When Robert finally managed to get her off him, it required such force that Victoria was sent sprawling across the carriage. “For the love of God, woman,” he exclaimed, still gasping for air, “were you trying to kill me?”
Victoria glared at him from her position on the floor. “It does seem a meritorious plan.”
“You'll thank me for this someday,” he said, knowing full well that such a condescending statement would enrage her.
He was right. He watched as her face grew redder by the half second. “I have never been so furious in my entire life,” she finally hissed.
Robert rubbed his sore throat and said with great feeling, “I believe you.”
“You had no right to do this. I can't believe you respect me so little that you would—you would—” She broke off and snapped her head around, a horrible thought occurring to her. “Oh my God! Did you poison me?”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“I was very tired. I fell asleep so quickly.”
“That was nothing but a lucky coincidence,” he said with a little wave of his hand. “One for which I was most grateful. It really wouldn't have done for you to have been screaming your way through the London streets.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Victoria, I am not the villain you seem to think me. Besides, was I anywhere near your food today? I didn't even give you a box of pastries.”
That much was true. The day before, Victoria had delivered a stinging diatribe on the wastefulness of one person being given so much food, and extracted a promise from Robert that he would donate any pastries he'd already purchased to a needy orphanage. And as furious as she was with him, she had to admit that he was not the sort to use poison.
“If it makes any difference,” he added, “I had no plans to abduct you until yesterday. I had been hoping that you would come to your senses before drastic measures became necessary.”
“Is it so very difficult for you to believe that I regard a life without you as sensible?”
“When such a life includes living in the worst sort of slum, yes.”
“It isn't the ‘worst’ sort of slum,” she said peevishly.
“Victoria, a man was stabbed to death in front of your building two nights ago!” he shouted.
She blinked. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he hissed. “And if you think I am going to stand by idly until the inevitable happens and you become the victim—”
“I beg your pardon, but it appears I am a victim. Of kidnapping at the very least.”
He looked down at her with an irritated expression. “And at the very most?”
“Rape,” she shot back.
He leaned back smugly. “It wouldn't be rape.”
“I could never want you again after what you've done to me.”
“You'll always want me. You might not want to want me just now, but you do.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Finally, with eyes like slits, Victoria said, “You're no better than Eversleigh.”
Robert's hand closed around her shoulder with stunning force. “Don't you ever compare him to me.”
“And why not? I think the comparison is most apt. You have both abused me, both used force—”
“I have not used force,” he said between gritted teeth.
“I haven't seen you open the door to this carriage and give me the option of leaving.” She crossed her arms in an attempt to appear resolute, but it was hard to maintain one's dignity while on the floor.
“Victoria,” Robert said in an excruciatingly patient tone of voice, “we are in the middle of the Canterbury Road. It is dark, and there is no one around. I can assure you that you do not want to exit the carriage at this time.”
“Goddamn you! Do you have any idea how much I hate it when you presume to tell me what I want?”
Robert gripped the seat of the carriage bench so hard his fingers shook. “Do you want me to stop the carriage?”
“You wouldn't do it even if I asked.”
With a movement that spoke of barely leashed violence, Robert slammed his fist against the front wall three times. Within seconds the carriage came to a halt. “There!” he said. “Get out.”
Victoria's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.
“Would you like me to help you down?” Robert kicked open the door and jumped out. He held out his hand for her. “I live to be of service to you.”
“Robert, I don't think—”
“You haven't been thinking all week,” he snapped.
If she could have reached him, she would have slapped him.
MacDougal's face appeared next to Robert's. “Is aught amiss, my lord? Miss?”
“Miss Lyndon has expressed an interest in departing our company,” Robert said.
“Here?”
“Not here, you idiot,” Victoria hissed. And then, because MacDougal looked so affronted, she was compelled to say, “I meant Robert, not you.”
“Are you getting down or not?” Robert demanded.
“You know I'm not. What I would like is for you to return me to my home in London, not abandon me here in—” Victoria turned to MacDougal. “Where the devil are we, anyway?”
“Near to Faversham, I would think.”
“Good,” Robert said. “We'll stop there for the night. We have made excellent time, but there is no sense exhausting ourselves by pushing on to Ramsgate.”
“Right.” MacDougal paused, then said to Victoria, “Wouldn't you be more comfortable on the bench, Miss Lyndon?”