Good God. This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to fall in love with a demure country chit who enjoyed the same simple things he did, the same modest lifestyle. Not a Society diamond who thrived in the glittering world he eschewed. A woman who would return to her fancy life in London and leave him behind with nothing more than memories and a broken heart.
Surely he’d simply taken temporary leave of his senses. He brightened at the thought. Yes, an aberration, that’s all this madness was. A post coital quirk that would clear up as soon as he put some distance between.
“Nathan… are you all right?”
Her soft voice yanked him from his thoughts. She was looking up at him with a concerned, confused expression.
No. “Yes. I’m fine.” I’m anything but. And it’s entirely your fault. He eased off her, then strode to the hearth to pick up the forgotten towels. At the wash basin he quickly cleansed himself, keeping his back to her. Fifteen feet now separated them. He pulled in a deep breath, relieved when he felt his self-possession seep back into his veins. Excellent. Just as he’d suspected, all he needed was to put a bit of distance between them. How could he possibly be expected to think properly while she lay naked beneath him? He couldn’t. But now he could. A distraction-that’s all she was. A beautiful, rose-scented distraction. Relief suffused him. Thank God everything was once again back in perspective.
After wringing the excess water from the towel, he turned back. His gaze met Victoria’s from across the room, and his relief and perspective vanished like a poof of smoke in a windstorm.
He loved her.
Bloody hell.
With a calm he was far from feeling, he walked back to the bed with the dampened towel. Resting one hip on the mattress, he gently bathed away the evidence of their spent passion. He forced himself to concentrate on the task and not look into her eyes, for fear she’d read his feelings, discover what his heart longed to proclaim but could not: I love you.
A fissure of annoyance at himself edged through him. Damn it, during his years in service to the Crown, he’d perfected the art of lying. Hiding his emotions behind an unreadable mask. It wouldn’t be difficult to call upon those skills again. You‘re not that man anymore, his inner voice whispered. No, he wasn’t. And he never wanted to be that man again. But for however long she remained in Cornwall, he’d have to pretend to be.
Setting aside the used towel, he drew up the sheet around her. Only after her pale naked beauty was covered did he dare look at her. And everything inside him stilled.
Her eyes were wide with distress and glistened with unshed tears. Her lower lip quivered, delivering a blow to his heart. “I’ve displeased you,” she whispered.
He lightly clasped her fingers, stilling them from fidgeting with the counterpane and inwardly cursed himself for giving her the wrong impression. “No. God, no.”
She lifted her chin in that way of hers he found so endearing, but even that show of bravado couldn’t hide the hurt and confusion in her gaze. “I’m not blind, Nathan. If I’ve done something to disappoint you, I want you to tell me what it is.”
“Nothing,” he said, bringing her hands to his lips and pressing a fervent kiss against the backs of her fingers. “I swear it. If anything you pleased me too much.” He forced a crooked smile. “You quite unraveled me, my dear, which I fear surprised me.”
A bit of the worry faded from her eyes with dawning comprehension. “And you don’t like surprises.”
“I confess I find them… unsettling. But in this particular case, I found it enchanting.”
There was no mistaking her relief. “I could say the same, you know.”
“You could-or you are?” he teased.
She laughed, and he felt as if the sun emerged from behind the clouds. “Was that a shameful bid for a compliment?”
He blew out an exaggerated put-upon sigh. “I’d force myself to listen to any accolades you might wish to toss my way.”
“Very well. I believe I now know what it is you do best.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. And I’d very much like for you to show me again.”
He turned over her hand and kissed her palm. “What if I told you that I still hadn’t demonstrated what I do best?”
The way her eyes widened and darkened fired pure lust through him. She sat up and the sheet fell away, exposing her breasts. “Then I most definitely am anxious to discover what it is you do do best.”
Reaching out, he teased his fingers over her rosy nipples, watching them tighten, his body experiencing the same pull of want. “I certainly know what you do best, Victoria.”
She arched into his hand and sighed. “What is that?”
“You captivate-by simply entering a room. You fascinate-with your unexpected facets. You enchant-with a single smile. You seduce-with nothing more than a look.”
“That’s four things,” she said in a breathy whisper.
“And you excel at all of them.”
She sifted her fingers through his hair then urged his head toward hers. “Kiss me,” she said, an impatient edge to her voice.
Biting back a smile, he allowed her to pull him closer. He brushed his lips over hers, then traced the fullness of her lower lip with his tongue. “You’re very demanding, you know.”
“I’ve decided it’s far more effective than being demur.”
He instantly recalled their first kiss and her impatient one word response: Again. “Were you ever demur?”
She leaned back and a look of confusion passed over her features. “I don’t know. I know I am expected to be. But tossing out demands-I like it. Before I started doing so, I was simply patted on the head and relegated to the corner like an ornamental object.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she leaned forward. “Again.”
“It would be my pleasure.” But even as his lips met hers and he pressed her back onto the mattress and covered her body with his, he knew that the pleasure they’d share in the days to come would leave him with the pain of a broken heart.
Nineteen
If Today’s Modern Woman is in a situation where she must choose between two or more gentlemen, she will likely find the practical nature of her mind at war with the emotional nature of her heart. In such cases she must ask herself, is it best to choose based on financial and social considerations or to follow the desires of her heart?
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Victoria hurried down the corridor toward her bedchamber, filled with a giddy, heady sense of anticipation. By previous agreement, Nathan had retired shortly after dinner, while she remained with Aunt Delia and Nathan’s father in the drawing for a quarter hour, after which time she, too, retired. But sleep was definitely not in her plans. Nathan… Had an entire week passed since that first night he’d come to her room? It seemed the time had gone by in a blink-time during which they’d been unsuccessful at locating the jewels, but had in every other way proven fulfilling beyond her wildest dreams.
Using the grid map Nathan had devised, they spent the days systematically inspecting each section, exploring dozens of rock outcroppings, searching in crevices and small caves, looking for a shape that resembled the picture she had drawn. As each square on the map was eliminated, Victoria’s hopes that they’d locate the missing cache faded a bit more. Further hindering their attempts, they’d as yet received no response from her father to Nathan’s letter, but given the distance to London, that was to be expected.
Nathan never strayed far from her side during their outings, always wary of them being set upon again. At his insistence, he’d hidden a small lady’s pistol for her protection in the tool bag containing their hammers and chisels. The fact that there were no further instances renewed their optimism that the brigand who’d stolen the fake note and map was indeed far away on a wild goose chase and had not deduced that he possessed erroneous information.
Those hou
rs spent searching for the jewels were also hours together with Nathan. Laughing, learning, talking, discovering new facets of him and of herself. She brought him to the gardens and taught him to make a mud pie-then led him to a dark corner in the conservatory and had her wicked way with him. He brought her to the beach and taught her to make a sand castle-then led her to the crystal cave and had his wicked way with her. He took her for a ride on the lake in his small boat and taught her to row. She learned not only how to work the oars but that standing up in a rowboat is not wise if one wishes not to capsize. That directly led to her discovery that the temperature of a chilly lake is gloriously forgotten while making love in the water-and instantly recalled once the heat of passion is spent.
Nathan showed her how to catch crabs, kissed her finger when one pinched her with its claws, then applauded when she caught a dozen of the feisty crustaceans on her own. They’d proudly delivered their catch to Cook, who prepared them for dinner that night, a meal they shared with Aunt Delia and Nathan’s father, who, it was plain to see, were getting on extremely well together. For the past seven days, it had been just the four of them sharing meals and retiring to the drawing room after dinner. Nathan’s brother had not returned from his excursion to Penzance, sending a note that business required him to stay away, and Lord Alwyck had not made a return visit.
One morning, to her delight, Nathan brought her to the kitchen and helped her realize her childhood dream by having Cook teach her to bake a pie. She’d burned part of the crust, but Nathan ate it anyway, declaring it delicious. That evening after dinner, while her aunt and Lord Rutledge played backgammon, Nathan brought her to the billiards room and taught her to play-or rather, he tried to, as she proved quite hopeless at it, a fact she blamed on the distracting nature of her instructor. They then retired to the music room, where she attempted to teach him a song on the pianoforte. For a man with such talented fingers, he possessed no aptitude for music-but an amazing skill for insinuating his talented fingers under her skirt.
Yet even though she reveled in the sensual delights and discoveries they shared, she enjoyed his company just as much while doing nothing more exciting than drinking tea. What struck Victoria the most was the way he talked to her. Listened to her. How he sought her opinion on a wide spectrum of topics. How he didn’t make her feel foolish if she didn’t know something, and how intently he paid attention when she did. The gentle way he teased her, challenged her, encouraged her to think about things to which she’d previously given little consideration, such as politics.
He fascinated her with his personal theories on medicine and healing, a number of which were in direct opposition to currently accepted methods. They spent hours debating the works of Shakespeare and Chaucer, Byron’s poetry and Homer’s Iliad. It seemed that they grew closer every day, and she realized that in addition to being her lover, he was also her friend. A friend who could set her blood on fire with a mere look.
And then there were the seven glorious nights she’d spent in Nathan’s arms. Making love, exploring each other’s body, enjoying the countless intimacies lovers share. Sometimes their mating was a soft, slow dance, other times a fast, furious race. He helped her discover what pleased her and urged her to discover what pleased him, although as far as she could tell, he was very easily pleased. And now, hurrying the last few steps to her bedchamber, where she knew he awaited her, her heart skipped in anticipation of the sensual delights tonight would hold.
Breathless from a combination of her quick pace and the thought of what awaited her, she opened her bedchamber door. And stilled on the threshold at the sight that met her eyes. As if in a trance, she slowly entered. After closing and locking the door, she leaned back against the oak panel and stared. The room was awash with roses. Dozens of blooms ranging from the purest white to the deepest scarlet spilled from a silver bowl set on her dresser. A trail of petals led from the door to the center of the room, where the path split into two directions. One ended near the fireplace, where a petal-strewn blanket and a picnic basket awaited. The other trail veered toward the bed, its ivory counterpane dotted with crimson blooms. Nathan stood at the juncture of the paths holding a single long stem rose.
The look in his eyes, that intoxicating concentration of heat, of want and need, stole her breath. She approached him slowly, stopping when less than two feet separated them. He reached out and traced her jaw with the flower’s velvety petals. “I offer you a choice, Victoria,” he said softly, his eyes serious, his gaze intent upon hers. “Which do you want?”
“I want them both,” she answered without hesitation.
The next morning, Victoria stood at the window of her bedchamber, looking down at the garden and lawns bathed in a diffused haze of early morning sunshine. It had rained most of the night, but the azure sky dotted with fluffy white clouds promised a day of fair weather. A day of adventure as their search for the jewels continued. Another glorious day to be spent with Nathan.
Her eyes slid closed and she recalled last night. How after she’d told him she wanted both paths, he’d instantly obliged her, swooping her up in his strong arms and carrying her to the bed, where their lovemaking had been wild and frantic, as if they hadn’t touched in months. Then later, after a light repast of bread, wine, and cheese, they’d made slow, luxurious love on the blanket in front of the fire.
The memory faded and she opened her eyes. Looking down at the sunlight sparkling on the dew-laden grass, she asked herself the question that invaded her mind with increasing frequency as each day passed: How was she going to say good-bye to him when it came time to leave and return to her normal life? And, as it did every time, the mere thought brought a lump to her throat and a strange, uncomfortable hollow to her chest. So, as she did every time, she roughly shoved the question away. When it came time to leave, she would simply… leave. And go on with her life. As he would go on with his.
Turning from the window, her gaze wandered to the bed and fell upon the single red rose he’d left on the pillow next to hers. To her dismay, moisture filled her eyes. A beautiful flower from a beautiful man who she greatly feared was coming to mean far too much to her. A man who, despite her best efforts to keep at an emotional arm’s length, was finding his way into her heart. When she awoke that morning, she’d been alone, all evidence of their sensual petal-strewn picnic gone, except for that solitary bloom.
She walked to the bed, picked up the rose and buried her nose in its soft center. Again vivid images of the previous night permeated her mind’s eye. Nathan looming over her, buried deep inside her body, then her astride him, his hands everywhere as they made love in the rose-scented haven he’d created for her. She would never be able to separate the scent of roses from those sensual images, which was problematic, as she couldn’t recall a day since she was a child that she hadn’t surrounded herself with the fragrance of her favorite flower.
But she wouldn’t worry about that now. She would have plenty of time to lock away her memories when this interlude ended. Until then, she would treat each day as a gift and enjoy her passionate adventure to the fullest.
With that in mind, she pulled the bell cord to summon Winifred, then walked to the wardrobe to choose a dress for the day. But before choosing, she pulled her copy of the Ladies’ Guide from the portmanteau and carefully pressed the rose Nathan had left her between the book’s pages.
After emptying a sack filled with kitchen scraps into the trough in the animal pen-much to the delight of Daisy, Reginald, and Petunia-Nathan collected his hens’ daily offering of eggs. He gave them to Hopkins, who, with a nod of thanks, headed across the lawns toward the kitchen with his prize. Then, with B.C. at his heels, Nathan walked the short distance to the copse of elms nearest the stables, a favorite boyhood spot. Sitting on the ground, he leaned back against the sturdy trunk’s rough bark, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. B.C. flopped down next to him, rested his massive head on Nathan’s boots, and breathed out a sigh of canine contentment.
“Don’t even think about making a snack out of these boots,” Nathan said, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “They’re my favorite pair.”
B.C. sent him a reproachful look, as if to say that he would never in a million years chew Nathan’s favorite pair of boots-but any other pair was fair game.
Resettling his back against the tree, Nathan absorbed the quiet serenity of the early morning and watched his animals enjoy their breakfast. If only his thoughts were as serene as his surroundings…
Reginald left the animal pen, and catching sight of Nathan sitting under the tree, the pig trotted toward him. B.C. lifted his head, and after the two animals, who were well used to each other, had exchanged a friendly smelling of each other’s breath, Reginald flopped down on Nathan’s other side and plopped his head on Nathan’s knee.
“Looks as if it’s just us boys this morning,” Nathan said. “No women.” He blew out a sigh. “Do yourselves a favor my good men, and do not fall in love. But at least if you’re going to fall in love, make certain that you fall in love with someone you can have.” B.C. licked his chops and shot Nathan a mournful gaze. Nathan nodded, grateful for the obvious canine show of sympathy. “Yes, that’s precisely how I feel. It would be as if you fell in love with a cat instead of a dog, B.C. Of course you could love the cat, but it would only lead to heartbreak. You’re too different, live in two different worlds, for it to ever work. Trust me when I say that falling in love is a tremendous pain in the arse. Not to mention the heart.”
Not Quite A Gentleman Page 26
