Not Quite A Gentleman

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.”

Five

Today’s Modern Woman knows there is often a great chasm between what she should do and what she wants to do. Naturally there are times when duty’s dictates must take precedence. However, there are other times, notably when an attractive gentleman is involved, when she should throw caution to the wind and do what she wants.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Victoria planted her hands on her hips and stared down at Dr. Oliver, who appeared frozen in place, his expression unreadable-although she did not detect even a hint of the guilt that any decent person would have felt being caught in such a manner.

Hiking a disdainful brow, she said, “I cannot deny that on more than one occasion I’ve wished you on your knees, but in my thoughts you always knelt before me-not my portmanteau.”

Without taking his gaze from hers, he slowly rose. Instead of appearing in the least bit abashed, he had the audacity to wink at her. “Ah. So you have thought of me.”

“Not fondly, I assure you.”

He winced. “You wound me, madam.”

“No, not yet.” Her gaze flicked with unmistakable significance to the fire poker. “But that could be arranged.”

He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “I’d no idea you harbored such violent tendencies, my lady. As for kneeling before you? I fear that is a sight you shall never see.”

“Never say never, Dr. Oliver.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’m certain that’s no huge loss, as you’re undoubtedly quite accustomed to men playing your adoring slave.”

Victoria heard a muffled sound and realized it was her shoe tapping against the carpet. She forced her foot to remain still, then fixed her most glacial stare upon him. “My admirers are none of your concern, and do not think for a moment that your transparent ploy to divert my attention from your outrageous behavior has worked. Why were you rifling through my things?”

“I was not rifling.”

“Oh? And what would you call it?”

“I was merely looking.”

“For what?”

For an answer, the insufferable scoundrel cast a meaningful glance down at her portmanteau, which rested near his feet. “Interesting reading material you conceal in your luggage, Lady Victoria.”

Heat suffused Victoria’s face until she was certain she emitted a glow. Before she could recover herself to issue him the set-down he so richly deserved, he said in a silky voice, “I thought girls like you only read torrid novels and simpering poetry.”

Again Victoria forced her foot to remain still-but this time so that she did not give him a swift kick. “Girls like me? My my, a thief and so charming. And in case you’ve failed to notice-not surprising since your powers of observation are clearly not all they should be-I am no longer a girl. I am a woman.”

Something flashed in his eyes. His gaze dropped to her feet, then roamed upward in a slow, assessing perusal no decent gentleman would ever bestow upon a lady. A tingly warmth that surely was outrage began in her toes then worked its way upward in tandem with his gaze until even the roots of her hair felt hot. When he finished, their gazes met. The heated glimmer in his eyes hitched her breath.

“There is nothing wrong with my powers of observation, Lady Victoria. However, I am finished with these games.” His eyes narrowed. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Stop being coy. You know what I am talking about. The note that was secreted in the lining of your portmanteau. The correspondence belongs to me. Hand it over. Now.” He extended his hand in an imperious manner, and she fisted her fingers in the soft material of her gown to keep from slapping it away.

“Of all the unmitigated gall. Breaking into my bedchamber-”

“The door was unlocked.”

“-touching my personal items-”

“Only very briefly.”

“-then accusing me of stealing something from you! Why didn’t you retrieve this note you claim is your property the first time you searched my chamber?”

His gaze instantly sharpened and he lowered his hand. “The first time? What are you talking about?”

She glanced heavenward. “I thought you’d said you were finished with games. Is my meaning not obvious?”

He erased the distance between them in one long stride then clasped her upper arms. “This is no game. Are you saying that your room was searched earlier today?”

The heat from his hands seemed to burn her through the thin material of her gown. Victoria jerked herself free from his grasp then took a step back. “Yes, that is what I am saying, as if you didn’t know.” Her anger almost made her forget the heated sensation of his hands on her. Almost. “Tell me, do you impose upon all your guests in this unseemly manner, or am I the only fortunate one?”

“How do you know your room was searched?” he asked, ignoring her sarcasm as well as her question.

“It is my habit to be very precise about how and where I place my possessions. ‘Twas obvious my things had been disturbed, and my abigail Winifred was not responsible. I’d assumed a Creston Manor maid was to blame-until I caught you red-handed.”

“If you suspected a Creston Manor maid, why did you not report the incident?”

“Because nothing was missing. I saw no reason to instigate an inquiry that would most certainly end in disciplinary action against someone who was merely curious.”

Although his expression didn’t change, she sensed his surprise at her words. Determined to make the most of that small advantage, she lifted her chin. “I’ve answered your questions and I demand the same courtesy of you- although I suspect that the word ‘courtesy’ is lost upon you.”

“You haven’t begun to answer my questions.” He jerked his head toward the wardrobe. “That portmanteau-is it the only one you own?”

“Certainly not. I’ve half a dozen.”

“Where are they?”

Pretending to give the matter serious consideration, she tapped her chin and frowned. “Two are at the London town house, and three at Wexhall Manor. Or are there three in London and only two in the country-”

He made a low noise that sounded like a growl. “Here. Do you have any others with