“—and you love me,” Robert interrupted, looking quite pleased to have finally gotten a word in edgewise.
“I most certainly do not!”
“Victoria,” he said in an irritatingly pacifying tone, “you will always love me.”
Her mouth fell open. “You are mad.”
He swept into a courtly bow and raised her limp hand to his lips. “I have never been saner than I am at this very moment.”
Victoria's breath caught in her throat. Fragments of memory flashed through her mind, and she was seventeen again. Seventeen, utterly in love, and desperate to be kissed. “No,” she said, choking on her words. “No. You are not going to do this to me again.”
His eyes burned into hers. “Victoria, I love you.”
She wrenched her hand away. “I can't listen to this.” And then she ran back into the shop.
Robert watched her retreating form and sighed, wondering why he was so surprised that she hadn't fallen into his arms and passionately declared her undying love for him. Of course she was going to be angry with him. Furious. He had been so insane with worry and so racked with guilt that he hadn't for a moment stopped to think how she might react to his sudden reappearance in her life.
He didn't have time to ponder this any further, however, because his aunt came storming out of the dress shop.
“What,” she screeched, “did you say to that poor girl? Don't you think you've done enough to her for one day?”
Robert impaled his aunt with a glare. Really, all of this interference was getting to be most annoying. “I told her that I love her.”
That seemed to take some of the air out of her sails. “You did?”
Robert didn't even bother to nod.
“Well, whatever you said, don't say it again.”
“You want me to tell her that I don't love her?”
His aunt planted her hands on her ample hips. “She is very upset.”
Robert had had just about enough of female meddling. “Damn it, so am I.”
Mrs. Brightbill drew back and placed an affronted hand on her chest. “Robert Kemble, did you just curse in my presence?”
“I have spent the last seven years utterly miserable because of a stupid misunderstanding propagated by a pair of goddamn interfering fathers. Frankly, Aunt Brightbill, your offended sensibilities are not high on my list of priorities just now.”
“Robert Kemble, I have never been more insulted—”
“—in your entire life.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.
“—in my entire life. And I don't care if you are an earl. I'm going to advise that poor, poor, dear of a girl not to marry you.” With a loud harrumph, Mrs. Brightbill turned on her heel and stomped back into the dress shop.
“Hens!” Robert yelled at the door. “All of you! You're nothing but a bunch of hens!”
“Begging your pardon, milord,” said the groom who'd been leaning against the side of the carriage, “but I don't think it's such a bonny time to be a rooster.”
Robert turned a withering glare on the man. “MacDougal, if you weren't so bloody good with the horses—”
“I know, I know, you'd have thrown me out years ago.”
“There is always today,” Robert growled.
MacDougal smiled with the confidence of a man who has become more friend than servant. “Did you notice how quickly she said she didna love you?”
“I noticed,” Robert growled.
“Just wanted to let you know. In case you didna notice.”
Robert whipped his head around. “You do realize that you're rather impertinent for a servant.”
“It's why you keep me on, my lord.”
Robert knew it was true, but he didn't much feel like admitting it just then, so he turned his attention back to the storefront. “You can barricade yourselves all you want,” he yelled, waving his fist in the air. “I'm not leaving!”
“What did he say?” Mrs. Brightbill asked, nursing her bruised feelings with her seventh cup of tea.
“He said he's not leaving,” Harriet replied.
“I could have told you that,” Victoria muttered.
“More tea, please!” Mrs. Brightbill said, waving her now empty cup in the air. Katie hurried over with more of the steaming beverage. The older lady drained the cup and then stood, smoothing her skirts with her hands. “If you'll all excuse me,” she announced to the room at large. Then she toddled off to the retiring room.
“Madame's going to have to buy another chamber pot,” Katie muttered.
Victoria shot her a disapproving look. She'd been trying to educate the girl in manners and deportment for several weeks now. Still, it was a sign of her jangled nerves that she replied, “No more tea. Not another drop for any of you.”
Harriet looked up with an owlish expression and set her cup firmly down.
“This is insanity!” Victoria announced. “He has us trapped.”
“Actually,” Harriet said, “he only has you trapped. I could leave at any time, and he probably wouldn't notice.”
“Oh, he'd notice,” Victoria muttered. “He notices everything. I've never met a more stubborn, disgustingly organized—”
“I'm sure that's quite enough, dear,” Madame Lambert cut in, aware that her shopgirl might be insulting her clientele. “After all, his lordship is Miss Brightbill's cousin.”
“Oh, don't stop on my account,” Harriet said enthusiastically. “I am enjoying myself immensely.”
“Harriet!” Victoria suddenly exclaimed.