“The opera.”
“People singing indecipherable songs in languages I don’t understand.”
She laughed. “I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree. What about you? How can you stand to spend all your time buried in the country? Don’t you find it desolate?”
“No. It’s peaceful.”
“There’s no excitement.”
“Tranquil.”
“No Regent or Bond streets.”
“Thank God.”
“Lonely.”
He paused at that, a small frown burrowing between his brows. “Sometimes,” he said quietly. “But I have my books and my animals and my patients.”
“No woman anxiously awaiting your return?” She tossed out the question with a lightness that was in complete contrast to the hard thumping of her heart.
“No one.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “At least that I know of. Perhaps I have several secret admirers who are pining away for me even as we speak.” He popped a bit of cheese into his mouth. After he swallowed, he said, “I imagine Branripple and Dravensby eagerly anticipate your return to London.”
God help her, she almost asked Who? before her inner voice chimed in to remind her, Your earls. One of whom you‘re going to marry.
Were they eagerly awaiting her return? Most likely they were busy attending the whirlwind of parties associated with the Little Season. Where, given their eligibility, they would be much sought after by a bevy of marriage-minded young women. Who would fawn over them. Flirt with them. Dance with them. Perhaps even share kisses with them. The thought of which…
Didn’t bother her at all.
A frown yanked down her brows. Surely that should bother her. Surely she should feel something at the thought of another woman capturing Branripple or Dravensby’s attention. Some fissure of concern. A twinge of annoyance. A pang of jealousy. Yet she felt… nothing.
But then she turned to Nathan, who was regarding her with heated intensity, and suddenly she did feel something. A sizzling whoosh of something that curled her toes inside her leather riding boots. And it hit her in a lightning flash of realization that the thought of another woman kissing this man made her stomach cramp. Made her want to break something. Made her want to slap the other woman so hard that the lips that had dared to kiss Nathan fell off. Onto the ground. Where she could then grind them into the dirt with the heel of her shoe.
“Are you all right, Victoria? Your expression looks quite… ferocious.”
Victoria blinked away the image of a slapped, lipless woman and beat back the claws of jealousy that were as undeniable as they were confusing. What on earth was wrong with her?
“I’m fine,” she said, taking a hasty sip of cider.
“Good.” He set aside his empty plate, then patted his stomach. “Delicious. But now comes the best part of a picnic.”
“Dessert?”
“Even better.” He slipped off his jacket, folded it-none too neatly-then lay back, using the bundle as a makeshift pillow. “Ahhhh…” The deep sigh of contentment pushed from between his lips, and his eyes slid closed.
Victoria sat perfectly still and stared. Well, perfectly still except for her eyeballs, which performed a thorough downward ogle, er, survey. Skeins of sunlight illuminated burnished streaks in his mussed hair and cast his face into an intriguing pattern of golden light and smoky shadows. Snowy linen, marked with wrinkles from his jacket, stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. His hands rested on his abdomen, his long fingers loosely linked just above the waist of his fawn breeches. Ah, yes… those fawn breeches that hugged his muscular legs in that fascinating, speech-robbing way. The breeches disappeared just below his knees into well-worn black riding boots. The picture of utter relaxation was complete with his casually crossed ankles.
Good Lord, had she just claimed she was fine? She must be mad. The man was spread before her like a banquet feast. A feast from which she desperately wanted to partake.
When precisely had the male form become so fascinating? Clearly the blame rested on the explicit descriptions of a man’s anatomy in the Ladies’ Guide. While she’d always possessed a natural curiosity, she’d never felt anything like this. Neither Branripple nor Dravensby had ever inspired this desperate compulsion to touch. To explore. To remove their clothing.
With her eyes riveted on him, she had to swallow twice to locate her voice. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Enjoying the last phase of a picnic.”
“I don’t think taking a nap here is a very good idea, Nathan.” Heavens, she sounded prim. If only she felt prim, as opposed to feeling like an overly ripe peach about to burst from its too tight skin.
“I’m not napping. I’m relaxing. You should try it. It’s very good for the digestion.”
“I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you.” Yes. And if liars caught on fire, she’d be incinerated on the spot. Nervous words gathered in her throat, and she knew she was about to start babbling. “Tell me, what made you want to become a doctor?” The words came out in a breathless rush, but she heaved an inward sigh of relief that at least they made sense.
“I was always drawn to healing, even as a boy. Birds with broken wings, dogs with mangled legs, that sort of thing. That, combined with my love of science and my curiosity for the workings of the human body, and there was never any question in my mind what path I would follow.”
She’d watched, as if in a trance, his beautiful mouth form each word, and her fingertips tingled with the overpowering need to touch his lips. To prevent herself from succumbing to the temptation, she raised her knees, wrapped her arms tightly around her legs and gripped her hands together. There. Now she was saved from making a fool of herself. “And if you hadn’t become a doctor? What profession would you have chosen?”
“A fisherman.”
“You’re joking.”
“What is wrong with being a fisherman?”
“Nothing. ‘Tis just not a very…” Her voice trailed off and suddenly she felt foolish.
“Not a very what?”
“Gentlemanly pursuit.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s honest work. Certainly more useful than the gentlemanly pursuits of gaming and running foxes to the ground. But then I’ve always made my own rules. I never understood why I should spend my life doing things I didn’t enjoy simply because it was what was expected of me. I think I’d have made a fine fisherman. Mount’s Bay is good fishing ground and offers protection even when the seas turn rough, as they often do. I’ve always enjoyed fishing, any time of year, but summer was by far the best. Every July, I eagerly awaited the annual excitement of the great catch of the pilchard.”
“What is that?”
“The Cornish pilchard, a local fish. Men in boats launch massive nets that form an enormous circle around the entire group of fish, called a shoal. The procedure is comparable to the way sheep are herded into pens. Dozens of people, myself included, waited on the shore, where we hauled the tremendous nets filled with thousands of fish onto the beach. We then piled those thousands of fish into every available container, basket, and bucket. It was exhausting and exhilarating and the most anticipated event of the season.”
“What did you do during the rest of the summer?”
“Walked the beaches. Collected shells. Read. Raised mischief with Colin. Studied the stars. Enjoyed picnics. Caught crabs and lobster.”
“You caught them yourself?”
“Yes.” He peeked one eye open at her and grinned. “They hardly walked onto the dinner plates of their own volition, you know.”
Victoria smiled in return and an image materialized in her mind, of a handsome tousle-haired youth, tanned golden from the sun, scooping up crabs, walking along the sand, his hair blowing in the brisk sea breeze. The image was then replaced with one of her, as a young girl, and the contrast was jarring.
“While you were doing all those things, I was learning how to dance and embroider and speak French. You spent your time here, by
the sea, while I was raised in London. Even our country home is only a three-hour journey from Town. You enjoyed the company of your brother, while my brother would have rather been shot than spend time with me. You grew up knowing you wanted to be a doctor, I grew up knowing I would have to marry well to ensure my future. How different our lives have been.”
“Surely your father and brother will see to your future.”
“My father will ensure my financial security, but my brother, sadly, cannot be depended upon for anything. And even if he could, I want a family of my own. Children.”
He rolled onto his side, propped the weight of his upper body on his forearm and regarded her through serious eyes. “If you could have been something other than an earl’s daughter, what would you have been?”
“A man,” she answered without the slightest hesitation.
She’d expected him to smile, but his gaze remained steady and serious. “What sort of man? An earl? A duke? A king?”
“Just a… man. So I could have choices. So my destiny wasn’t determined by my gender. So I, too, could choose if I wanted to be a doctor or a fisherman or a spy. You have no idea how fortunate you are.”
His gaze turned thoughtful, then he nodded slowly. “I never thought of it quite like that. What was your childhood like?”
Victoria rested her chin on her upraised knees and considered. No one had ever asked her such a thing. “Lonely. Quiet. Especially after my mother died. If I hadn’t possessed such a deep love of reading, I might have gone mad. I envy you having a sibling you could talk to. Share things with. Edward is ten years my senior. For all the time we spent together, I might as well have been an only child.”
“I can’t imagine not having had Colin. But given our different interests-Colin thinks science is synonymous with torture and he’d prefer to put his head on a chopping block rather than study Latin, and the fact that he had to learn the responsibilities that come with the title-I spent a great deal of my time alone as well.” He studied her for several long seconds, then said, “It seems we might actually have something in common.”
Victoria pretended to look scandalized. “How shocking. Although, I must tell you, I’ve never wanted to be a fisherman.”
“Just as well. Those rough ropes would wreak havoc with your soft hands.” His glance slid to her hands, gripped lightly together around her legs, and her fingers tightened involuntarily. Then he raised his gaze back to hers. “I must tell you, Victoria, while I understand your reasons for wishing you were a man, I’m extremely glad that you’re not.”
“And why is that? Afraid I would best you at billiards?”
“Not at all. I’m an unsurpassedly excellent billiards player.”
“I thought we’d agreed ‘unsurpassedly’ wasn’t a word.”
“I thought we’d agreed it should be. But no matter. The reason I’m glad you’re not a man is because if you were, I wouldn’t do this…” He reached out and brushed a single fingertip over the back of her hand, stopping her breath. Her fingers loosened and he gently clasped her hand and brought it to his lips.
“Nor would I do this,” he whispered, his warm breath caressing her skin. He pressed a gentle kiss against the back of her fingertips.
How was it possible that with all this air surrounding them, her lungs had ceased to function? Before she could find an answer, he released her hand and sat up. His face was a mere foot from hers, and the heat simmering in his eyes mesmerized her. The scent of sandalwood mixed with the subtle hint of shaving soap teased her senses, flooding her with an unbearable desire to touch her lips to his cleanly shaven skin, which looked so warm and firm.
“Certainly I wouldn’t think of doing this…” Reaching out, he lightly stroked the pad of his thumb over her cheek, then sifted his fingers into her hair, brushing over her nape to cup the back of her head. Somehow a breath must have found its way into her lungs because she let out a long sigh of pleasure.
He leaned forward, his hand gently coaxing her closer, until only a paper thin space separated their lips. “And this would be completely out of the question.” His mouth feathered across hers, once, twice, a whisper of a touch that only served to tease. But rather than satisfy her, he instead kissed his way across her jaw, softly, barely touching her. His tongue flicked over her earlobe, eliciting a quick intake of breath, then his warm lips nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Roses,” he whispered, the single word awakening a barrage of tingles that skittered down her back. “How is it that you always smell so perfectly of roses?”
Her eyes drifted closed and she stretched her neck to give him better access. “My bath. I scent it with rosewater.”
He leaned back, and she barely swallowed her groan of disappointment. Dragging her eyes open, she stilled at the heat burning in his gaze. “So you smell of roses… everywhere.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement uttered in a husky rasp that ended on a groan. Whatever response she might have hoped to make evaporated when his fingertips lightly grazed her features. The fire in his gaze mixed with a baffled expression, as if he were trying to solve a perplexing puzzle. “You must be told at least a dozen times a day how beautiful you are.”
A short, breathless laugh escaped her. “Hardly. Although I cannot deny I’ve been told.”
“Has anyone told you today?”
“Not so far.”
His index finger grazed her lower lip. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you. Although…”
“What? You prefer exquisite? If so, I’ll oblige you.”
“No. It’s just that… it doesn’t really mean anything.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Being beautiful. Or at least it shouldn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not something a person has any control over. It certainly isn’t any great accomplishment-like being a doctor. It didn’t require any special talent or effort on my behalf. It doesn’t make one kind or decent. Yet, it seems to be what I am most admired for. Perhaps all I am admired for. Well, that and my family’s fortune-but again, that is something over which I have no control, nor is it an accomplishment. No special talent or effort required.”
His expression turned even more mystified. “I am surprised to hear you say this. I would have thought you’d place great importance on beauty.”
She inwardly sighed at her tendency to babble. Would she never learn to keep her lips closed? Since she’d come this far, she saw no point in stopping now. “I cannot deny I enjoy pretty clothes and looking my best, which I suppose is fortunate since, given my position, it is expected of me. But I carry in my heart an image of my mother… my mother who was so beautiful people couldn’t help but stare at her. Yet for all her beauty, she wasn’t truly happy.”
The image rose in her mind of her stunning dark-haired mother who laughed gaily in front of guests then cried in her bedchamber. “After I was born, she miscarried two babies. It sent her into a melancholy from which she never recovered. When she died, she was barely forty. And still beautiful. But of what use was that? As for me, all I wanted was my mother. I didn’t care if she was gorgeous or a hag. I would have traded anything I owned, all my supposed ‘beauty,’ for one more day with her. One more of her rare smiles.” Moisture pushed behind her eyes and she blinked to dispel it. A self-conscious sound escaped her. “I suppose all I’m saying is that outward beauty is really rather… useless.”
He was looking at her with an odd expression-as if he’d never seen her before-and embarrassment swept through her. Good lord, once again her mouth had run amok.
“You continue to surprise me, Victoria,” he said slowly, his gaze searching hers. “And I don’t particularly care for surprises.”
She blinked, and then her eyes narrowed. “Why, thank you. I don’t know when I’ve heard such heartwarming words. Truly.”
He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Reaching out, he brushed a
curl from her cheek. “Forgive me?”
As quickly as her irritation had flared, it evaporated. He sounded so sincere, and looked so serious and earnest, yet… baffled. Troubled. Perhaps there was a woman somewhere in the kingdom who could resist his softly spoken query, but she was not that woman. “Forgiven,” she whispered.
His gaze flicked to her lips, and her body quickened in anticipation of another kiss. Instead, he abruptly stood. “It’s time we headed back.”
She looked at the ground so he wouldn’t see her disappointment. Her common sense applauded the decision. Sitting on a picnic blanket, sharing kisses and confidences with Nathan, was clearly not prudent. Her heart, however, yearned to spend the rest of the day right here.
These feelings were simply not part of her plan, yet she was at a loss as to how to stop them. Had it been only two days ago that she’d thought she could walk away from here, free of Nathan and unaffected by their encounter? Yes. Yet here she sat, after such a short time, already feeling anything but free and most definitely affected. If he could wreak such havoc with her plans in a mere two days, what on earth would he do in two weeks’ time?
God help her, she didn’t know if the possibilities more frightened her or thrilled her.
Fourteen
Today’s Modern Woman must understand that men often say one thing and mean another. For example, “Would you like to accompany me for a moonlight stroll” means, “I want to kiss you.” However, when a man says, “I want you,” there can be no mistaking his meaning. The only question is whether or not the lady will want him as well.
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Three hours after arriving back at Creston Manor and leaving Victoria in the drawing room with her aunt, Nathan still paced the confines of his bedchamber, his thoughts knotted like a hopelessly tangled ball of yarn. He should be concentrating on figuring out where the jewels might be hidden. Should actually be out looking for them. But he’d given his word not to conduct any searches without Victoria, and spending more time in her company right now was simply not a good idea. Not when his command over himself teetered so close to the edge. Bloody hell, she’d set him on fire. Simply by sitting on a blanket. Watching her eat had proven an exercise in torture, requiring a monumental effort not to fling their meal aside and simply snatch her into his arms. He’d thought that lying back, closing his eyes so he couldn’t see her would help, but his reclined position had only served to make him burn to pull her on top of him.
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