A Victorian Virgin?

Ned did not know which of the rooms belonged to Victoria, or whether her room was solitary or shared. He hoped to God that she had left some item of evidence in the hallway to indicate her presence, although perhaps if he left her long enough, he may hear her. Not that he was a religious man, mind, but there had to be some greater power to pray to in times like these. Zeus was more his man, but God would do. That was Ned all over, unreligious, unattached and almost hubric in his arrogance. Life was just another game to win. No goal was unattainable. He did not see people personified, merely as objects for him to direct and play with. In his opinion, he had never lost an argument, and he was not about to start now. If Victoria Buckley had to leave the hospital, so be it. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth if he had to, not because he liked her particularly, but because she had become his latest goal. Forget Patricia Ramsey, Buckley was the one.

There were not that many rooms to choose from in that hallway; probably ten or so. He could narrow his search down quite extensively just by remembering which rooms his conquests had occurred in, but he couldn't. There were too many. Molly, Julia, Jenny, Kate; he could not even remember their names, not that they stuck around terribly long after he dropped them. Girls were hired and gave notice all in the space of weeks. The turnover of staff in this clinic should surely have alarmed his uncle.

Conveniently, the last door on the left was slightly open, a ring of keys hanging from the door. In Ned's opinion, the keys were as sure an invitation as a dropped handkerchief. He was going to repondez s'il vous plait, with all the pomp and politeness of the knight in shining armor.

Ned paused outside the door to settle his hair and gather his nerves. He'd be lying if he said that he was not afraid that one day he would be completely and utterly rejected. Deep down, that was what he wanted. That was why he pushed the limits further and further every time; subconsciously waiting and hoping for somebody to end his madness. But Ned was not aware of this. All Ned could think about was his hunt for the prey within the room. Now he tapped on the door, lightly, gingerly. "Miss Buckley, are you in there?" God, he'd look like a fool if it was the wrong door.

He heard a stifled sob within. No, he had the right door. He'd string her along a bit now, make the tension as tight as a violin string (of which he was a masterful player).

"Miss Buckley, may I come in?"

The reply was a howl of sadness. He was in.

Ned pushed the door aside, gently. He saw Victoria sitting on the bed in her horrid, little room. Next to her shaking figure was a closed and battered suitcase. The room was Spartan, nothing but a cupboard crammed with three items of furniture. He suspected that it had originally been a much larger room but had been partitioned off several times over to give several cells like this one. Victoria was lucky in that her compartment at least had a window. He knew of several rooms that did not.

"I am sorry," Ned told her. "I asked him to reconsider, but he would not."

Victoria looked at him in distaste. She would not forget the humiliation she had suffered in room twenty-one easily. She recalled her hand coming in contact with his hot, hard... She could not even think about it. "What do you want?" she sniffed. How dare he come into her room, her private space, and see her in this state? She was so embarrassed she did not stick to her usual high standard of manners.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier this evening," Ned said.

"Very well," Victoria replied.

"I understand that my actions must have shocked your dignity to the core. It was very unsavory of me. I am very sorry for that. I never intended to distress or displease you in any way. Please, believe me. I am heartily apologetic, not just for my behavior but for my language as well. I was very crude and vulgar in my address of you, when I should have spoken to you with respect. I am sure that you never expected to hear such terrible language used toward you. For that, I am also sorry." Ned smiled his apology smile, the body language that had been known to make some women weak at the knees. "I just thought that I would tell you such before you leave. I would hate it to feel unresolved."

"Thank you," Victoria said, with all the solemnity she could manage when halfway through bawling her eyes out. "Is that all?"

So cold, Ned thought. This was going to be a challenge, thank goodness. "Are you feeling well?"

"I feel perfectly acceptable; I just lost my position of three years. I am not going to find another situation with even closely the same wage. So yes, I am feeling wonderful," Victoria snapped.

He had her, he knew it. She may be prickly on the outside but she was a mess within. Even when she snapped or snarled at him, he could tell that her mind was in pieces by the way her voice wavered and her eyes watered. She had tried to put the fortifications back up to protect herself but they were as weak as sand, they would crumble before his eyes very soon. "I didn't mean it in that way. I know you can hardly be feeling brilliant. I just-"

Victoria interrupted him. "Just what?" Why wouldn't he just leave? She could not keep herself together much longer.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior-"

"You've done that," Victoria replied.

"I wanted to see how you were-"

"I'm fine." There was no conviction behind her voice. Indeed, it seemed to waver between emotions.

"Really?" Ned queried. He kept his eyes intent upon her tear streaked face. She was trying not to shake, he saw, but her folded hands betrayed her, wringing, weaving, twisting in discomfort. Her eyes were packed to near drip-point with liquid. Soon a tear would split away from this fluid, followed shortly by its brothers. It was a chain reaction. The release of one tear would bring everything into play. He would be there for that with his handkerchief and his soft shoulder.

It was happening now. He watched as what little dignity she had crumbled before his eyes. "No," she wept. "Nothing's all right. Everything's wrong." The tears came hot and fast, just as he had predicted they would. Suddenly he was lifting the box from the bed and shifting a bonnet. He sat down beside her and handed her a handkerchief; the same one that he had offered her earlier in the evening. He did not touch her. She had to come to him. And she did, leaning forward against his shoulder whilst he put his arms about her.

The hunt was on.