The wind whispered across her face, and Victoria took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air. “If I let him love me, will he break my heart again?”
The night sky made no response.
“If I let myself love him, can I still be my own person?”
This time a star twinkled, but Victoria wasn't sure how to interpret that gesture. She stood at the window for several minutes more, content to let the breeze caress her skin. Finally exhaustion claimed her and, fully clothed, she climbed into bed, not even realizing that she was still clutching the blue nightgown Robert had given her.
Ten feet away Robert stood at his own window, silently contemplating what he had overheard. The wind had carried Victoria's words to him, and, much as it went against his scientific nature, he couldn't help but believe that some benevolent spirit had pushed that wind along. His mother. Or maybe Victoria's. Or perhaps both, working together from the heavens to give their children another chance at happiness.
He had been so close to giving up hope, but then he'd been given a gift more precious than gold—a brief glimpse into Victoria's heart.
Robert raised his eyes to the sky and thanked the moon.
Chapter 16
T he next morning was almost surreal.
Victoria didn't wake up feeling particularly refreshed. She still felt drained, both emotionally and physically, and she was just as confused as ever about her feelings for Robert. After she had washed her face and smoothed out her clothing, she knocked softly on his door. There was no answer. She decided to enter anyway, but she did so with a certain degree of apprehension. She well remembered his fit of temper the night before. Nibbling on her lower lip, she pushed open the door.
Only to be frightened out of her wits by MacDougal, who was dozing comfortably on Robert's bed.
“Good Lord!” she managed to say after she let out a shriek of surprise. “What are you doing here? And where is Lord Macclesfield?”
MacDougal smiled at her in a friendly manner as he rose to his feet. “He's seeing to the horses.”
“Isn't that your job?”
The Scotsman nodded. “His lordship is rather particular about his horseflesh.”
“I know,” Victoria said, her mind traveling back seven years to when Robert had—unsuccessfully—tried to teach her to ride.
“Sometimes he likes to inspect the animals himself. Usually when he's thinking about something.”
Probably how to most effectively flog me, Victoria thought. There was a beat of silence, and then she said, “Is there any particular reason why you came up to his room?”
“He wanted me to escort you to breakfast.”
“Ah, yes,” she said with a slight tinge of bitterness. “Keep the prisoner guarded at all times.”
“Actually he mentioned something about your being accosted last night. He didn't want you to feel uncomfortable—a woman alone and all that.”
Victoria smiled tightly, duly chastened. “Shall we be off, then? I am famished.”
“Do you have anything you would like me to take down for you, my lady?”
Victoria was of half a mind to correct him and tell him that she wasn't anybody's lady, but she just didn't have the energy. Robert had probably already told his servant that they were as good as married anyway. “No,” she replied. “His lordship didn't give me very much time to pack, if you recall.”
MacDougal nodded. “Verra well, then.”
Victoria took a couple of steps toward the door, and then she remembered the blue nightgown lying on the bed in the next room. She ought to leave it behind, she thought spitefully. She ought to have torn it into shreds the night before. But that artfully cut piece of silk gave her an odd sort of solace, and she didn't want to abandon it.
And, she rationalized, if she did, Robert would probably come up to retrieve it before they departed.
“Just one moment, MacDougal,” she said, dashing back to the adjoining room. She bundled up the nightgown and tucked it under her arm.
She and MacDougal made their way downstairs. The Scotsman steered her toward a private dining room, where he said Robert would meet her for breakfast. Victoria was surprisingly hungry, and she put her hand against her stomach in a vain attempt to stop it from grumbling. Good manners dictated that she wait for Robert, but she doubted that any etiquette book had ever addressed the particularities of her uncommon situation.
Victoria waited for a minute or so, and then, when her stomach let out its third grumble, she decided not to bother with good manners, and reached for the plate of toast.