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 inspected 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?