Seduction of a Proper Gentleman (Last Man Standing)

by Victoria Alexander

  “You’re still going to go then?”

  He nodded. “I think it’s best.”

  “Oliver.” She rose to her feet, braced her hands on his desk and leaned toward him. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man quite as stubborn as you.”

  He stood. “My mother says I take after my father in that respect.”

  “I find it most charming.” Her voice was low and distinctly seductive. “Really quite endearing.”

  He swallowed hard. “I have his eyes too.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “A blue so deep one could lose one’s soul in them.”

  “Did my mother say that?”

  “No, Oliver.” She smiled a slow inviting smile. “I did.”

  His breath caught. “Are you trying to seduce me again?”

  She raised a brow. “Is it working?”

  Yes. “No.” It was all he could do not to grab her and pull her across the desk and into his arms. Into his life. “Perhaps I am my mother’s idiot son after all,” he murmured.

  “Perhaps you are,” she said softly, then sighed and straightened. “Do what you must, Oliver. As will I.”

  She turned and before he could say another word, left the room.

  He sank back down in his chair.

  He was exactly like his cousin. Staying here with temptation so close at hand was not conducive to making good decisions. And Kate was very nearly everything he’d ever wanted. Had he waited for love all these years only to lose it now? Still, if one accepted magic, curses, even fate, could one be sure one’s feelings were real and not influenced by unseen forces? And for a man who indeed did want marriage, why on earth did the very thought now fill him with panic?

  But was it marriage that made his throat tighten or was it love?

  Chapter 19

  “Hollinger.” Oliver strode down the corridor toward the front door, Berkley trailing behind him. The length of his stride and the clipped note in his voice befit his foul mood. This was not the day to cross the Earl of Norcroft. “I shall be taking a carriage back to London today.”

  It was already nearly noon, the rain had at last stopped. It was a full day’s drive back to London by carriage and Oliver was determined to get on the road. He had spent all day yesterday avoiding nearly everyone in the household, as well as reassuring himself that he was doing the sensible thing by leaving. Even if he wanted to marry Kate, and he still didn’t know the answer to that, he wasn’t about to be forced into it.

  “Send word to the stables if you please.”

  Again last night he had scarcely slept a wink. He had, however, read Kate’s dossier several times and had come to the reluctant but inescapable conclusion that she was indeed perfect for him. Although he had suspected it before she’d regained her memory, the details of her life confirmed it. She was everything he’d ever wanted.

  It’s fate, destiny, a match five hundred years in the making.

  Utter nonsense.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” Hollinger said coolly. “But I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  Oliver stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean it’s not possible? How can it not be possible?”

  “There are no carriages available, sir.”

  Oliver drew his brows together in confusion. “No one has gone anywhere. Indeed, we’ve had no departures at all. By my count there should be at least three.”

  “There are, my lord, however,” the butler paused, “they have no wheels.”

  “No wheels?” Oliver said slowly. “How can they have no wheels?”

  “They were removed for repairs yesterday, sir. With the rain, it was thought to be an excellent time to take care of any problems.”

  “That makes a certain amount of sense I suppose.” He didn’t especially want to ride a horse all the way back to London, but he had always thought well on horseback. And he had a great deal of thinking to do, even with Berkley beside him. “Very well then, Hollinger, if you would have horses saddled for us.”

  “I am sorry, sir.” Hollinger shook his head. “That’s not possible either.”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes. “And why not?”

  “They’re being reshod, sir.”

  “All of them? At the same time?”

  “It seemed a good idea, sir. The rain and all.”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes. “And whose good idea was it?”

  Hollinger hesitated. “Lady Norcroft suggested it, sir.”

  “Yes, of course. I should have known.” Oliver willed himself to stay calm. After all, this was not Hollinger’s doing. “She has gone to a great deal of trouble.”

  Hollinger wisely held his tongue.

  “She needn’t have had the wheels removed, you know. Simply incapacitating the horses would have done the trick.”

  “Trick, my lord?”

  “Never mind.” Oliver grit his teeth and wondered if his muscle twitched.

  “Perhaps we should delay our departure then, sir,” Mr. Berkley said hopefully.

  “Both horses and carriages should be available tomorrow,” Hollinger said. “Or possibly the day after.”

  “Mr. Berkley and I will walk into the village then and take the train.”

  “That will be difficult, sir.”

  “Why,” Oliver snapped.

  “The bridge at the foot of the drive over the river has been damaged, probably by the rain. Apparently several planks have fallen into the water and there are now gaping holes,” Hollinger said. “It’s not safe for horse or carriage or man today, sir. However, I have arranged for repairs. Unfortunately, they cannot begin until later today. Or possibly tomorrow—”

  “Or the day after?”

  Hollinger nodded.

  “See to it that it is taken care of today.” Oliver clenched his jaw, surely he was twitching at this point. “Is the boat that is usually kept tied to the bridge still in place?”

  “I believe so, sir,” Hollinger said slowly.

  “Excellent. Then Berkley and I will row across the river, walk to the village, and take the train.”

  “You do realize there is only one train, my lord.”

  “I do indeed. Therefore we should be on our way.”

  “Do you wish me to have a footman accompany you to carry your bags, sir?”

  “No, we have but one bag apiece. I daresay we are more than capable of carrying them.”

  “I would be happy to carry your bag, sir.” Eagerness sounded in young Berkley’s voice.

  “I am not so old that I can’t carry my own bag, thank you,” Oliver said in a sharper tone than he had intended.

  “No sir, of course not, I didn’t mean…”

  “Lady Kathleen is in the parlor, my lord,” Hollinger said. “If you wish to bid her farewell.”

  “That’s not necessary. I shall be back in a few days at any rate.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Oliver narrowed his eyes. “I’m not fleeing, Hollinger, if that’s what you think.”

  “I would never think such a thing, my lord,” Hollinger said coolly. “You are strategically retreating to a safe haven where you can determine if your familial duty requires marriage to break a curse you consider nonsense or whether you should follow your heart. Does that sum it up, sir?”

  Oliver stared. “You’re very good, Hollinger.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Come along then, Mr. Berkley.” Oliver picked up his bag and started for the door, opened immediately by a waiting footman. Oliver and Berkley took their leave and walked down the few broad steps to the drive.

  Oliver started off and took but a bare step away from the house. Without warning, a slate from the roof shattered at his feet with a loud crack, missing him by mere inches.

  He jumped back. “What on earth—”

  Another two fell in quick succession sounding remarkably like shots from a gun.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Mr. Berkley said quickly.

  “Bloody hell, that was close. And decidedly odd.” Oliver gazed
upward at the roof. “We had extensive repairs done on the roof just a few months ago.”

  “Perhaps we should stay sir.” Unease sounded in the young man’s voice.

  “Why?” Oliver shook his head. “Obviously the stone thackers simply left a few unsecured slates that were washed to the edge of the roof by the rain. I would think anything that was going to fall has now done so. I see no reason to stay.”

  “One might wonder, sir, if one believed in superstitious nonsense, which of course I don’t,” Mr. Berkley added quickly, “if perhaps this wasn’t some sort of, well, of a sign that we should delay our departure.”

  “You have an excellent point, Mr. Berkley. If indeed one believed in superstitious nonsense, one might see a slate missing one’s head by mere inches as a sign of sorts. But as we are agreed in that neither of us do hold such beliefs, we shall continue on. However, I have changed my mind.” Oliver tossed his bag to the younger man. “You may carry this.”

  “I should be happy to, sir.”

  Oliver bit back a grin. There was something to be said for having a young man around who was eager to curry favor with the family of the young woman he was smitten with. Still, Oliver’s mood darkened, he did wish Mr. Berkley hadn’t brought up the idea of a sign. In and of themselves, the slates falling were not significant, but coupled with the rain, the disabling of the horses and carriages, and the damaged bridge, and one might indeed think a power greater than his mother had had a hand in it and preferred that he remain at the manor. If one wished to surrender to such superstition, which he had no intention of doing.

  They reached the bridge and it was indeed impassable. Blast it all, the structure was old and probably well past its prime. Originally completely made of stone, it had collapsed when his father was a boy and rebuilt using the stone foundation and a wooden decking. And periodically it required attention. That it needed repair now was nothing but yet another coincidence.

  For most of the year, the river itself was shallow and slow moving and, in truth, more of a wide stream than a river, but today it lived up to its name. The boat was indeed still tied to the bridge and crossing the mere fifteen feet or so to the far bank shouldn’t be at all difficult.

  “Go on, get in.” Oliver grabbed the rope that secured the boat and began working at the knot. It was wet and far trickier than it appeared.

  Berkley looked into the boat. “But there’s water in the boat, sir.”

  “Of course there’s water in the boat,” he snapped. “It’s been raining.”

  Berkley shook his head. “It doesn’t look safe to me.”

  “Nonsense,” Oliver muttered, the knot beginning to loosen. “It’s perfectly safe. It’s a short row to the other side. We’ll be across in no time.” The knot gave at last. Oliver untied it and tossed the rope into the boat. “There,” he said with satisfaction. At least something was going as it should today. “Now, get in.”

  “Yes, sir.” Reluctance sounded in the young man’s voice but he tossed the bags into the boat and clambered in after them.

  Oliver straddled the space between the bank and the boat then deftly hopped in, just as he had always done. His foot splashed in a good inch of water. Still, that was to be expected. The rain and all.

  “I’ll row.” Oliver settled on the wet seat, winced with the unpleasant feel of water soaking through his trousers, and wished, belatedly, that he had thought to bring an oilcloth with him. Well, it couldn’t be helped. His pants and shoes would dry on the walk to the village, if it didn’t rain again.

  He grabbed the oars and pushed away from the bridge.

  “Sir,” Mr. Berkley said uneasily. “The water is getting deeper.”

  “It might seem deeper but this waterway is very nearly the same depth all the way across and not very deep as rivers go. It’s never been more than waist deep at best. Nothing at all to worry about.” Oliver struggled to position the oars against a stronger than normal current. “Can you swim?”

  “Yes sir, I can but I would prefer not to at the moment. And I didn’t mean the river.” Mr. Berkley paused. “I meant the water in the boat. It’s getting deeper.”

  “It’s an illusion.” Oliver’s attention was focused on pushing away from the bridge and positioning the oars. He’d simply ignored how very wet his feet already were.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Oliver looked at the bottom of the boat and grimaced. The water that had come up only about an inch a moment ago had now washed over his ankles and was getting higher. Obviously, the boat was in no better condition than the bridge and the combined weight of the two men was sinking them. It was apparent the boat would be swamped in no more than a minute. At this rate they wouldn’t make it as far as the middle of the river. And what had he expected anyway? “Perfect. Bloody well perfect.”

  Mr. Berkley stood, grabbed their bags and held them out of reach of the rising water. “I think we should abandon ship, sir.”

  “Careful, Berkley.” Oliver cautiously got to his feet and took one of the bags. “I’d prefer not to fall in.” Even as he said the words, the level in the boat was fast reaching the level of the river. In a minute or so, they’d be able to step directly out of the boat and onto the river bed. It struck him that if he were standing on the riverbank, watching two men sink slowly into the river, bags held high, it would be most amusing. Pity he wasn’t on the bank.

  “It seems we have no choice.” He glanced at Berkley. “I suggest we jump.”

  “Very well, sir,” Berkley said grimly. “After you.”

  “It’s not that I wish to share this moment with you, but if we don’t jump together, the boat will tip and we will both end up under water.” He grabbed Berkley’s arm. “Come on.”

  Berkley nodded and without another word they jumped into the river. The water was nearly chest high but both men managed to keep their footing.

  “It’s a good thing you can swim,” Oliver muttered. He kept a grip on Berkley’s arm and they struggled to make their way toward the bank.

  “It’s not the swimming,” Berkley said under his breath. “It’s the walking.”

  “I can’t allow you to drown, you know. My cousin would never forgive me.”

  “Funny, sir, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  They reached the bank and tossed the bags on the grass, then Oliver assisted Berkley to climb up. The younger man turned, gripped Oliver’s hand, and helped pull him out of the water. The two collapsed, flat on their backs, soaked and exhausted, and stared at the dark clouds overhead.

  So much for returning to London. “What am I to do now, Berkley?”

  “I suggest we go back to the manor.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, you’re talking about Lady Kathleen.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.” If one were a superstitious sort, which he was not, one might think everything that happened today was a conspiracy to keep him from returning to London and not mere coincidence. To keep him here to face…what? His fate? His future? All could certainly be explained away: the slates were an accident that could be blamed on careless craftsmen, the bridge was already in need of repair, the boat was ancient and should have been replaced years ago. Still, even a rational man might start to question the sheer number of coincidences. Oliver sat up. “Do you think it’s magic, Berkley?”

  The younger man sat up. “My father once told me love is magic, sir.”

  “No, that’s not what I…never mind.” Oliver scrambled to his feet then extended his hand to Berkley to help him up. “Do you wish to marry my cousin?”

  Berkley chose his words with care. “I thought I was expected to ask you, sir.”

  “Life does not always happen as one expects.” Oliver studied the other man. “You should know that. And be prepared for it.” He rather wished he’d understood that sooner. What adventure could be had from the unexpected. With a start he realized that Kate had indeed been an adventure. “Well?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.
” Berkley nodded with the eagerness of a young man in love. “Very much sir.”

  “Why?” A lovely, annoying, amusing adventure.

  “Why?” Surprise crossed Berkley’s face. “I love her, sir. I can’t imagine a life worth living without her in it. I want to see our children, God willing, and their children. And I want her face to be the last thing I see in this world.”

  “Very good,” Oliver murmured.

  Berkley hesitated then grinned. “Will she like it do you think? Will it serve?”

  “I know I worried that you might go down on one knee at any moment,” Oliver said wryly and picked up his bag. “Don’t you think she’s too young for marriage? Or you are?”

  “No, I don’t. Besides—” Berkley picked up his bag—“it seems to me, when a man finds the one woman who is right, it scarcely matters what else is wrong.” He nodded and started back toward the manor.

  Oliver stared after him. The young man certainly had a better head on his shoulders than Oliver had at his age. Perhaps than Oliver did now. He hurried after Berkley.

  “I can’t simply give my permission, you know.”

  “I assumed as much.”

  “I need to know about your income, your prospects, that sort of thing.”

  “Of course you do.” Berkley reached into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a folded, wet piece of paper and handed it to Oliver. “I made a list of my good points, my faults, my prospects.”

  “You are well suited for Genevieve.” Oliver examined the soggy paper. “It’s wet and illegible.”

  “I should be happy to discuss it with you, sir.”

  “You don’t happen to have made a list of her good points, have you?”

  “No sir,” Berkley said indignantly. “I have no need to.”

  “We can discuss it all later I think. For now.” He smiled. “I don’t see any real reason why I would withhold my permission.”

  Berkley grinned with relief. “Thank you, sir.”

  “The final decision is of course up to her but you’re right.” Oliver nodded. “When a man finds the one woman…” He stopped in mid-step.