“What shall I say to him?”
“Whatever you like.”
Harriet pursed her lips. “I am not certain that this is a sensible plan.”
Victoria halted in her tracks. “Harriet, I am begging you.”
With a loud sigh and a dramatic shrug of her shoulders, the younger girl pushed open the door to the dress shop and stepped outside.
“Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant,” Victoria whispered, dashing through the back room. She pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders and slipped through the back door.
Freedom! Victoria felt almost giddy.
She was aware that she was enjoying herself perhaps a touch too much; there was something incredibly satisfying about outwitting Robert. Eventually she would have to face her emotions and deal with the fact that the man who had broken her heart twice was back, but for now beating him at his own game would be enough.
“Ha!” she said, grinning like an idiot at the brick wall of a neighboring building. All she had to do was make her way down the rest of the alleyway, take a left, and she'd be out of his clutches. At least for today.
Victoria scurried down the back steps to the shop. But when her foot touched the cobblestones of the alley, she sensed a presence.
Robert! It had to be.
But as she turned she saw not Robert but a huge black-haired man with a frightening scar running down his cheek.
Then he reached for her.
Victoria dropped her satchel and screamed.
“Hush up, lassie,” the villain said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
Victoria saw no reason to believe him, and she delivered a swift kick to his shin before taking off and trying to reach the end of the alleyway, where she prayed she could disappear into the London crowds.
But he was fast, or maybe she just didn't know how to kick hard enough, because he caught her around her waist and hauled her up until her feet no longer touched the ground. She thrashed, screamed, grunted; she wasn't about to let this thug carry her off without inflicting a bit of pain in the process.
She managed to land a sound whack on the side of his head, and he dropped her, letting out a loud expletive in the process. Victoria scrambled to her feet, but she'd only gained a few yards when she felt her assailant's hand close around some of the loose fabric of her cloak.
And then she heard the words she dreaded most.
“Your lordship!” the villain bellowed.
Lordship? Victoria's heart sank. She should have known.
The large man yelled out again. “If you dinna get yourself around the corner, I'll quit before you can dismiss me again!”
Victoria slumped, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see Robert's satisfied smile as he rounded the corner.
Chapter 12
B y the time Victoria opened her eyes, Robert was standing in front of her. “Are they coming after you?” he demanded.
“Who?” “Them. The women,” he said, sounding very much as if he were referring to a new breed of insect.
Victoria tried to yank her arm from his grasp. “They're still drinking tea.”
“Thank the Lord.”
“Your aunt invited me to come live with her, by the way.”
Robert muttered something under his breath.
Silence reigned for a moment, and then Victoria said, “I really must be getting home, so if you would please release my arm…” She smiled tightly, determined to be polite if it killed her.
He crossed his arms, spread his feet until they were shoulder distance apart, and said, “I'm not going anywhere without you.”
“Well, I'm not going anywhere with you, so I really don't see—”
“Victoria, do not strain my temper.”
Her eyes bugged out. “What did you just say?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said!” She smacked his shoulder with the heel of her hand. “How dare you even presume to tell me not to strain your temper. You sent a thug after me! A villain. I could have been injured.”
The burly man who had grabbed her bristled. “Milord,” he said, “I really must interrupt.”
Robert's lips twitched. “Victoria, MacDougal objects to being called a villain. I believe you have hurt his feelings.”
Victoria just stared at him, quite unable to believe the direction the conversation had taken.
“I was most gentle with her,” MacDougal said.
“Victoria,” Robert said. “Perhaps an apology is in order.”
“An apology!” she screeched, having just been pushed a mile past her boiling point. “An apology! I think not.”