Not Quite A Gentleman

Four

Today’s Modern Woman must rebel against the notion that a lady should conceal her intelligence from men. Embrace knowledge and strive to learn something new every day. Rejoice in your intelligence, do not keep it a secret. Only a foolish man would desire a foolish woman.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Nathan sat at the mahogany dining room table feeling very much like the prodigal son. Actually, the prodigal son science experiment who dwelled beneath a microscope with five pairs of eyeballs trained upon him. Every time he looked at anyone, he discovered their gaze already upon him. And all that while trussed up like a fatted goose in the damned formal clothes dinner in the dining room demanded. The instant this meal ended he was going to rip the confining cravat from his throat and toss the damn neck cloth into the fireplace. But of course, he first had to get through this interminable, awkward meal.

A footman topped off his wineglass and he took a grateful sip, barely squelching the urge to toss back the entire glass in a series of long gulps. He chanced to glance around the table and was relieved to note that for the first time since he’d sat down he wasn’t the cynosure of all eyes. Lady Delia, who sat on his right, was engaged in a lively discussion with his father, who was seated on her right at the head of the table.

His gaze then flicked to the trio who sat across from him-Colin, Lady Victoria, and Gordon Remming, who’d come into his title since Nathan had seen him last on that fateful night three years ago and was now the Earl of Alwyck. Gordon’s shining golden blond head was bent close to Lady Victoria, as if she imparted some diamond of wisdom he couldn’t bear to miss. Lady Victoria, who sat between Gordon and Colin, appeared to be enjoying herself immensely, smiling, chatting, laughing. No doubt because both men were showering her with compliments and attention. Bloody hell, one would think neither of them had ever seen an attractive female before. And all this for the woman he was supposed to watch over. Well, the instant he’d satisfied his obligation to her father, Colin and Gordon were welcome to her.

His gaze settled on Gordon, and the guilt and regret he’d strived so hard to bury catapulted to the surface. Gordon’s greeting had been reserved, but when Nathan had extended his hand, Gordon accepted the gesture, albeit after a brief hesitation. Nathan clearly read the lingering suspicion in Gordon’s eyes, but he hadn’t expected anything less.

“I saw the animal pen you constructed, Nathan,” Father said, jerking his attention away from the laughing trio across the table. “Impressive bit of work.”

“Thank you,” he replied, surprised and pleased by the praise.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be necessary for you to dirty your hands in such a manner if you were paid properly for your services.”

Nathan merely shrugged off the backhanded side of the compliment. “I enjoy working with my hands. Keeps my fingers nimble.”

“They won’t remain nimble if you smash them with a hammer,” Father said, “or if one of those beasts bite you.”

“Animal pen?” chimed in Lady Delia, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Beasts?”

“Since settling in Little Longstone, I’ve accumulated a bit of a menagerie,” Nathan explained. The conversation on the opposite side of the table ceased, and he again felt the weight of those stares. One vivid blue one, in particular, he felt most aware of.

“Cats and dogs?” asked Lady Delia.

“More like a pig and hens, but I also have a dog-”

“Who is the size of a pony,” broke in Colin.

“-and a cat-”

“Which is a kitten who has already required being rescued from a tree,” Colin added. “Not to mention a cow, a lamb, a pair of ducks, I’m not certain how many geese, and an incorrigible button-eating goat-most of which are named after flowers. They are loud, smelly, fond of chasing one about the grounds-when they’re not chewing off one’s buttons or decapitating the flower beds-and Nathan loves them as if they were his own children.”

“Thank you for that edifying description… Uncle Colin.”

Colin shook his head. “I refuse to be an uncle to that beastly goat.”

“Petunia is very fond of you.”

Colin glared. “She ate my button. And my personal correspondence.”

“Only because she loves you,” Nathan said very seriously. “And I didn’t hear you complaining this morning when you feasted on eggs courtesy of Daffodil, Tulip, and Guinevere.”

Colin lifted a brow. “Guinevere? I suppose you have a rooster named Lancelot?”

“No, but that is an excellent suggestion and one I plan to follow up on as soon as I return to Little Longstone so as to increase my flock. Three hens will produce an average of two eggs per day. That means to get a dozen eggs a day, I would need-”

“Eighteen hens,” said Lady Victoria. Everyone turned toward her but she seemed unaware of their surprised looks, her gaze resting on Nathan. “You must be very fond of eggs, Dr. Oliver.”

Was that a whiff of sarcasm in her voice? Nathan returned her steady look. “Actually, I am, however, even I couldn’t hope to consume however many eggs that would produce in a year.”

Lady Victoria blinked twice, then said, “Four thousand three hundred and eighty.”

Everyone chuckled at her quick wit for tossing out a random number-except, Nathan noticed, Lady Delia, who, from the corner of his eye, he could see was simply nodding in an approving manner. He performed a quick calculation, and to his surprise realized Lady Victoria had been correct.

“At the rate Nathan collects animals, he’ll most likely accumulate that many chickens before the year is over,” Colin said, shaking his head.

“Why would you want so many eggs, Dr. Oliver?” Lady Victoria asked.

“No doubt to throw from his window at unsuspecting passersby,” Colin said dryly. “I was his victim a time or two when we were lads. Had the most dastardly accurate aim.” He rubbed the back of his head and winced, as if in remembrance.

“I still do,” Nathan said to his brother, although his gaze remained steadily on Lady Victoria. “And I never pelted you unless you deserved it.”

“I never hit you with an egg.”

“Because you couldn’t.” He pulled his gaze from Lady Victoria and smirked at his brother. “Your aim is such that you could not hit water if you fell out of a boat. Which, by the way, is precisely why I pelted you with eggs on one occasion-you pushed me out of the rowboat.”

“And did you hit the water?”

“Obviously.”

“Ah. Thereby proving that I can indeed hit water.”

“Yes-when I fell out of the boat-I who possess not only flawless aim, but a trio of egg-laying hens.”

The ghost of a smile hiked up one corner of Colin’s mouth and a look born of many shared memories passed between them. “Touchй,” Colin murmured. “I’ll think twice before pushing you from the rowboat again.” He grinned. “Actually, I thought about it twice the last time I did it, and both times it seemed a capital idea.”

Everyone chuckled, then Lady Victoria said, “But you never said why you would want so many eggs, Dr. Oliver.”

Nathan shrugged. “I’ve a number of neighbors with large families who could make good use of them.”

“Why on earth do you keep such a barnyard of animals,” Gordon asked, “and why bring them here?”

“The question we have all asked, I assure you,” Father muttered.

“I wasn’t certain how long I would be away and I didn’t wish to impose such responsibility on my neighbors. Nor did I wish to split the animals up, sending some to one neighbor, some to another. They’re all quite accustomed to each other. Besides, the animals are really no trouble. In fact, I greatly enjoy their company.”

“They smell,” Colin said. He turned to Lady Victoria. “You’d be wise to give those beasts a wide berth, Lady Victoria. Especially the goat. If you see the beast, I recommend running in the opposite direction.”

“Actually, running will only tempt her to chase you,” Nathan said, looking at Lady Victoria over the rim of his wineglass. “While I recall you saying that you are a capable sprinter, I fear you would not be able to outrun a goat as easily as a persistent suitor.”

“I imagine you must have dozens of persistent suitors to outrun,” Gordon said to Lady Victoria with a warm smile, which for some reason irked Nathan.

A mischievous smile that brought back a flood of memories curved her lips. “ ‘Tis how I became such a proficient sprinter, my lord.”

Everyone chuckled, although Nathan’s laughter felt a bit forced. He vividly recalled her looking at him in that precise same way three years ago. It was a look that had led to a kiss he’d hadn’t, to this day, been able to erase from his mind.

“But the sprinting is about to end, is it not, my dear?” Lady Delia asked.

A rosy blush bloomed on Lady Victoria’s cheeks, but before she could answer, Gordon pressed his hand to his chest as if mortally wounded, then, in a teasingly dramatic fashion said, “Please don’t say you’re betrothed.”

“I’m not-”

“Excellent news,” said Gordon, smiling.

“-yet.”

“And like that…” Gordon snapped his fingers. “… the news is not so excellent. So tell us, who is the lucky gentleman to whom you are not betrothed… yet?”

“Either Lord Branripple or Lord Dravensby.”

Nathan’s brow crept upward. “Egad. Branripple and Dravensby? They’re still alive?”

Lady Victoria sent him a glacial look. “You must be thinking of their fathers, as I believe Lord Branripple is actually a year younger than you, Dr. Oliver. And Lord Dravensby only several years older.”

“Ah. So they’ve both offered for you, have they?”

“They’ve both approached my father, yes.”

“Well, as worthy as those two gentlemen are, since you are not yet engaged,” Gordon said, “you should consider that there are eligible noblemen right here in Cornwall.”

Nathan barely repressed the urge to look heavenward. Bloody hell, Gordon might as well have said there are eligible noblemen right in here Cornwall, right here in this very room, sitting right next to you. A becoming blush flooded Lady Victoria’s cheeks, and Nathan decided he knew precisely how a cat felt when it was petted the wrong way. Right after it had been tossed into a tub of water.

“Yes,” Colin added, with an unmistakable gleam in his eye, “there are eligible noblemen right here in Cornwall.”

Humph. Obviously both Gordon and Colin had fallen under whatever sort of spell Lady Victoria weaved. More fools they-although it clearly wouldn’t be difficult at all to foist Lady Victoria off. Surely that realization should have pleased him immensely. Instead it was accompanied by an unsettling sensation that resembled a cramp. And suddenly Nathan realized for the second time that day that a man should be careful what he wished for, as he might just get it.

He picked up his wineglass, focused his attention on the smooth claret, and firmly shoved aside the inexplicably irritating image of Colin and Gordon vying for Lady Victoria’s attention. Their houseguest had in her possession information he needed. It was time for him to retrieve it so as to determine exactly what he was dealing with-aside from an irritating hothouse flower who was supposedly in danger.

When the meal ended, the party moved to the drawing room for cards and post dinner drinks. After assuring that everyone was comfortably ensconced and occupied, Nathan claimed a headache and retired. Indeed, his head was aching from watching Colin and Gordon vie for Lady Victoria’s favor-and from witnessing Lady Victoria’s flirtatious response to both of them.

He walked down the thickly carpeted corridor, passed by his own bedchamber, and quickly continued on. When he stood in front of Lady Victoria’s bedchamber, he pressed his ear to the door. Satisfied by the silence that her maid was not inside, he entered. After silently closing the door, he leaned back against the oak panel and allowed his gaze to sweep over the room. Mrs. Henshaw had given Lady Victoria the blue guest chamber that had always been his favorite, as the color reminded him of the sea, especially during the summer when the pale aqua of the shallows near the beach slowly deepened into indigo near the horizon.

Even though she’d only arrived a few hours ago, Lady Victoria had already established her presence in the spacious room. A half-dozen books were stacked on the bedside table. An ornate jewelry case rested on the mahogany dresser, alongside a polished silver hairbrush and a delicate glass vial, no doubt containing perfume. The thought of her perfume had him drawing a deep breath. A tantalizing, elusive whiff of her fragrance clung in the air, but it was enough to bring a vivid image of her into sharp focus. Roses. She smelled of roses, but in the most subtle, delicate of ways, as if instead of dabbing on perfume she’d merely brushed the velvety flower petals over her soft skin.

His gaze riveted on those feminine accoutrements, and, as if in a trance, he crossed the Axminster rug to the dresser. Unable to stop himself, he carefully lifted her hairbrush and slowly ran the pad of his thumb over the bristles. Several long strands of her dark hair remained entwined in the coarse bristles, and he stared at them, instantly recalling the sensation of her lustrous locks slipping through his fingers while his mouth explored hers.

After replacing the brush, he slowly lifted the glass vial. The instant he removed the stopper, the delicate scent of her filled his head. A groan rose in his throat and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but it proved a weak defense against the intense memory slamming into him. Of skimming his lips over her satin smooth skin, breathing in the subtle scent that could only be detected when mere inches separated them. Since that night three years ago, every time he’d smelled roses, he instantly thought of her. Every bloody damn time. He quickly discovered, to his annoyance, that England was apparently overrun with roses.

He inhaled again and this time couldn’t suppress his groan. Luscious curves pressed against him… her slim fingers gliding through the hair at his nape… the delicious, seductive taste of her against his tongue-

Muttering an obscenity he rarely allowed to cross his lips, Nathan snapped his eyes opened and jabbed the stopper back into the vial. He set the glass back on the dresser as if it had burned him, then quickly withdrew his handkerchief to wipe away any remnants of her fragrance that might have clung to him. As the memory of her and their kiss clung to him.

He shot a scowl at the offending vial, then, after slipping his handkerchief away, resolutely turned toward the wardrobe to begin his search for the note Lord Wexhall had indicated he’d concealed in Lady Victoria’s luggage. He eyed the two trunks stacked in the corner, but didn’t change course. Wexhall had indicated in the coded letter that he would utilize Lady Victoria’s portmanteau to secrete his note.

As he passed the bedside table, he paused to look at the books, unable to resist learning what sort of reading material Lady Victoria preferred. Lifting the two top volumes, he perused the titles. Letter to the Women of England on the Injustice of Mental Subordination by Mary Robinson and A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft. His brows shot upward. He’d expected nothing more strenuous than Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. It appeared Lady Victoria harbored some bluestocking tendencies. He picked up the remaining three books and noted with an inward smile that two of them were indeed novels by Mrs. Radcliffe, and the third Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. Nathan’s lips twitched. How apt.

He replaced the books, intrigued in spite of himself by Lady Victoria’s eclectic choices in reading materials. He had assumed she thought of nothing more profound than which gown to wear to her next social engagement. Shaking off the thought, he resumed crossing to the wardrobe.

Grasping the brass handles, he pulled open the oak doors. Instantly his senses were wrapped in the delicate scent of roses that clung to her garments. Gritting his teeth, he firmly told himself that he detested roses and knelt down. He pushed aside the colorful array of gowns. In the back left corner he spied a portmanteau. He pulled the soft-sided leather case toward him and quickly opened it, scanning the upper edge. He immediately saw where clumsy stitches had repaired the lining, and a frown yanked down his brows. Wexhall must be losing his touch to leave such sloppy work behind. Not bothering to take care, as a rip could always be easily explained away, he tore the brown satin lining and slid his hand into the opening. A thorough examination of the space yielded nothing.

Damnation, where was the bloody note? He felt around again, but nothing. Frustrated, he slid his hand out then thrust it into the interior of the bag. His fingers encountered what felt like a book, and he quickly pulled it from the bag. Tilting the slim volume toward the light cast by the fire burning in the grate, he read the title: A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment by Charles Brightmore.

Again his brows rose. Even living in the small, secluded village of Little Longstone, he was aware of the scandal this explicit treatise on women’s behavior was currently causing. He found it fascinating to discover such a book hidden in Lady Victoria’s luggage. Fascinating, and titillating.

He flipped through the pages to ascertain that Lord Wexhall’s note wasn’t tucked between the pages, and wasn’t surprised to discover it was not. He flipped through the book again, then paused when the word “lovemaking” caught his eye. Opening to the page, he scanned the paragraph.

Today’s Modern Woman must realize that lovemaking is not something to be enjoyed only by men and simply endured by women. Be an active participant. Tell your partner what you want. What feels good. Do not doubt that he will be delighted to oblige you. And do not be afraid to touch him-most especially in the ways that you yourself would like to be touched. And the best way to ascertain how you like being touched is to touch yourself to discover what you find pleasurable. After doing so, Today’s Modern Woman would then certainly tell her gentleman what she‘d learn. Or better yet, show him.

Heat engulfed Nathan, and before he could control his runaway thoughts, his mind filled with an erotic fantasy of her, naked, standing in front of a mirror, slowly running her hands down her supple body. Watching her reflection, he stepped up behind her, slid his hands around her waist, then up, to cup her full breasts. Her eyelid drooped and she laid her hands on top of his. Leaning back against him, she whispered, Let me show you what pleases me…

Bloody hell. He shook his head to rid himself of the image, but the effects lingered. His body ached and he felt as if someone had set his breeches on fire. With a disgusted exclamation, he yanked at his cravat, which felt as if it were strangling him. But that was a mere discomfort compared to the strangulation occurring in his breeches. He shoved the book back into the bag, refusing to consider that she’d read those words. Refusing to wonder what affect they’d had upon her. It mattered not. All that mattered was finding Wexhall’s damn note-and since it wasn’t in this portmanteau, there must be another portmanteau. He again shoved aside the yards of material comprising her gowns and reached into the far recesses of the wardrobe. It had to be here-

“I cannot wait to hear the explanation as to why you are searching through my luggage.”