Seduction of a Proper Gentleman (Last Man Standing)

by Victoria Alexander

When a man finds the one woman who is right, it scarcely matters what else is wrong.

  “Sir?”

  Was he blind? Or was he indeed his mother’s idiot son? Kate or Lady Kathleen or whatever she called herself was the one woman who was right. Did it really matter how she had come into his life or why, only that she had? What difference did it make if everyone else believed in a curse or magic and he didn’t?

  Didn’t he want to see their children and their grandchildren?

  “Sir?”

  Didn’t he want her face to be the last thing he saw before he died?

  Berkley cleared his throat. “Sir?”

  Could he imagine a life worth living without Kate in it?

  “Lord Norcroft?”

  “No, Berkley,” Oliver said firmly. “I most certainly cannot.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Oliver picked up his pace. “I have been, I don’t know, afraid I suppose is the proper word, to see what was right in front of me.”

  Kate had been an adventure and always would be. His adventure.

  “I must thank you, Berkley. You’ve been a great deal of assistance.”

  “I couldn’t let you drown, sir.”

  Oliver laughed. “For that too.”

  They approached the manor. Once again, a scant foot or so from the front steps, a slate whizzed by Oliver’s face and exploded at his feet, then half a dozen more.

  Oliver froze.

  “Sir, are you all right?”

  “Yes, Berkley, thank you for asking.” Oliver drew a deep breath, glanced upward and yelled. “That’s quite enough. I believe.”

  “In the curse, sir?”

  “No, Berkley.” Oliver grinned. “In the heart.”

  Chapter 20

  “Hollinger!” Oliver strode through the front door and handed his bag to a footman.

  Hollinger appeared so quickly one might have thought one was expected to return. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Is Lady Kathleen still in the parlor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And my mother?

  “She and Lord Dumleavy are in the conservatory I believe.”

  “Excellent. Tell them I wish to speak to them in the parlor.”

  “At once, sir.” Hollinger paused. “You do know you’re dripping on the carpet.”

  “I am aware of that, yes. It is not my primary concern at the moment.” He started toward the parlor, then paused. “Oh, and find Miss Fairchild, Genevieve, for Mr. Berkley.” He grinned at the young man. “Best of luck, Berkley.”

  Berkley nodded. “You too, sir.”

  Oliver started toward the parlor. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would say but he wasn’t going to worry about it now. The right words would come.

  He pushed open the door to the parlor. Kate stood by the far window, gazing out over the back gardens. There was something in the set of her shoulders that looked almost defeated. His heart twisted. Had he done this to her? No, surely it was a trick of the light. He couldn’t imagine anything that would defeat Kate. His Kate.

  “Kate.” He stepped toward her.

  She whirled around and her eyes widened. “You’ve come back.”

  He nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t leave.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “Oh, Oliver.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I mean it was impossible to leave. There are no horses, no carriages, the bridge is impassable, the boat sank and I was nearly killed by falling slate.”

  Her smile faded. “I see.”

  “No, you don’t.” He moved to her. “It wasn’t until it was impossible for me to go that I realized.” He pulled her into his arms. “I couldn’t leave…you.”

  “Oh my.” She gazed up into his eyes. “You’re…you’re very wet.”

  He laughed. “I know.” He kissed her fast and hard and then released her. “My apologies.”

  “Accepted.” She framed his face with her hands and kissed him, a kiss long and soft and right. And when she released him, he was hard pressed to catch his breath.

  “I gather this means you’re not leaving.” His mother’s voice sounded from the doorway.

  “I should hope not,” Lord Dumleavy growled.

  Oliver stepped away from Kate. “You made it damn difficult for me to do so.”

  “One does what one can for one’s children,” his mother said in a lofty manner and seated herself on the sofa. Dumleavy moved to stand behind her. It struck Oliver that the two had formed an alliance of sorts. Whether it was for the purpose of seeing her son and his niece wed or something else entirely he wasn’t certain he wanted to know. “You should thank me.”

  “Thank you?” Under other circumstances he would still be angry at her interference. But as her meddling had at last made him realize what he truly wanted he couldn’t muster anything more than amusement. “For disabling the horses and the carriages?”

  Mother grinned. “I thought it was brilliant.”

  He studied her closely. “I’m assuming you had nothing to do with the gaps in the bridge—”

  “There are gaps in the bridge?” Surprise colored his mother’s face. Oliver wasn’t sure he believed it.

  “It’s impassable.” He nodded. “And there are apparently holes in the boat. It sank. With Mr. Berkley and I in it.”

  “Really?” She traded glances with Lord Dumleavy. “Imagine that.”

  Oliver narrowed his gaze. “Mother.”

  “Goodness, Oliver, you needn’t look at me like that. By the way, do you realize you’re dripping on the carpet?”

  “Do you realize I could have drowned?”

  “Nonsense.” She huffed. “The river has never been very deep and you’ve always been an excellent swimmer. But I assure you I had nothing to do with the bridge or the boat.”

  “He might as well blame her for the rain as well,” Kate’s uncle said under his breath.

  “I would if I thought it possible,” Oliver said.

  “I will confess to making sure there were no horses or carriages available but the rain was in the hands of a far greater power than I.” She paused. “Still, I am rather proud of the falling slates.”

  Oliver stared. “You were responsible for the slates? What? Did you crawl out on the roof?”

  “That would be extremely foolish.” She waved away his comment. “I simply took the time to go through some of those family papers in the attic as you should have done years ago.” She glanced at Kate. “I discovered very old references to the curse as well as evidence that yours is not the only family to occasionally toy with”—she aimed a pointed look at her son—“magic.”

  “Perfect,” Oliver muttered, all sense of amusement gone.

  “Therefore, as there was a precedent and certainly a need, I thought I might try my hand at”—she raised her shoulder in a casual shrug—“a spell.”

  Oliver groaned. “Good Lord.”

  Mother directed her words to Kate. “Your uncle helped me, dear. He’s very good at this.”

  “Uncle.” Kate turned stricken eyes to Dumleavy. “You too?”

  “When faced with an army one cannot defeat, one needs to ensure at the very least, equal force,” Dumleavy said.

  Kate’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “It seemed to me that if all the women in my family were pursuing the magic arts, I’d best look into it.” The Scotsman grinned. “If only for protection.”

  Kate stared at him. “But it never has worked for them.”

  “Nor has it ever worked for me. But perhaps.” His eyes twinkled. “It was not the right time.”

  “You’re mad. All of you.” Oliver turned an angry glare on Kate. “He’s corrupted her, you know.”

  “Nonsense.” Kate bristled. “He taught her a…a parlor trick. It’s nothing more than that.”

  “That parlor trick came bloody close to killing me. It missed me by inches. Twice!”

  “Well, if it missed you, they didn’t do
it right, did they?” Kate said sharply.

  “I do apologize if the slates came too close,” his mother said. “It’s not an exact science you know.”

  “It’s not a science at all!”

  His mother ignored him. “It was meant as nothing more than a warning shot across the bow as it were. To keep you from leaving and bring you to your senses.”

  “It took being sunk in the river to do that.”

  His mother raised her chin. “I am not to blame for that.” She paused. “I didn’t think of it.”

  “That’s something at any rate. And mind you, I do not believe magic is responsible for the slates either. There is a rational explanation for everything that has happened today.” Although the sheer number of coincidences was beginning to strike even Oliver as too convenient. Still, it scarcely mattered at the moment. He ran a hand through his wet hair. This was not at all how he thought this would go. Kate should be in his arms by now, not glaring at him as if he were…unreasonable. He drew a steadying breath. “Kate.”

  She raised a brow.

  “Is there anything magical in the way I feel about you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I should think it’s quite magical. It’s supposed to be.”

  “No, I mean have there been any spells cast?” He met her gaze and held his breath. “Any charms concocted? Any parlor tricks?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “No.”

  “Mother?”

  “Another excellent idea but again, one I didn’t think of so the answer is no. I certainly haven’t done anything.” She shook her head. “Dislodging a few slates from the roof is the only spell I’ve tried.” Mother cast a puzzled glance at Dumleavy. “Twice?”

  Dumleavy shrugged.

  “What do you mean by twice, Oliver?” his mother asked slowly.

  “Twice. I mean two times. The slates fell once when I was leaving and again when I returned,” he said impatiently. “The second time was unnecessary by the way. I had already decided what to do.”

  Mother traded glances with Lord Dumleavy. “Twice was not intended.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know your own power,” the older man said in an off-hand manner that belied the uneasy look in his eyes.

  Oliver ignored them both, moved to Kate, and took her hands. “I know the circumstances are not the least bit romantic and I should get down on one knee but I am wet and chilled and I have waited too long already. I don’t believe in the curse but I am grateful that it brought you into my life. And I think any talk of magic is absurd save for the magic I see in your eyes. In spite of the fact that we may well disagree on all of that, Kate,” he drew a deep breath, “will you marry me?”

  “Oliver.” She stared at him for a long moment then shook her head slowly. “I don’t think I can.”

  Shock coursed though him. “What?”

  She pulled her hands from his and turned to his mother. “You had nothing to do with the bridge or the boat or the slates falling a second time?”

  His mother shook her head. “No.”

  “Uncle?”

  “Not I.”

  Kate looked at Oliver and fear shone in her eyes. “You could have drowned. You could have fallen through the bridge. The slates could have killed you.”

  “But they didn’t. I’m fine. A little wet perhaps—”

  “You could still catch your death of cold.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I should have realized it before.”

  He stared in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “I should have known better.” She paced the room. “This has nothing to do with love.”

  “I haven’t mentioned love,” Oliver said quickly. “I intended to but I haven’t had the chance.”

  Kate ignored him. “I should have realized what might happen as soon as I knew I loved you.”

  Oliver grinned. “You love me?”

  “Kathleen,” Lord Dumleavy said. “What are you thinking, lass?”

  “It’s the curse, Uncle.” She stared at Dumleavy. “Don’t you see? It won’t be ended if I marry Oliver.”

  “But aren’t those the terms of the curse? That the families have to join in marriage?” Mother said. “You’re the last of your line just as he is the last of his. There is no one else to end it.”

  Kate chose her words with care. “The original match, the one that started all this, was for duty and responsibility. They never wanted to be together. Marriage for them was a sacrifice.”

  “I certainly don’t consider marriage to you a sacrifice,” Oliver said quickly.

  “And therein lies the problem.” Kate shook her head. “The curse, the real curse is that the marriage that was to join our families together five hundred years ago was for duty not love. Love would have made it perfect. It would have been what they wanted and not a sacrifice at all. Now, marriage with love won’t end the curse. Only sacrifice will end it.”

  “But I don’t believe in the curse!”

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe. Don’t you see?” Kate shook her head. “The bridge, the boat, the slates falling a second time, perhaps even the fact that your mother’s spell worked the first time, it wasn’t to keep you here, it was a warning.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Oliver said staunchly. “I won’t believe it.”

  “I’ll not marry you if I cannot love you and it’s impossible for me not to love you. But I will not be the cause of your death.”

  “That’s absurd, you’re talking about a curse, something that doesn’t exist.”

  “One man who loved me died for it. Three more who might have loved me died as well. I will not take that chance with your life.”

  “Very well then.” He had to think of something. He couldn’t let it end this way. “What if we admit there is a curse. If we don’t marry, the curse won’t be broken.”

  “And if we do you’ll die in some horrible, ridiculous way.”

  “What happened to marry the Englishman, break the curse?”

  “I’m not supposed to love the Englishman!” She shook her head. “It’s an endless circle. Oliver. There is no answer. No way to resolve this. It is a most efficient curse.”

  He stared in disbelief. “There has to be a way out of this.”

  “I wish there was.” She gazed at him for a long moment. Tears glistened in her green eyes. His heart cracked.

  “But if we don’t marry terrible, dreadful things will happen.”

  “My darling Oliver.” She swallowed hard. “They already have.” Kate drew a calming breath and turned to her uncle. “We should leave as soon as possible.”

  “It might be a few days,” Mother warned.

  “That cannot be helped, I suppose.” Kate started for the door. “I shall remain in my rooms until then.”

  “Kate.” Oliver stepped toward her.

  She paused in the doorway but did not turn around.

  He moved closer. “I don’t believe my life is at risk but even if it is, I don’t care.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and resisted the need to pull her close and tell her all would be well. “I would rather live a short time with you than an entire lifetime without you.”

  “And I could not bear to lose you and live the rest of my days knowing your death was because of me.” She shrugged out of his grasp and left the room.

  He stared at the door. For a long moment no one said a word.

  “When we leave,” Dumleavy said at last, “I would very much like for your mother to come with us.”

  Oliver turned. “Why?”

  His mother stared at Dumleavy. “To Scotland? I’ve never been to Scotland. What a lovely adventure a visit would be.”

  “Not as a visitor,” Dumleavy said slowly, “as my wife.”

  “No,” Oliver said without hesitation.

  “Does no one in this house know how to propose properly?” Mother huffed.

  Dumleavy chuckled then knelt on one knee and took her hands. “Edwina, you have touched somet
hing in my heart I did not know could be touched again. I should dearly like to spend the rest of my days having adventures with you.”

  “No.” Oliver glared. “You scarcely know one another.”

  “Oliver.” His mother shot him a firm look. “This is my proposal if you don’t mind.”

  “I promised Father I would look after you.”

  “And I promised your father I would take care of you. I think we have both done an outstanding job but the time has come”—she paused as if choosing the right words—“for me to decide what’s best for my life. My apologies if that is selfish.”

  He stared at her and wondered why he hadn’t noticed before. Since Dumleavy’s arrival his mother had seemed, well, happy, not that she’d ever seemed especially unhappy. Still, at this moment, she was radiant. He’d obviously been far too involved in his own affairs to pay any attention. He shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. Mother.” He nodded at the older man. “You have my approval, Dumleavy.”

  “I don’t recall asking for it, lad,” Dumleavy said. “Edwina, you’ve not answered my question.”

  “Didn’t I? And I thought I had.” She favored Dumleavy with a brilliant smile. “I should dearly love to be your wife.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “To share your adventures and your magic.”

  “It might never work again, you know.”

  “That’s not the magic I meant.”

  He chuckled. “Can I get up now?”

  She laughed. “Yes, dearest Malcolm, you can.”

  “Good.” Dumleavy rose to his feet with a wince. “Now that that’s settled.” He met Oliver’s gaze. “What are you going to do about Kathleen?”

  “I don’t know.” A knot clenched in his stomach. “But I do not intend to give her up without a fight.” He sank into a chair and tried to think. “It’s pointless to try to convince her the curse doesn’t exist.”

  Dumleavy settled into another chair. “A dead husband and three dead suitors tend to make even a sensible woman believe in something she might otherwise find absurd. Kathleen’s always been a sensible lass.”

  “Do you believe in the curse?”

  “I don’t know that it’s real,” Dumleavy said thoughtfully. “But I don’t know that it’s not.”

  “It seems to me, at this point, it only really matters whether or not Kathleen believes.” His mother stood, crossed the room to the whisky decanter and poured two glasses. She handed one to her soon-to-be husband and another to her son. “Although I must say, I would prefer you not marry her if it means your death.”