Victoria did not use a mounting block. Instead, she reached up to hold the reins and saddle, lifting her foot high enough to enter the stirrup to pull herself up.
It was an impressive mount that even he sometimes found hard to manage. "Shall we be off?" he asked her, gaining his own seat.
"Where are we going? Is there anywhere particular on the estate you wish to show me?" she asked him, her snug riding jacket and the white shirt beneath accentuating her figure. She looked simply perfect, and his stomach clenched with nerves at having her alone for an hour or so.
"There are several fields that give a good prospect over the house and hedge groves if you wish to jump."
"I would enjoy that, thank you," she said to him, all politeness.
Albert led the way out of the yard, heading up toward the western side of the property and the highest points on his land. They rode in silence for a time, not because they were lost in their own thoughts, he at least, but because he could not make his tongue form the right words to say anything to Victoria.
He sighed, hating that he was unable to voice all that he wanted to her.
"Now that we're to be here for some weeks, I hope that you will let me continue our lessons on gaining you a suitable wife. A woman who will inspire sweet sonnets from your hands." She cast him a curious look. "Do you write at all, my lord? A way to a woman's heart is sometimes through the written word."
He glanced at her, knowing he could write several sonnets, sweet notes, and pages-long letters to Victoria if only she would let him. Words that would sweep her off her delicate feet.
"I do enjoy writing and reading. Are you a reader, Victoria?" he asked, wanting to move the subject away from him.
A small, knowing smile lifted her lips as she looked ahead. "I love to read. Gothic romances are my favorite."
At the mention of the genre that he wrote, Albert schooled his features lest she think he'd swallowed his own tongue.
"Any in particular?" Albert prayed she hadn't read his novels. The thought of the woman he wanted to be his wife having read his work sent a whole new set of emotions roiling through him. Fear, pride, but most of all the concern that she hated his books. Dear God, what if she loathed the author him. However, would he move forward with their plan knowing all the while that she hated his books? They were like extensions of him—his book children.
"I adore all the works by Elbert Retsek, but especially the third book in his Beuroguard series. The captain is swoon-worthy while also being quite the scary, forceful character. I would love to meet Mr. Retsek one day, but I doubt I ever will. What with him being such a recluse and wishing to remain anonymous."
Albert listened to her and fought not to crow. She liked his books. Lady Victoria Worthingham was an enthusiast of his work. Such truths were worthy of a few whoops, and arm waving. Instead, Albert smiled, agreeing with her wholeheartedly.
"I enjoy Mr. Retsek's work also," he admitted. As the Mr. Retsek, how could he not agree with Victoria's claim? It pleased him she enjoyed his writing. He strove to make each book better, more action-filled, suspenseful, and darker than the last, so to hear a reader say his books were some of their favorites warmed his soul.
"If only he would come out of the darkness and into the light. Share the joy he gives his readers and relish the accolades that he is worthy of. Do you not think?" she asked him, watching him keenly.
Albert wished he could step into the light as she said, but he knew he could not. It took all his consideration and effort merely to keep a conversation going with Victoria. The idea of going into a bookstore, of talking to readers, and God forbid, reading aloud from his words sent a shiver of horror down his spine. He was incapable of such an act.
"Maybe one day he will. We will both have to live in hope." As much as such a thought scared him, he wished he could be more outgoing and easy about people. He wasn't sure why he was the way he was, but he had to think some of his troubles stemmed from his father's bullying to both him and his mama. His father's death had been a blessing in the end. His years of verbal abuse had ended when he'd breathed his last breath.
"We shall have to, I agree."
Victoria was quiet a moment as they walked up toward the top of a hill that gave a great prospective of the house. "Do you think, should the opportunity arise, that you could ride in Hyde Park with a lady of your choice? Your conversation with me seems very easy. I think that if you relaxed, you could be just so with someone else."
Not that he wanted to be so with anyone other than the lady he was riding with right now. How to make her see him as a potential suitor when he found the words so hard to say. He supposed he could always write her a sonnet. A love letter...
"I would find it difficult, especially if she showed little interest in what I had to say or found my company boring. And anyway," he said, remembering her words from yesterday’s lesson. “I thought love notes were frowned upon in society?”
“Society does not need to know everything.” She wiggled her brows before taking in his lands with pleasure. "And you are not at all boring, Albert," she declared, sending him a scolding look. "Any lady would be overjoyed to have your affections."
You are not one of them, he wanted to add to his chagrin.
He doubted that many women even knew of his existence, marquess or
