Not Quite A Gentleman

you here in Cornwall?”

Victoria barely suppressed a smile at his frustration and made her eyes go round with innocence. “Oh. No. That is the only one I brought to Cornwall.”

Without shifting his gaze from her, he reached down and behind him. Holding the open case against his chest, he pointed to the ripped lining. “How did this happen?”

“Surely you should be the one explaining that to me.”

He advanced a step and Victoria had to fight the urge to back up. His eyes glittered in the firelight and a muscle jerked in his cheek.

“Lady Victoria,” he said in a deceptively soft, silky voice, “you are severely testing my patience.”

“Excellent. I would hate to think I was alone in being irritated.”

He pressed his lips together and she could almost hear him counting to ten. “When I arrived, this lining had already been ripped, then very sloppily repaired.” He said the words slowly, pronouncing each syllable very precisely, as if he were speaking to a child-a fact that raised her hackles even further. “Do you know anything about how that came about?”

“As a matter of fact I do.”

Nathan stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate, his patience, normally so even and reliable, straining dangerously close to the end of its tenuous tether. She stood before him, chin raised, brows hoisted up, lips pursed, looking as impatient as he felt, which of course was impossible, as he would have laid odds that at this moment he was the most impatient individual in the entire bloody country. Which further served to annoy him, as he was not an impatient man, in any facet of his life. But something about this woman brought out the worst in him.

After taking a slow, deep breath, Nathan said in a perfectly calm voice, “Tell me what you know.”

“I’m afraid I do not respond well to imperious orders, Dr. Oliver,” she replied in a haughty tone. “Perhaps if you couched your request more politely…”

Her words trailed off, and Nathan swore his teeth would be reduced to nubs before this interview was over. “Please,” he forced out between his clenched lips.

“Much better,” she said in a prim tone. “Although I’m not certain you deserve an explanation after insulting my sewing abilities.”

“You sewed the lining?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“Earlier this evening.” She paused again, but clearly whatever she read in his gaze wisely compelled her to continue without further prodding. “After freshening up from our journey, my aunt and I took a turn around the gardens-which are lovely, by the way.”

“Thank you. Go on.”

“Hmmm. Some politeness, although rather brusque. As I was saying, we walked the gardens. When I returned to my bedchamber to prepare for dinner, I realized someone had been in my room. The disturbances were subtle-a wrinkle on the counterpane, my perfume bottle not precisely where I’d left it, the wardrobe door closed rather than open several inches to aid in the airing of my gowns, the latch of my trunk open. If only one thing or one part of the room had showed signs of being tampered with, I would have simply attributed it to a servant, but it was all about the room. My things had been unpacked and put away before I left for the gardens, so there wouldn’t have been any reason for anyone to touch the wardrobe or my trunk.”

“So you conducted a search of your own to see what, if anything, was missing.”

“Yes. And nothing was missing. Not even from my jewel case. But during my search, I discovered a faulty seam in my portmanteau, which very much distressed me, as the bag had belonged to my mother and is a favorite of mine. Upon closer examination, it was clear that the stitches were extremely amateurish. Certainly not the work of any reputable tailor or my mother, who was very accomplished with a needle and thread. My curiosity was aroused and I pulled out the stitches. When I finished, I felt around in the space behind the lining.”

“You discovered a letter.” It wasn’t a question.

“I did.”

Bloody hell. “Did you read it?” Not that it would matter, as naturally Wexhall would have written it in code.

“Really, Dr. Oliver, I think the pertinent question here is: How did you know a letter was secreted in the lining of my luggage?”

Nathan studied her for several long seconds. Damn it to hell, this was a complication he didn’t need. Or want. Indeed, he hadn’t wanted or needed any of this. He should be in Little Longstone, tending to his patients, caring for his animals, enjoying the peaceful existence he’d worked so hard to achieve. Instead he stood facing a veritable termagant who had his note and by the stubborn look of her wouldn’t give it up easily.

A half-dozen lies rose to his lips, but a sudden overwhelming weariness washed over him. God, he was sick of lying. And why should he? His service to the Crown was completed. He was no longer sworn to secrecy. How easy and refreshing it would be to simply tell the truth.

Watching her carefully, he said, “I knew the letter was there because it was meant for me.”

“And why would a letter meant for you be hidden in my portmanteau?”

“Because as you were traveling to Cornwall, it was the most expeditious way to get the note to me.”

“If that is so, then why was it hidden? Why couldn’t I have simply been given the note with instructions to hand it over to you when I arrived?”

“Because it contains top secret information that is meant for my eyes only.”

“Top secret? You make this sound like some sort of spy adventure.”

When he did nothing to deny or confirm her statement, her eyes narrowed and she studied him. Finally she said, “Are you implying that you’re some sort of… spy?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating it outright.”

She blinked. “That you’re a spy.”

“Was a spy,” he corrected, in keeping with his new policy of honesty. “I retired from my service as an operative three years ago, but have been temporarily reactivated.”

She stared at him for a full ten seconds. Then her lips twitched. “You must be joking,” she said, unsuccessfully trying to disguise her laughter.

“I assure you I am not,” Nathan said stiffly.

She laughed outright. “Surely you don’t think I would fall for such a Banbury tale.”

“Actually, I can’t fathom why you wouldn’t believe me.”

“For starters, you’re clearly hard of hearing. Whoever heard of a spy with afflicted hearing?”

“My hearing is perfectly sound.”

She uttered a distinctly snortlike sound. “I entered the room and walked right up to you, yet you still didn’t know I was there until I spoke.”

Bloody hell. Because of that damn Guide and the erotic images it had inspired. “I was, er, distracted.” Before she could launch into more reasons, he said, “I was involved in a mission three years ago that failed and resulted in my resignation. That note contains information that could afford me the opportunity to reverse the mission’s failure.” And to retrieve what I lost.

Clearly still amused, she nodded encouragingly and made a rolling motion with her hand. “Oh, please do continue. This is more entertaining than any torrid novel a girl like me might read.”

Nathan took a second to wonder if he’d ever met a more aggravating woman and knew without a doubt that he had not. Narrowing his gaze, he dropped her bag to the floor then took a step toward her, taking perverse delight in the sudden flicker of uncertainty that flashed in her eyes.

“You want the torrid tale?” he asked in a silky tone. “I’d be delighted to tell you. From both a military and smuggling perspective, this estate is located in a very advantageous location. During the war, I was recruited by the Crown to perform various tasks, which included spying on the French and retrieving goods being smuggled in and out of England. Three years ago I was assigned to recover a cache of jewels, but the mission did not… go as planned and the jewels went missing. I left the Crown’s service shortly thereafter. Recently, new information regarding the jewel’s possible whereabouts came to light. Since I was most familiar with the case, I was asked to return to Cornwall to help recover them. The new information regarding the jewels is in the note you found-a note