Everything and the Moon

by Julia Quinn

  She sighed. “No, I don't doubt you. You have been most enthusiastic.”

  There was a long silence. Robert watched her as she set her mug down on the bedside table and rubbed her hands together. “You're still cold, aren't you?” he asked.

  She nodded, pulling her legs toward her body to conserve her heat.

  “Get into the bed,” he said.

  Her head swiveled slowly in his direction. “Surely you jest.”

  “We will both be warmer if we pool the heat from our bodies.”

  To his surprise, she laughed. “I had no idea you'd grown so creative, Robert.”

  “I am not making this up. You know that I studied the sciences extensively at university. The dynamics of heat was one of my favorite subjects.”

  “Robert, I refuse to compromise my—”

  “Oh, come now, Torie, you couldn't possibly compromise yourself any further.” Wrong thing to say, he decided, once he saw the stricken expression on her face. “What I meant to say,” he continued, “is that if anyone learns you have spent the night here with me, they will assume the worst. It doesn't matter whether or not we behave with propriety. No one will care.”

  “I will care.”

  “Victoria, I am not going to seduce you. I couldn't even if I tried. My body is so damned cold—trust me, I'm not exactly in optimum working order.”

  “You're still cold?” she asked.

  He caught himself just before he smiled. Of course! Victoria wouldn't snuggle in bed with him to warm herself, but she was bighearted enough to do it for his sake. “Freezing,” he said, and then he clattered his teeth together a few times for effect.

  “And my crawling into bed will help you get warmer?” She looked dubious.

  He nodded, able to keep a sincere expression on his face because he wasn't technically lying. He would be warmer with the heat of another body in the bed beside him.

  “And I'll be warmer, too?” She let out a shiver.

  His eyes narrowed. “You have been lying to me, haven't you? You're still freezing. You have been running around the house tending to my needs without a thought to your own wellbeing.” He scooted over a few inches, then reached out from under the covers. The blankets slipped, baring his firmly muscled chest.

  “Robert!”

  His hand closed around her bare foot. “My God!” he exclaimed. “You're colder than I am.”

  “It's really just my feet. The floorboards—”

  “Now!” he roared.

  Victoria scurried under the blankets. Robert's arm wrapped around her and hauled her onto his side of the bed.

  “I'm sure this isn't necessary!” Victoria protested.

  “Oh, it's necessary.”

  Victoria gulped as he pulled her closer. Her back was pressed up against his front, and the only thing between their bare skin was a thin layer of silk. She wasn't entirely certain how she'd ended up in this position. Robert had somehow manipulated her without her even realizing it. “I'm still cold,” she said peevishly.

  When he spoke, his words were hot against her ear. “Don't worry. We've all night.”

  Victoria elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.

  “Ow!” Robert lurched backward and rubbed his midsection. “What was that for?”

  “‘We've all night,’” she mimicked. “Really, Robert, you're most insulting. I am doing you a favor by—”

  “I know.”

  “—lying here next to you, and—” She looked up. “What did you say?”

  “I said, ‘I know.’ You are doing me a wondrous favor. I am feeling warmer already.”

  That took some of the wind out of her sails, and all she could think to say was, “Grmmph.” Not, she realized, her wittiest hour.

  “Your feet, however, are still icicles.”

  Victoria grimaced. “They do radiate the cold, don't they?”

  “One cannot radiate cold,” he said, suddenly sounding very academic. “Cold objects suck in heat from the surrounding air, which makes it feel as if they are radiating cold, but in actuality one can only radiate heat.”

  “Oh,” Victoria said, mostly just so that he would think she was listening.

  “It's a common misconception.”

  That appeared to be the end of the conversation, which left Victoria right where she had started—lying in bed next to a man who was not wearing any clothing. And she in her scandalously low-cut nightgown—it was quite beyond anything. Victoria tried to pull herself at least a few inches away from him, but his arm, while cold, seemed admirably strong. Robert clearly had no intention of letting her scoot to the other side of the bed.

  Victoria ground her teeth together so hard she thought her jaw might snap. “I am going to sleep,” she declared firmly, then shut her eyes.

  “Really?” Robert drawled, and it was clear from the tone of his voice that he didn't think she would be able to.

  “Really,” she said, eyes still closed. She doubted she'd fall asleep anytime soon, but she'd always been really good at faking it. “Good night.”

  Twenty minutes later Robert looked down at her in surprise. Her eyelashes rested lightly on her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell in an even, gentle rhythm. “I can't believe she nodded off,” he muttered. He didn't want to relinquish his hold on her, but his arm was falling asleep, so he rolled over with a loud sigh and shut his eyes.

  A few inches away, Victoria finally opened her eyes and allowed herself a small smile.

  Chapter 18

  When 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 ins
pected 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 head 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.

  The 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 ha
ve 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.”