Not Quite A Gentleman

Ten

Today’s Modern Woman should never waste the opportunity to view a superior male specimen, particularly if he is in some state of undress. If faced with such a stroke of good fortune, she should not allow modesty to dictate that she squander such a lucky turn of events. Enjoy the moment, look your fill, and be prepared for what might happen next.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Her stomach churning with disbelief and dread, Victoria watched Nathan’s eyes narrow. She expected him to shout, but instead he said with quiet, icy calm, “I beg your pardon?”

She swallowed. “Your note. It was eaten. By your goat.”

“Please tell me that is just a hideously bad rhyme.”

“It is a hideously bad rhyme. But true, nonetheless.” His gaze dropped, arrowing in on the ragged spot of forest green hem she still clutched in a white-knuckled grip. “You’d sewn it into your hem.”

“Yes.”

His gaze jumped back to hers, pinning her in place. “You led me to believe it was in the house.”

“I never said that. I said I would return it to you once we were back here.”

“Why didn’t you simply return it at the beach? Knowing your sewing abilities, it surely wouldn’t have been too difficult to rip open a few sloppy stitches.”

Victoria flung down her ruined hem, planted her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes right back at him. “If certain people didn’t find it necessary to keep secrets from me and hide letters in my luggage, and other people refuse to let me help-”

“If you’re referring to your father and me-”

“Of course I’m referring to my father and you. If the two of you weren’t so pigheaded, it wouldn’t have been necessary for me to sew the note into my hem. Where it was perfectly safe, until your goat ate it.”

“So it’s my fault the note is gone?”

Victoria lifted her chin. “Partially, yes. Although I am willing to accept a portion of the blame.”

“How incredibly generous of you.”

Before Victoria could respond to his sarcastic reply, Lord Alwyck broke in. “Will someone please explain what you’re talking about? What note?”

Nathan sent her a warning look, but she ignored him and turned her attention to Lord Alwyck. “My father secreted a note for Dr. Nathan in my luggage. Unfortunately for him, I found it before he could retrieve it. Even more unfortunately for him, his goat just ate the note out of the hem of my skirt where I’d hidden it.”

Lord Alwyck shot Nathan a piercing look. “Why was Wexhall sending you a secret note?” When Nathan’s only reply was an unreadable steady stare, Lord Alwyck said slowly, “The fact that you’ve returned here… a note from Wexhall… this has something to do with the jewels.” The words rang like an accusation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Nathan’s gaze didn’t waver. “If Wexhall had wanted you to know, he’d have told you. Or perhaps I would have told you, depending on what instructions he gave me in the note. But now that the note is gone, I don’t suppose we’ll know. At least until I am able to contact him to tell him what happened.” His gaze swiveled to Victoria. “Which, needless to say, is an extremely inconvenient delay.”

Lord Alwyck turned to Lord Sutton. “Did you know about this, Colin?”

Lord Sutton nodded. “Yes. I’d planned to tell you about it during today’s ride.” He turned to Nathan. “Gordon had every right to know.”

“I never said he didn’t. However, I would have preferred to have all the information from Wexhall’s letter before telling anyone anything.”

“Still good at keeping secrets it would seem,” Lord Alwyck said to Nathan. His voice sounded calm, but it was obvious to Victoria by the frigid look in his eyes that he was very angry. “You had no right to keep me in the dark.”

Nathan hiked a brow. “Why would you care? It wasn’t your reputation that suffered.”

“Perhaps because I was shot during the failure of the mission the last time out. Or had you forgotten?”

A tension-laden silence filled the air. Victoria pressed her lips together to prevent herself from spewing any nervous babble to fill the void. A muscle jerked in Nathan’s jaw, and she noted his hands were clenched.

“No, I hadn’t forgotten,” he said in a flat tone. He turned toward Victoria, and she stilled at the utterly bleak look in his eyes. A curtain then seemed to fall over his expression, leaving complete blankness where only seconds ago shadows and pain and regret had dwelled.

“You read the note, examined it, did you not?” he asked her tersely.

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll come with me to the house and write down everything you can remember while I compose a letter to your father. Now.” Without waiting for a reply or so much as glancing at his brother or Lord Alwyck, he turned on his heel and strode toward the house.

Lord Alwyck muttered something that contained the words “rude” and “autocratic,” then said aloud, “It appears you need an escort to the house, Lady Victoria. May I have the honors?”

Victoria yanked her gaze from Nathan’s retreating back and noted that Lord Alwyck’s eyes still reflected anger, while Lord Sutton stared after his brother with a troubled expression. “Thank you, but I don’t wish to delay your ride. If you will both excuse me…” She hurried away before either gentleman could stop her.

Walking as swiftly as she could without resorting to running, Victoria tried to settle her jumbled emotions before she faced Nathan again. Part of her felt horribly guilty that her actions had led to the destruction of the note. Another part of her itched with irritation at Nathan for the dictatorial manner in which he’d flung commands at her. Good Lord, one minute the man was kissing her-

She cut off that thought immediately. This was no time to think about that kiss. That mind numbing, glorious, dazzling kiss-

Enough. Later. She would think on it later. Right now she was annoyed with him for tossing orders at her as if he were a general and she a lowly foot soldier. But tempering her annoyance was the deep pull of sympathy she’d felt right down to her core when she witnessed that flash of desolation in his eyes. The depth of the naked pain she’d seen had shaken her and filled her with an overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around him, to offer him comfort from whatever had caused that look. How was it that she wished to simultaneously cuddle and cosh him? The man roiled her emotions in a way no one else ever had. And she was quite certain that she didn’t like it one bit.

When she entered the house through the French windows leading to the terrace, a footman greeted her. “Dr. Nathan asked that you please meet him in the library, my lady.” He cleared his throat. “He specified that I should stress the word ‘please.’”

In spite of herself, Victoria’s lips twitched. “Thank you.”

“He said that you would no doubt wish to change clothes first, and that he’d arranged for a meal to be sent to your bedchamber.”

Victoria couldn’t hide her surprise at his show of thoughtfulness. Of course she’d had every intention of changing her clothes before joining him, but a private meal would be most welcome.

“Please tell Dr. Oliver I will join him as soon as I have eaten and made myself presentable.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Victoria hurried to her bedchamber. When she looked in the cheval glass, she gasped. Good Lord, her hair resembled a bird’s nest. But it wasn’t the disheveled state of her coiffure that stunned her as much as her face. Pink stained her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, a souvenir from not wearing her bonnet on such a sunny day, which would no doubt cause her to skin to freckle. Her eyes appeared huge and… glowing. And her lips…

She leaned closer to the glass and tentatively touched her fingertips to them. There was only one way to describe her reddened, swollen mouth: thoroughly kissed. Her eyes slid closed and in a heartbeat the thoughts she’d tried to hold at bay invaded her mind. The dizzying way he’d held her, touched her, the thrilling hardness of his body pressing into her, the delicious feeling of running her hands over his strong torso and back. In spite of all she’d learned from reading the Ladies’ Guide, never in her life had she imagined what she’d shared with Nathan in the cave. He said he’d been curious to discover whether the second time around could be even better than the first. She wouldn’t have believed it possible that the magic he’d introduced her to three years ago could be surpassed, but it had been. And God help her, she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

Straightening, she scowled at her reflection. “Be careful of this man and do not underestimate him,” she whispered to the wide-eyed woman staring back at her. The plan was to make herself unforgettable to him-not the other way around. If she and Nathan were to share another kiss, she would make certain it was on her terms.

That decided, Victoria opted not to ring for Winifred, knowing that the sharp-eyed abigail would instantly note her unsettled manner and kiss-swollen lips. Instead, she simply removed her riding habit, used the basin to freshen up, then set about detangling her hair. After arranging the unruly curls into a simple Grecian knot, she donned her favorite pale blue muslin day gown. She’d just slid her feet into the matching slippers when a knock sounded on the door.

At her bid to come in, a smiling young maid entered, bearing a silver tray that she set on the cherrywood table next to the bed. An enticing aroma floated from beneath the dome-covered dishes, and Victoria’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. “It smells wonderful.”

“One of Cook’s specialties, my lady. A rich hearty stew made from an assortment of local seafood. Cook made it especially for Dr. Nathan, as it’s his favorite.”

Considering the fact that Nathan refused to eat the animals given to him as payment, it didn’t surprise her that his favorite meal was fish. After the maid withdrew, Victoria dipped her spoon in the rich mixture and sampled a bit of broth with a small chunk of flaky white fish. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes in ecstasy. She’d never tasted anything so delicious. Two fluffy rolls accompanied her stew, and she used them to soak up the last drops of the savory meal. Clearly the sea and salt air affected her appetite, for she couldn’t recall enjoying a meal more. Indeed, she looked into the empty bowl and heaved a forlorn sigh.

Laying aside her linen napkin, she made her way to the foyer, where Langston escorted her to the library.

Victoria stood in the doorway and allowed her gaze to wander around the well-appointed room. Sunlight poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the center half of the back wall, the sparkling glass flanked by dark wood bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes. A huge desk stood in front of the windows, catching the natural light. Another full wall of bookcases soared from the floor to the twenty-foot ceiling, delighting Victoria and filling her with the urge to explore the wondrous room. The cheerful blaze burning in the grate of a huge marble fireplace occupied the opposite wall, bathing the room in gentle warmth. A blue and maroon Axminster rug covered the floor, and overstuffed chairs were placed in cozy groupings around the room. The brocade settee angled in front of the fireplace beckoned one to curl up with a favorite book. She breathed in and briefly closed her eyes at the familiar and much-loved scents of leather, aged parchment, and beeswax. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was alone. Where was Nathan?

Deciding to sit while she waited, she crossed to the fireplace. As she rounded the settee, she halted. Nathan’s mastiff, B.C., lounged on his side on the hearth rug, his body taking up the entire length, canine snores emitting from his snout. What had Nathan said B.C. stood for? Boot chewer? Behemoth Canine was more apt, if you asked her. Never in her life had she seen such a tremendous dog.

Just then the beast’s nose twitched, as if he’d caught the scent of something. His eyes blinked open, and heavens, for such a large animal, he was very fast, on his feet in seconds, staring at her-hopefully not as if she were a savory pork chop.

“Nice doggie,” Victoria murmured, taking a cautious step back. “Nice big huge doggie. Go back to sleep.”

Instead B.C. walked slowly toward her. Recalling from some distant childhood lesson that one shouldn’t run from a dog, as it encouraged them to chase you, and praying that Nathan had been correct when he’d said the beast was gentle, Victoria remained perfectly still. B.C. halted in front of her. After giving her gown a nose twitching sniff, he sat on his bottom, then lifted his massive right forepaw toward her.

Victoria blinked. “Shaking hands are you? But, er, we’ve already met.” Clearly B.C. didn’t care, because he kept his paw extended. Praying this wasn’t a precursor to chewing off her arm, she hesitantly reached out and shook his paw. The instant she released him, he stood and bumped her hip with his muzzle. Then he pushed his cool, damp nose against her wrist and licked the back of her hand with a tongue that was larger than her shoe.

She gave his head a tentative stroke then scratched behind his dark ears. This set up an immediate tail wagging that threatened to sweep an end table clear of its Staffordshire vase. “Ah, so that’s what you like,” Victoria murmured, continuing to scratch while moving around to sit on the settee in an effort to save the vase’s life. B.C. followed her, and once she was seated, her other hand joined in. With her seated and B.C. standing, they were just about on eye level with each other. She scratched vigorously, and laughed at the dog’s rapturous reaction. His tail wagged, tongue lolled, and a blissful humming sound rumbled in his throat.

“Why, you only look like a big, ferocious dog,” she scolded with a laugh, moving her ministrations down to the straight, coarse coat on B.C.‘s fawn neck. “Inside you’re just a little sweet puppy.”

B.C. grunted and moaned, as if to say, “Finally… someone who understands me!”

So engrossed was she in rubbing down the dog, she didn’t realize she was no longer alone until a familiar deep voice said, “I see you’ve made a new friend.”

Victoria turned. Nathan stood in the doorway, one shoulder casually propped against the jamb, his arms folded across his chest. He regarded her with his usual unreadable expression.

“Are you speaking to me or the dog?” Victoria asked, continuing to rub B.C., her words slightly breathless-due to her exertions, of course.

“You, but clearly the statement could apply to either of you.” He pushed off from the doorway and walked toward her. “He likes you.”

She sent him an arch look. “You needn’t sound so surprised.”

“Actually, I am.”

“Why, thank you. I can’t recall ever hearing a more delightful compliment. Truly.”

“I meant it as one. B.C. is normally more reserved with strangers.”

“Perhaps because strangers tend to be reserved with him? His size is intimidating, you know.”

“I suppose so. You realize that he’ll now want you to rub him like that every time he sees you. In fact, I’d wager that he’d give you a fortnight to stop it.”

“A fortnight?” She smiled. “And then what?”

“Oh, then he’d get very nasty and probably smother you with wet dog kisses.” He halted next to the sofa, then reached down to pat B.C.‘s back. “You like all this attention, boy?”

B.C. barked. “That means yes,” Nathan translated. His glance slid over her, and warmth that had nothing to do with her vigorous rubbing of the dog crept up her neck. “You changed your clothes. Fixed your hair.”

“I thought it best. Otherwise B.C. might have been tempted to bury me in the garden. As it was, I think my hideous hair situation scared five years from your footman’s life.”

“Not at all. Everyone looks like that after a windy day on the beach.”

She refrained from pointing out that he hadn’t looked hideous. On the contrary, he’d looked utterly masculine and devastatingly attractive. Like a tall, ruggedly handsome pirate, his dark hair windblown from the sea air. She noted that he d changed his clothes as well, donning a fresh linen shirt and midnight blue breeches. He’d again forgone a cravat, and her gaze settled on the golden tanned column of his throat. He was completely out of fashion-indeed, some circles would label his attire as scandalous. But even so, she couldn’t deny that she very much liked that tantalizing glimpse of his skin.

“Your hair wasn’t hideous, by the way.”

His voice jerked her from her rapt contemplation of his throat and her gaze flew upward to see him studying her hair. Warmth rushed through her and a shaky laugh pushed from between her lips. “You’re right. Horrifying is probably a more apt description.”

He shook his head. “No. That’s not the word I would use at all.”

She drew in an exaggerated breath. “All right, I’ve braced myself. What word would you use?”

His gaze met hers. “Exquisite.”

That single softly spoken word stunned her. Before she could even think of a reply, he gave B.C. a final firm pat then rose. Striding toward the desk, he said, “I’ve set out vellum, a pen, and ink for you.”

“Th-Thank you,” she said, keeping her attention on the dog while she struggled to regain her balance, which Nathan had so effectively shifted. “And thank you for the meal you had sent to my bedchamber.”

“Did you enjoy the stew?”

“It was delicious. I gobbled it down with embarrassing gusto.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed with me, Victoria. Ever.”

Those huskily spoken words jerked up her gaze and their eyes met. “The sea and salt air tend to increase one’s hunger,” he said. “Personally, I admire a woman who isn’t afraid to indulge her appetite.”

Victoria suddenly wasn’t so certain they were still discussing meals. And no doubt in two days’ time she would think up some witty response. Now, however, her mind remained stubbornly blank.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you remember much of the letter?”

Letter? She blinked and recalled herself, clearing her throat. “Actually, since I studied it at length, I believe I’ll be able to reproduce it quite accurately.”

“Excellent. Shall we get started?”

“Of course.” After a final scratch to her new friend, Victoria rose and crossed to the desk. B.C., she noted with a smile, trotted along at her heels.

“I’ve never seen such a large desk,” she said, running her fingers over the smooth walnut surface and the polished brass fittings adorning the edge. “It actually looks like two desks joined at the front.”

“That’s precisely what it is. It’s called a partners desk and is for two people so they can work while facing each other. It’s very convenient for my father when he’s going over accounts with his steward.” He pulled out a maroon leather chair. Victoria sat and murmured her thanks as he pushed in the chair for her, all the while keenly aware of his nearness. With his one hand resting on the back of the chair and his other on the leather arm, she felt surrounded by him. She turned her head, intending to indicate she was quite well settled, and found herself staring directly at the front of his breeches, which were no more than a foot away.

Oh, my. She stared, transfixed, her avid gaze riveted on his muscular thighs and his…

Oh, my my my.

Heat whooshed through Victoria as if her gown had been set afire, and her imagination flamed out of control. Even though the Guide had described in detail that which his breeches covered, she still couldn’t quite fully picture it in her mind. And here, literally right before her very eyes, was what clearly appeared to be a perfect specimen. If only his blasted breeches didn’t thwart her view-

“Are you ready, Victoria?”

She snapped her chin up and found him watching her with a speculative look-one that left little doubt that he was fully aware she’d been ogling his… that which his breeches covered. More heat, this time from mortification, rushed into her face. “Ready?” she repeated, horrified that her voice came out in weak squeak.

“To replicate my note… unless there’s some other activity in which you’d prefer to engage?”

His tone was innocence itself, but his eyes glittered in a way that flared a scorching blush all the way to the soles of her feet.

“Replicate. Note. Right.” She grabbed the quill pen as if it were a lifeline tossed to a drowning victim and bent her head over the vellum.

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh disguised as a cough, and she pressed her lips together to stem the tide of nervous babble that rose in her throat. Good lord, this would never do. What on earth was wrong with her? She felt as if she teetered on a slippery ledge and was about to lose her balance and plunge over the edge. Never before had she felt so utterly lacking in poise. Since she didn’t have any problem talking to other gentlemen, clearly this unusual behavior was all his fault. Well, the sooner she completed the task before her, the sooner she could depart his unsettling company.

Yet as soon as the idea entered her mind, she realized that the thought of departing his company did not in any way settle her. Rather, the prospect left her… forlorn. Good lord, she’d taken leave of her senses. She dared not voice these concerns out loud lest she be relegated to Bedlam.

Peeking up from beneath her lashes, she saw him sit in a leather chair identical to her own on the opposite side of the desk. Four feet of polished walnut separated them, certainly enough of a buffer, yet she was painfully aware that she had only to reach out to touch his hands.

His hands… for a woman who had never before taken particular notice of any man’s hands, she suddenly found herself fascinated by his. Large and long-fingered, they looked capable, steady, and strong. The perfect hands, she imagined, for a doctor. The sun had tanned his skin, yet lightened the dusting of hair to a tawny gold. Although she couldn’t see his palms, she knew they bore the calluses of physical labor, something she shouldn’t have found appealing, yet did. Despite their size and strength, she knew his hands could be gentle… magically so, as he’d proven when he slowly sifted his fingers through her hair. Brushed his fingertips over her lips. Yet they could also be demanding… thrillingly so, as he’d demonstrated when he held her tight against him. Explored her curves and-

Good heavens, her thoughts had once again run amok. Yanking her attention back to the blank ivory vellum, she dipped the pen tip in the well of indigo ink and forced herself to concentrate on the letter she’d studied so thoroughly last night. The salutation rose in her mind: To my very good friend Nathan… and she set to work. She paused occasionally, closing her eyes to summon an image of the letter when a word proved elusive. Nathan, she noted, busily scratched his pen across his own vellum.

Nathan paused in writing his letter to Victoria’s father to consider his next sentence. All thoughts of words, however, fled his mind when he looked across the desk at Victoria. Her eyes were closed, a frown puckered between her brows. His gaze was drawn to the way she worried her full bottom lip between her teeth, and instantly he recalled the bewitching feel of that plump mouth beneath his. When her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips, he found himself mimicking the gesture, vividly recalling the luscious taste of her, then profoundly wishing this blasted desk didn’t separate them. Still, he had only to reach out to touch her hands, and he suddenly found himself gritting his teeth in an effort to keep himself from doing just that.

When had he ever been so drawn to a woman’s hands? The simple truth was he hadn’t. Indeed, his absorption with Victoria’s bordered on the ridiculous. They were the lily white hands of a pampered aristocrat. But that pale skin, those slim fingers, enthralled him, and he didn’t need to search very hard for the reason. It was because he knew how gentle those hands could be, how achingly hesitant as she’d tentatively touched him. And how incredible those hands felt brushing over his skin. And how they smelled of roses. And how they could become impatient with want, fisting in his hair as she demanded he kiss her again.

She resumed her writing, and he was helpless to do anything save watch her, unreasonably entranced by the sight of her fingers gripping the quill. As his gaze roamed over her hand, he noted a thin scar near her wrist. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and brushed his fingertip over the inch-long mark. She stilled and her head jerked up. Their eyes met and a rosy blush stained her cheeks. He decided that rose-hued blush was very apt, as she smelled so perfectly of that flower. He traced the scar again. “How did this happen?”

Her gaze lowered to where his finger stroked her, and he looked down as well. Her pale, slender hand and soft skin contrasted starkly to his darker, rougher skin. Bloody hell, the sight of him touching her aroused him to the point that he had to shift in his seat.

“I cut myself,” she murmured in a husky voice.

“How? When?” he asked, slowly caressing her.

“I… I was twelve,” she said, and he decided he very much liked the breathless way she sounded. “I was digging in mud and unearthed a sharp stone that cut my hand.”

“Digging in mud? Fond of gardening, are you?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t planting when I was injured.”

“What were you doing? Hunting for buried treasure?”

“No. I was making a mud pie.”

Nathan pulled his gaze away from their hands to look into her eyes. “A mud pie?”

“Yes.”

“By mud pie you mean a pie made from mud?”

“I hardly mean a pie made from apples and honey.”

“And what would an earl’s daughter know about making mud pies?”

She lifted her chin. “Quite a lot actually, as I used to make them frequently. The dirt from the lower gardens at Wexhall Manor was far superior to that in the upper gardens. But the soil near the pond was the best of all.”

Nathan shook his head. “I simply cannot imagine you playing in the mud. Getting… dirty. Why did you do it?”

She hesitated, then said, “I loved the pies our cook made and I wanted to learn how to bake them. But Mother forbade me from spending time in the kitchens. Therefore I had to pretend.”

“You weren’t allowed in the kitchens but you were permitted to dig in the mud?”

“No. Mother would have flown into the boughs if she’d found out. Actually, the day I received the cut that left that scar was the day she found out. After I was properly bandaged, Mother treated me to an extremely long-winded lecture on the proper decorum of young ladies-one part of which is that they never, ever make mud pies.”

“And did you ever make another one?”

Her lips twitched and a whiff of mischief crept into her eyes. “Hmmm. I’m not certain I should answer that question.”

“Why not?”

“You might well be scandalized. Besides, I’d hate to dispel your exalted opinion of me as a hothouse-flower earl’s daughter who would never deign to dirty her hands in the mud.”

“After the things I’ve seen in my profession, I assure you, nothing could scandalize me. And as you’ve already managed to poke a number of holes in my perception of you, you might as well poke another.”

“Very well. Yes, I did make more mud pies. Many more. Mother never found out, and those hours I spent pretending to be the finest baker in all of England were amongst the happiest of my childhood.”

An image of her preparing her culinary mud delights popped into his mind, bringing with it a warm feeling he couldn’t put a name to. “Did you ever learn how to bake a real pie?”

She gave a short laugh. “No. It was merely a silly childhood wish.”

Nathan studied her for several seconds, then said, “Just when I think I’ve pinpointed the sort of person you are, I discover something else about you, such as a fondness for mud pies, that…” Enchants me. Bewitches and beguiles me. Intrigues and fascinates me. “… surprises me.”

“I could say the same about you-except for the mud pies, of course. Unless you were fond of them yourself?”

“I’m afraid not. Not that I didn’t relish getting dirty at every opportunity, but growing up near the sea, it was always sand castles for me.”

Her eyes sparkled with interest. “A castle made from sand? The sort of castle a princess would live in?”

“Good God, no. The sort fearless warriors resided in as they prepared for battle.” He looked up at the ceiling with an air of exaggerated manly exasperation. “Princesses. Heaven help us.”

“Well, if I were to build a castle from sand,” she said with a haughty sniff, “it would be for a princess.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “This does not surprise me, what with you being so very girlish.”

“I suppose I cannot help that, as, since it has apparently escaped your notice, I am a girl.” She shook her head and made a tsking sound. “For a spy, you really are shockingly unobservant.”

Her gaze dropped and he looked down, as she was, at their hands. His finger still brushed lightly over the faint scar. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to lift her hand and press his lips to that mark. Something strange happened to the area around his heart, a weak sensation that felt as if the moorings holding it in place in his chest shifted. Damn it, he’d noticed she was a girl. The instant he’d set eyes on her three years ago. Only now she was no longer a girl, but a woman. A beautiful, desirable woman. And every nerve and cell in his body was screamingly, achingly aware of that fact.

She cleared her throat, then gently slid her hand away from his to dip her quill tip in the ink. “You say you wish me to replicate your letter, Dr. Oliver, yet you’ve distracted me from doing so. I’d best return to the task.” She bent her head over her vellum.

He’d distracted her? Damn it, she was the distracting one. “Nathan,” he said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

She looked up only with her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“You called me Dr. Oliver. I prefer simply Nathan.”

She nodded. “Very well. May I now return to this task which you set me upon?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling inexplicably annoyed. She applied herself to her writing, and Nathan forced himself to do the same, and pretended he didn’t know she was close enough to touch.