With some alarm, he realized she had stopped speaking and was staring at his mouth as well. Her tongue flicked out, licking her lips, and his body grew taut.
He read the question in hers, surprise even. Albert cleared his throat, breaking the spell between them. "With you home and Penworth due to return, may I invite you all over for dinner one evening at Rosedale? I admit my staff and their exemplary cooking abilities are poorly underutilized."
She smiled, and the action made her appear more beautiful than she already was. Albert had always thought Victoria the prettiest of the Worthingham sisters, tall and bold, but also caring even though he suspected very few other than her family knew how kind she was.
She certainly always took pity on him, made him feel welcome. A marquess or not, that wasn't something every one of his acquaintances fulfilled.
"I do not believe I've ever been to your estate, my lord. I understand Rosedale is very beautiful."
Not as beautiful as you, he wanted to say. If he were a rogue, had the ability for pretty words and dark, hungry looks, he would tell Victoria all those things. Instead, he masked his feelings and said, "One of the finest in Hampshire. Although I'm very close to Surrey and it is often contested which county I live."
"We would love to attend and be your guests, but I must say, and please forgive my forwardness, but may we stay a night? I know it is some miles from Dunsleigh and may be too great a distance to travel in one day."
"Oh, of course. You are more than welcome to stay." The idea of Victoria being in his home, asleep under the same roof, where he would be even more at ease, able to speak to her without the worry of prying eyes was just the thing. If he studied up on his books regarding the opposite sex and what was expected of him as a man, maybe he could prove to Victoria that he was worth more than friendship.
That he was worth her giving up her widowhood to marry him instead.
"Then we shall come as soon as Josh has returned, and you write and invite us." The strains to the waltz started to come to a regretful end. Albert did not want to let her go, but then he had two other dancers with her yet, but both would not allow him such close intercourse.
The evening passed pleasantly after his dances with Victoria, and he was content to stand by and watch the play of guests. Some hours later, he left the ball, asking permission for the use of the library. Thankfully the duchess did not ask as to why he wanted to use the room. A little while later, he was scribbling away his words on a new book, the heroine, as all of his were, remarkably similar to Victoria in both appearance and temperament.
He wrote for hours, the sounds of the music drifting to a close, just as the ball did as well. The first signs of the new day broke across the land, and the house started to wake with the whispered words of maids and footmen. Albert wet his forefinger and snuffed his candle. He leaned back in the chair, stretching. He wrote a good amount of the book last evening, a scene where the hero required saving. His heroine coming to the hero’s rescue. He did not like weak characters and rarely wrote them. He supposed because he was that very thing in a lot of ways. Awkward, sheltered, and not the least fashionable. A weak marquess just as his father had always called him.
He collected his papers, placing them in his leather folder, and left the library. The guests wouldn't be up for some hours, and so he would rest and then say his goodbyes this afternoon before heading back to Rosedale, living in the hope that Victoria would do as she said and come to stay. The time would allow him to become worldly, a gentleman worthy of her hand, the hand of a daughter and sister to a duke.
Chapter 4
Victoria stumbled into the library just as the day after the ball was almost at an end. The previous night had been amusing and enjoyable, but she would be happy when the Season would be officially over, and Dunsleigh would be just for her family and herself to enjoy.
Some of the guests had departed early, one of them Lord Melvin, whom she had seen off just after lunch. She walked to the desk, needing some parchment to write to her brother, when she spotted a piece of paper, the scribbly, messy writing bold and rushed as if someone had to get the words down quickly before they forgot them.
She picked up the paper, reading the words, and couldn't quite grasp what she was holding. A marvelous story, similar in tone and ability to others she had read by one of her favorite authors, Elbert Retsek. His aptitude to throw the reader into his gothic romances was something of a dream. She had often fantasized about meeting the gentleman, having him sign the many books she had of his. In fact, she was eagerly awaiting his next release, which was rumored to be coming out next year.
She read through the words quickly, unable to comprehend how it was that these words were here. Was Elbert a guest at their home? She sat on the chair, reaching for the list of guests her mama had been checking and double-checking this past week.
She followed each guest's name, scrolling with her finger, and could not see anyone of that name on the list. Victoria frowned, slumping back in the chair. Was Elbert Retsek an alias, a pseudonym? How astonishing if he was a guest. Had she danced with him? Had she unknowingly been in the hands of one of England’s up-and-coming writers, in the league of Horace Walpose or even Ann Radcliffe? Excitement
