Not Quite A Gentleman

wound.” He unwound his cravat and applied pressure to stem the blood flow. “I need to remove the lead ball as quickly as possible. Then Gordon needs to be stitched up. We have to get back to the house. Do you have horses?”

“No,” said Gordon from directly behind him. “And why the hell do you think I’d allow you to stitch me up?”

Nathan glanced over his shoulder and noted Gordon standing, glaring down at him. His friend’s hand remained pressed to his upper arm, but even in the dim light, Nathan could see the blood dripping from between his fingers. Just as he could see the anger glittering in Gordon’s eyes.

“Perhaps because I’m the only doctor in your immediate vicinity and you both require immediate medical care.”

“Seems to me that you’re a bit more than a doctor this evening, Nathan.” Gordon’s gaze swiveled to Colin. “I told you something foul was afoot.” He shifted his glare back to Nathan. “Why? Damn it, why did you do it?”

The carefully fabricated lie that was supposed to protect him lodged in Nathan’s throat then unraveled like poorly woven cloth in the face of tonight’s debacle. His brain, normally so nimble, felt incapable of thought at the sight of his best friend bleeding and his brother felled by a pistol shot. Clearly, Gordon believed him guilty of something-and with good reason. Yet, based on Gordon’s tone and frosty glare, he also clearly believed the worst.

Nathan slowly turned back to Colin, then stilled. As much as Gordon’s words had cut him, it was the look in Colin’s eyes that struck Nathan like a blow to the gut. And the heart. Their gazes met and held, and Nathan’s insides cramped at the doubt and accusation so eloquently evident in his brother’s eyes.

“Nathan?”

Only one word. But the way he said it, the look in his eyes, was enough to drive a stake through Nathan’s heart.

One

Today’s Modern Woman should never allow a gentleman to take advantage of her, toy with her affections, or to view her as a mere plaything to be discarded after a pleasurable interlude. If a gentleman makes the mistake of doing so, she should retaliate by treating him in a similar dismissive fashion. A deed once avenged can then be buried in the past.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

“What is that you’re reading so intently, Victoria?”

With a guilty start, Lady Victoria Wexhall slammed shut the slim leather-bound Ladies’ Guide resting in her lap and looked across the carriage at Aunt Delia, who, for the past hour, had been napping, but was now peering at her through pansy-blue eyes alight with curiosity.

Heat rose in Victoria’s cheeks and she prayed she did not look as red-faced as she felt. She slid the book onto the gray velvet squabs then quickly covered the volume with a flick of her forest-green spencer. Aunt Delia would no doubt be horrified if she discovered her reading the book whose explicit and provocative contents had recently whipped up a tornado of scandal in London. And she had no doubt at all that her aunt would be horrified to know what she planned to do once they arrived in Cornwall, thanks to her reading of the book.

“ ‘Tis just one of the books I purchased at Wittnower’s Book Emporium before we departed London.” Before her aunt could question her further, Victoria hastily asked, “Are you feeling refreshed after your nap?”

“Yes.” Aunt Delia grimaced and stretched her neck from side to side. “Although I’m relieved we’ll finally arrive in Cornwall today and no longer be confined to this coach.”

“I agree.” Their trip from London had been long and arduous, a journey Victoria normally never would have undertaken. If someone had suggested to her that she would willingly leave the comfort, glamour, and social whirl of London Society-especially as the Little Season was about to commence-to trek to the uncivilized wilds of Cornwall, she would have laughed herself into a seizure. But then, she hadn’t realized she would be handed this perfect opportunity to avenge a past wrong on a man who so richly deserved it. Armed with her well-read copy of the Ladies’ Guide and a clear plan, she was prepared. Still, the timing of the trip was not to her liking. “I still cannot credit it that Father insisted we make this journey now. Surely waiting a few weeks would not have mattered.”

“You will learn, my dear, that even the most jovial of men are, at heart, utterly vexatious creatures.”

“And vexing this timing is,” Victoria said. The irritation that had bubbled under her skin ever since she’d been unable to convince Father to delay this trip erupted once again. For reasons she could not decipher, she’d been unable to budge her normally indulgent father. When it became obvious he would not bend, she’d finally consented to his timetable. She didn’t wish to unduly upset or disappoint her father, who rarely asked anything of her. And neither was she willing to forfeit this opportunity to finally put the past to rest, as this would surely be her last chance. If all went according to her carefully constructed life’s plan, by this time next year she would be a married woman, her future secured. Perhaps she’d even be a mother.

“When I think of all the soirees I’m missing… I simply do not understand what Father was thinking.”

Aunt Delia’s brows rose. “Do you not? Why, I’m surprised, what with you being such a bright gel. Clearly, your father wishes for you to marry.”

Victoria blinked. “Naturally. And I intend to do so. But that cannot be his reason for sending me to Cornwall. Especially now. In the last month alone both Earl Branripple and Earl Dravensby have initiated conversations with Father regarding marriage. With the Little Season about to commence, affording me with numerous opportunities to further my acquaintances with the earls, and meet even more marriageable gentlemen, he’d have been much better served had I remained in Town.”

“Not if the gentleman he wished you to meet was in Cornwall, my dear.” Her aunt pursed her lips. “I wonder which of the Oliver men your father is leaning toward-the widowed earl or his heir Colin, Viscount Sutton? Or perhaps even the younger son, Dr. Nathan Oliver?”

Victoria forced her features to remain impassive at the mention of his name. “Surely none of them. I’ve only briefly met Lord Sutton-once, three years ago-and as for the earl, surely Father wouldn’t encourage me to marry someone so old as Lord Rutledge.”

“I believe old Earl Rutledge is a year younger than me,” Aunt Delia said in a dust dry tone. Before Victoria could apologize for her faux pas, her aunt continued, “But you forgot Dr. Oliver.”

If only I had… if only I could… but I shall. After this visit he will be exorcised from my mind. “I didn’t forget him, I just didn’t think it necessary to comment, as neither Father nor I would ever consider such a lowly match. Especially when two earls have expressed interest.”

“I don’t recall you mentioning a tendre for either Branripple or Dravensby, my dear.”

Victoria shrugged. “Both are highly sought-after, fine gentlemen from well-respected families. Either would make an excellent match.”

“It is well known they both seek to wed an heiress.”

“As do many peers with lofty titles and depleted purses. I’ve always known I would be sought for my fortune. Just as I’ve always known I would have to marry well to secure my future. I certainly cannot count on Edward being generous once Father is gone.” Victoria suppressed a sigh at the mention of her older brother. As much as it pained her, there was no denying that Edward-currently on the Continent doing heaven knows what-was an irresponsible, unreliable, gambling, drinking womanizer who would most likely cast her out after Father passed away. Naturally, Father would provide financially for her, but she wanted a family. Children. And a firm place in Society.

“You’ve no preference between Branripple or Dravensby?”

“Not particularly. They are of similar age and temperament. I’d planned to spend more time with them in London during the Little Season to help me decide.”