Not Quite A Gentleman

necessary-than to request permission beforehand.”

“How convenient for your conscience-although I’d wager you do not possess one.”

“On the contrary, I do. In fact, right now it is instructing me to ask if you would have granted me permission to touch you.”

“Certainly not.”

“Ah, then you can see why my method is much more preferable.”

“Yes-for you.”

“Then I shall ask for your forgiveness.”

“Denied.”

Nathan blew out a long put-upon breath and shook his head. “It appears you are determined to deny me in all matters this evening.” He moved a step closer to her, then leaned down so his lips hovered just above her ear. The subtle scent of roses filled his head, and his hands fisted against the silk wall covering. “You’ll have to remove your clothes eventually, my lady. And now you’ve given me a great incentive to make certain that I’m present when you do.”

She sucked in a hissing breath. He leaned back, cursing the alluring scent of her now branded in his mind. “That will never happen, I assure you.”

“Never say never, Lady Victoria.”

Six

Today’s Modern Woman must realize knowledge is equal to power. It is therefore essential to discover everything she can about a gentleman, be he friend, enemy, or lover. The more she knows, the more power she will be able to wield in the relationship, and the less likelihood that she will be taken advantage of.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Gritty-eyed from a troubled night filled with much thinking, exhaustive pacing, and little sleep, Victoria requested a breakfast tray in her bedchamber. After a light repast of tea, toasted bread, and eggs-eggs she glared at wondering if they came from his hens-she rose. Wanting to be alone with her thoughts, she didn’t summon her maid, and dressed herself in her favorite forest-green riding habit. After ensuring that the much contested letter was safely concealed, she set off for the stables. A brisk ride always helped clear her mind and improve her mood, and heavens knew she needed both.

And it was all his fault. That doctor posing as a spy posing as a doctor. No wonder he hadn’t given her or their encounter three years ago a second thought. He no doubt had women in every town, village, and hamlet. She’d provided nothing more than a momentary diversion to an accomplished scoundrel. Recalling how she’d flirted with him at their one meeting, she inwardly cringed. He’d no doubt been highly amused. Well, she had no intention of amusing him again.

After Dr. Oliver had departed her bedchamber last evening, she’d locked her door-and shoved a chair beneath the knob for good measure-then spent hours poring over the letter, trying to find some secret meaning, some hidden pattern of words or letters, but could find nothing. How could a letter that spoke of nothing but art, museums, and the weather translate into a tale of danger and jewels? She finally admitted defeat when the words swam before her eyes from fatigue. But she would make another attempt after she returned from her ride, renewed and refreshed.

Even more frustrating than her failure to decipher the note, however, was the unfamiliar disquiet she felt. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d been so bombarded with conflicting emotions. Indeed, until this journey where she’d discovered the note in her luggage and then Dr. Oliver in her bedchamber, her life had consisted of a pleasant but unbroken pattern of Seasons in Town, summers in the country, and yearly holidays in Bath. With the exception of that stolen kiss three years ago, nothing extraordinary had ever happened to her, and her life had progressed precisely on the course she’d set for herself.

But now it felt as if she were being buffeted on storm tossed waters, her emotions awash in turmoil. Worry for her father’s safety warred with a sense of confusion, disbelief, and betrayal at learning of his secret life. Thrown into the seething tempest of her emotions was her anger at Father for treating her like a child. Dozens of questions buzzed through her mind, and by God, she intended to demand answers from him the instant she returned to London. How long had he been involved with the Crown? Had Mother known? Most likely not. Victoria could only imagine that such a revelation would have been met with a case of the vapors that spanned months.

Yet underlying all that was the undeniable thrill and pride she felt at asserting herself and standing her ground with Dr. Oliver. The teachings she’d absorbed from the Ladies’ Guide had served her well, and although she had to alter her plans to accommodate the new turn of events, she’d managed to set up a challenge for Dr. Oliver while still affording herself the perfect opportunity to exact her revenge on him. Forcing him to accept her help in his mission would ensure they’d spend ample time together so she could entice him to kiss her again. Then she would return to London, marry one of her earls, and take her place in Society as she’d always planned. Only this time she’d make certain it was a kiss, an encounter, Dr. Oliver wouldn’t soon forget.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment last night she’d thought he meant to kiss her. The way he’d bracketed her against the wall… his arms so strong, his chest so wide and solid in front of her. That same sense of warm giddiness she hadn’t experienced since that night three years ago had raced through her. Her heart had pounded, not with fear, but with exhilaration at his nearness. The clean scent of him, linen and starch and something else she couldn’t define but found heady and pleasing, had filled her head. His body had emanated an intoxicating heat that made her press her back more firmly against the wall to keep from moving closer to absorb his warmth. She’d felt utterly surrounded by him, his tensile strength. It was all that, and the compelling look in his eyes, that kept her captive far more than his arms.

And his touch… that gentle sweep of his finger over her flaming face had forced her to lock her knees so as not to slither to the floor. And his outrageous suggestion that she would ever remove her clothes in front of him… another wave of heat washed over her. That will never happen, Dr. Oliver, although I intend to make certain that you want it to.

Right now she had the upper hand in their dealings, like a chess game where she’d put his king in check. Next, she needed to outmaneuver him into checkmate before he could regroup and plan a defense. She needed information-about him and this failed mission. Her eyes had been opened wide last night, filling her with a determination she’d never before felt. No longer would she permit anyone to treat her like a child to be pacified with a pat on the head then sent on her way. Lady Victoria Wexhall was a Modern Woman and a force to be reckoned with. Brace yourself, Dr. Oliver. Your citadel is about to be seized.

She exited the house through the rear terrace, surveying the grounds from her vantage point as she crossed the spacious flagstone patio. The gardens stretched to her left, an array of perfectly trimmed hedges and colorful blooms. They appeared to be at least as large as the gardens at Wexhall Manor-a pleasant surprise. Beyond the gardens rolled an expanse of verdant lawn, sparkling with a silver dusting of morning dew. The lawn gave way to soaring trees that rose up to spear a sky still stained with fading mauve traces of dawn.

She paused for a moment before walking down the wide, curved terrace steps. A slight breeze teased the tendrils of hair surrounding her face, brushing welcoming, cool air over her skin. She lifted her face, closed her eyes, and drew in several deep breaths. The air smelled so different here… clean and fresh as country air was wont to smell, but with an intriguing underlying hint of salty tang from the sea. She’d make certain her morning’s ride included a view of the water.

Deciding she’d best be off before anyone else in the household awoke, she was about to start down the steps when a soft mewing sound arrested her. Victoria looked down and saw a tiny kitten rubbing against the hem of her skirt.

“Well, hello,” she crooned, crouching down to scratch the ball of fluff behind its minuscule ears. “What are you