown, and the lady to his right was Miss Lucinda Mayford, who, Victoria was quickly informed by Captain Pays, was a great heiress looking to snag a title. And finally, across from Robert was Mrs. William Happerton, a widow who had wasted no time in instructing Robert to call her Celia.
Victoria rather thought that Mrs. Happerton was looking at Robert just a trifle too intently, which seemed reason enough for Victoria to turn her attention to Captain Pays. Not, she reasoned, that she was the least bit jealous. Still, there seemed some justice in it, and it required that she turn her back on Robert, which was appealing in and of itself.
“Tell me, Captain Pays,” she said with a smile, “have you been in the navy very long?”
“Four years, Miss Lyndon. It is a dangerous life, but I enjoy it.”
“If you enjoy it so much,” Robert cut in, “why the devil aren't you on the continent doing your job?”
Seething, Victoria turned to Robert and said, “Captain Pays is in the navy, which implies that he serves on a boat. It would be quite difficult to steer a boat on the continent, my lord. Boats tend to require water.” And then, while everyone was gaping at her for speaking to an earl as if he were a lackwit, she added, “Besides, I wasn't aware that you were included in our conversation.”
Miss Mayford choked so hard on her soup that Mr. Whistledown was moved to whack her on the back. He looked as if he enjoyed the endeavor.
Victoria turned back to Captain Pays. “You were saying…”
He blinked, clearly uncomfortable with the way Robert was glowering at him over Victoria's head. “I was?”
“Yes,” she said, trying to sound like a sweet, gentle lady. She soon discovered, however, that it was difficult to sound sweet and gentle through clenched teeth. “I would love to hear more about what you do.”
Robert was having similar problems with his temper. He was not finding Victoria's flirtations with the handsome captain amusing. It didn't matter that he knew she was doing it to rile him—her plan was working like a dream. It left him unpleasantly jealous, and what he really wanted to do was fling a forkful of peas at Captain Pays.
He probably would have done it, too, if they weren't still on the soup course. Instead he stabbed at the soup with his spoon, but it didn't offer much resistance and thus did nothing to reduce his tension.
He looked over at Victoria again. Her back was resolutely turned to him. He cleared his throat.
She didn't move.
He cleared his throat again.
If anything, she leaned even closer to Pays.
Robert looked down and watched his knuckles grow white from gripping his spoon too hard. He didn't want Victoria, but he damn well didn't want anyone else to have her.
Well, that was not entirely true. He wanted her. Badly. He just didn't want to want her. He forced himself to remember every humiliating and pathetic moment of her betrayal. She was the worst sort of adventuress.
And still he wanted her.
He groaned.
“Is aught amiss?” inquired the merry widow from across the table.
Robert swung his head around to face Mrs. Happerton. She had been making eyes at him all night, and he had half a mind to take her up on her unspoken offer. She was certainly attractive enough, although she'd probably be more appealing if her hair were darker. Black, to be precise. Like Victoria's.