Frustration shot through him that after such a kiss, a soul-shattering one such as the one they shared, that it would be termed a lesson. He stood mute for a moment, unable to form the words to reply.
"We should probably return to Rosedale." Victoria walked over to her horse and gained her seat without help.
Albert shook himself free of the melancholy that threatened his good mood and mounted too. "We shall go this way, it is a shorter way back, but the view is just as good as the one here on the hilltop."
She nodded, turning her horse and starting down the hill. Albert spun around in his saddle and noticed the groom waiting discreetly behind them, no sign on his visage that he judged them over what they had just done.
Which, by the looks of Victoria, was nothing at all. How on earth was he supposed to court her, even if she were not aware of such things, if she was so adamant that marriage was not an option she wished to consider.
He didn't want any other lady whom she would train him to woo. He wanted her, yet even he knew that she would not be an easy woman to win. She would take all his effort, his patience, and the wooing skills he possessed.
Which, unfortunately, were not many.
He kicked his mount on, following close behind Victoria as they snaked their way down the hill back to Rosedale. His mind a whirr of thoughts on how to win a lady who did not want to be won.
Chapter 12
Victoria lay in bed later that night, staring at the ornate painting on the ceiling. She had left her curtains open this balmy evening on some of her windows, allowing the cooling breeze off the lake to enter her room.
Her mind would not settle, and it was no wonder after the kiss she shared with Albert earlier that day. She had not particularly known how to act after it and so had dismissed the kiss as a good first attempt at teaching him to be a rake.
She'd never kissed a gentleman like that before, not even her husband while he was bedding her. Could they be soft and slow, a seduction of the senses? Or deep and demanding, taking her breath away and leaving her witless such as the one they shared? Paul’s kisses had been awful, nothing like Albert’s.
Victoria sighed. Albert had kissed her as if she were precious, as if he wanted to kiss her, not for teaching purposes, but because he wanted her.
She thumped the bed with her hands, hating that she did not know which one it was for Albert. Not that she should be mulling over their interlude at all, she reminded herself. She wasn't marrying Albert or any gentleman. The kiss was nothing special, and she was being a fool giving herself ideas that it was for Albert at least.
At this rate she was never going to fall to sleep. Throwing back the bedding, she reached for her dressing gown at the end of her bed and started for the door. A nice, hot cup of milk would do her. She could always ring a maid, but the house had been abed for hours now, and it would not be fair to wake everyone just because she could not sleep.
Victoria checked the hall, and not seeing anyone about, used her candle to make her way to the servant's stairs, knowing these stairs would come out directly across from the kitchens.
This time of night, she encountered no one about. The oven illuminated the kitchen, its bright, burning coals giving her light. She placed her candle on the long, wooden table and turned to the large dresser, finding the milk covered with a cloth to keep out any bugs.
She poured some into the pot, enough for a cup, and placed it on the top of the stove. A stool sat close by, and Victoria sat down, waiting for her milk to warm.
"I did not think a duke's daughter would know her way around the kitchen."
The male voice, familiar and welcome as the cup of milk encircled her, and Victoria stood, pushing down her absurd, enthusiastic reaction to Albert's appearance at the door.
That he was dressed in tan breeches and a shirt, his cravat untied and hanging loosely about his neck, only made him appear more handsome than she needed to think him.
He was not for her. No man was, never again would she be played a fool by a gentleman. Paul had cured her of any ideas of marriage after his treatment of her. She was an heiress, a widow who could direct her own life, go and do whatever she pleased whenever it pleased her. She did not need a husband tagging along, or worse, telling her she could not go or do such things.
But, oh dear, he did look very handsome, all disheveled and rumpled. His hair appeared like he had run his hand through it several times since she saw him at dinner. Was he also thinking of the kiss, of what a mistake it may have been to tumble over?
Victoria calmed her worries, determined to be as confident and professional as she possibly could around him. He was her friend. They had an agreement. She would help him gain a wife, he would tell her he was the author, Elbert Retsek, marry another and she would go home with her mama and start her widowhood in earnest.
"I could not sleep and hoped a glass of milk might help me. Would you like one?" she offered.
He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. "No, thank you. I heard a noise on my way to bed and thought to come and investigate. I'm glad that we're alone. I want to talk to you about the kiss this afternoon."
Victoria willed the heat to dissipate from her cheeks at the mention of their embrace. She blamed it on the fire
