Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
After finally finishing the animal pen, Nathan introduced his menagerie to their new, temporary home. He bestowed encouraging pats to Reginald’s solid girth, and was rewarded with snuffling oinks. Petunia gently butted his thigh, and he fed her a handful of her favorite flower. “Do not, under any circumstances, tell the gardener,” Nathan warned, running his palm over the goat’s pale brown coat. After making sure his friends were comfortable, Nathan shrugged into his shirt, then walked across the lawns toward Creston Manor. His arms and shoulders ached with fatigue, but it was a sensation he relished, as it kept his mind from wandering to areas he wished to avoid.
As he walked in the long, cool shadow of Creston Manor cast by the waning late afternoon sun, he heard the indistinct sound of a feminine voice. As he neared, he was able to make out the words.
“The roads were simply frightful due to the rains.”
Nathan paused near the corner of the house. Leaning his back against the brick facade, he swallowed a groan. Even though it had been three years since he’d heard it, there was no mistaking that voice.
Lady Victoria had arrived.
His heart performed the most ridiculous leap, and his brows snapped down in a frown. What the hell was wrong with him? Something, obviously. Perhaps a lack of sleep. Yes, that must be it. For there was no other explanation for such an idiotic reaction. He closed his eyes and thumped the back of his head twice against the stone-lightly, for as tempting as it was to render himself unconscious, there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. The sooner he found out what he needed to know from her, the sooner he could send her back to London.
He looked down and a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Lady Victoria would no doubt swoon at the sight of his dirt-streaked breeches, damp, untucked shirt, and scuffed boots. He cheered considerably. All the better to encourage her to depart Cornwall as soon as possible. He supposed he should nip around to the back of the house and change clothes, but with Colin off and Father visiting the village, the duty of greeting the guests fell to him.
He pushed off from the wall and strode around the corner. A well-appointed coach painted glossy black and bearing the Earl of Wexhall’s family crest stood in the curved drive. A pair of wilted-looking female servants who were clearly the ladies’ maids waited beside a second carriage bearing more luggage. The heavily mud-splattered exteriors and wheels gave testament to the foul road conditions. Two sets of matching grays stood patiently while Langston and Mrs. Henshaw, Creston Manor’s butler and housekeeper, directed servants on the unloading of the trunks. As he approached, Nathan scanned the group.
A woman he recognized as Lord Wexhall’s sister Lady Delia was talking to Mrs. Henshaw. Dressed in a dark blue spencer over a cream muslin gown creased with travel wrinkles, and wearing a lace-trimmed bonnet, Lady Delia appeared exactly as Nathan remembered her from their last meeting three years earlier. Twenty years ago she would have been described as beautiful. Today the word still could apply, although her maturity lent itself more to “handsome.”
He continued forward, craning his neck, and caught sight of the back of a frilly, ivory bonnet, its wearer nearly hidden amongst the throng of hovering servants. At that moment Lady Delia stepped aside and Lady Victoria’s profile came into view. His footsteps slowed and he studied her.
Dressed in a pale pink muslin gown and a deep rose spencer, she stood in a swatch of bright golden sunlight, looking like a delicate spring flower. A brisk, sea-scented breeze courtesy of Mount’s Bay threatened to dislodge her bonnet. She reached up a cream lace-gloved hand to hold in place the ridiculous bit of frippery, which he supposed was the latest French fashion. In spite of her efforts, several dark curls escaped and blew across her cheek. He had the ridiculous thought that she resembled a Gainsborough portrait, captured in the breeze and sunshine, her features partially cast in shadow from her upraised arm and bonnet. All she needed to complete the image was a field of wildflowers. And perhaps a gamboling puppy. At that moment she turned and their eyes met.
His footsteps faltered, then stopped completely as he was hit by the same punched-in-the-gut sensation he’d experienced the first time he laid eyes on her three years ago. The breeze pressed her gown against her in a way that suggested the curvaceous, feminine form that had fit so perfectly against him would do so still. A golden shaft of sunlight highlighted her in a halo of brilliance that made her look like an angel, but he vividly recalled the deviltry that had danced in her smile.
Unmistakable recognition flashed in her eyes, followed by a flash of something else that he couldn’t fully decipher, but that erased any doubt that she recalled the passionate kiss they’d shared. Then her features wiped clean of all expression and her eyes filled with a cool indifference that crept his brows upward. Clearly he’d not made a favorable impression on Lady Victoria. He wasn’t certain if he found that more annoying or amusing.
Her gaze flicked over his clothing. Her lips pressed together and one of her brows inched upward with an eloquence that indicated she found his appearance about as appealing as something she would scrape off the bottom of her dainty shoe. Excellent. She’d been here less than two minutes and he’d already ruffled her feathers. He hated to be the only one thrown off balance.
Suppressing a smile, he moved forward. “Greetings, ladies,” he said as he joined the group. “Delighted to see you’ve arrived safely. Your journey was pleasant, I hope?”
Lady Delia raised an ornate quizzing glass and peered at him. “Dr. Oliver, a pleasure to see you again after all these years.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Delia,” he said, offering her a smile and a formal bow.
Her sharp-eyed gaze took in his disheveled appearance. “It appears some manner of catastrophe has befallen you.”
“Not at all. Merely the result of a project by the stables which proved rather dirty work. I was just returning to the house to make myself presentable for your arrival, but I fear it is too late.”
“By the stables?” Lady Delia’s eyes widened. “Were you there a quarter hour ago? Hammering something?”
“I was. If I’d known your arrival was so imminent-”
“Nonsense, dear boy. Wouldn’t want you abandoning your project on our account.” Lady Delia graced him with a dazzling smile, then said, “I’m not sure if you recall meeting my niece, Lady Victoria-”
“Of course I remember Lady Victoria. I pride myself on never forgetting a face.” Or a passionate kiss. He turned toward her and found himself the subject of Lady Victoria’s bland regard. Certainly not the warm reception he’d received the last time they met. Probably upon reflection she’d relegated him a cad for stealing that kiss and regretted not slapping his face. Well, fine. That would make their interactions even briefer.
He made her a formal bow, then rose to his full height. He recalled she was slightly taller than average, although the top of her head still only reached his shoulder. Now that he was closer, he noted her flawless complexion, which was stained with a becoming rosy hue. Indeed, she looked rather flushed. Probably very warm in the carriage. In spite of what he knew had to have been an arduous journey, she surprisingly showed no outward signs of fatigue. No, she appeared fresh and lovely. Prim, proper, coolly elegant, and altogether ladylike. Still, he didn’t doubt she’d suffer from the vapors like most ladies of her station and swoon about on every chaise Creston Manor had to offer at her first opportunity.
His gaze took in her eyes, noting their vivid blue shade, made all the more outstanding by the crescent of dark lashes surrounding them. The last time he’d seen those eyes they’d been drooped at half-mast and glazed with arousal. And then there was her mouth… so lush and full. Everything about her demeanor and dress was perfectly prim and proper, but there was nothing proper about those lips. He instantly recalled how delicious they’d tasted, how plush they’d felt beneath his. She’d grown even lovelier in the last three
years. Except he no longer detected that glitter of mischief in her eyes, that impish curve to her lips, and he idly wondered what had brought about the change. Probably had wisely decided that kissing strangers in the gallery was not a good idea. Not that he cared. No indeed. He had his own problems to worry about. She’d all but knocked him on his arse once before-he wouldn’t give her opportunity to do it again. Give him a warm, sweet-natured, plain woman over a cool, nose-in-the-air hothouse beauty any day.
“How do you do, Lady Victoria?”
She lifted her chin and somehow managed, in spite of their height differences, to peer down her nose at him, as if she were a bloody princess and he the lowly hired help.
“Dr. Oliver.” Her gaze again flickered over his dirty attire and her nose twitched. Catching a pungent whiff of Reginald and Petunia no doubt. When their eyes met again, she said, “You are precisely as I recall.”
Surely he should have been insulted by her insinuation that when last they’d met he’d been dirty, unkempt, and smelled foul, but instead he found himself unexpectedly amused. “I’m honored that you remember me, my lady. Our meeting was… brief.”
She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like not brief enough, then said, “I was expecting your father or brother to greet us.”
“Neither are home at present, although they will both return for dinner this evening. In the meanwhile, Langston and Mrs. Henshaw have everything in order for your visit.”
“Excellent. Naturally we are both anxious to get settled and refreshed after our journey.”
“Naturally.” Although what she needed to refresh, he couldn’t imagine, as she appeared perfectly crisp. He extended his arm toward the house. “Follow me, please.”
Victoria gathered her skirts, fell into step behind Dr. Oliver and breathed a sigh of relief that she was no longer forced to look into those intriguing gold-flecked eyes that saw too much, knew too much. No longer had to see that lovely mouth that had so thoroughly initiated her into the wonders of kissing. Botheration, she felt overheated and positively breathless, and as much as she longed to blame the condition on the strain of the journey, she’d done nothing more strenuous than sit and her conscience wouldn’t allow such a blatant lie.
No, Dr. Oliver was the source of her discomfort, and a more vexing situation she could not recall. What on earth was wrong with her? The man looked dreadful. Dirty. Unkempt. Completely ungentlemanly. And he smelled as if he’d spent the day mucking out the stalls and engaged in hard labor. Without his shirt…
Her gaze settled on his broad back and heat crept up her neck. She now knew what his rumpled, dirty shirt covered, or at least as much as she’d been able to see at a distance. If only that distance hadn’t been so great-
She chopped off the disturbing thought before it could take root and fill her mind with images she did not wish to… imagine. It seemed that ever since she’d read the Ladies’ Guide-a half-dozen times-her thoughts had increasingly veered toward things of that nature. But of course, that was the point of the book-to encourage women to change the way they viewed themselves and men. To encourage Today’s Modern Woman to take her destiny in her own hands and not allow it to be determined solely on the basis of her gender. She’d taken its teachings to heart. And thus far she was deservedly proud of her performance. She’d managed to not allow her lips to run amok, although it had required some effort, as she tended to babble when unsettled, and damnation, the man unsettled her.
Victoria raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. She was a Modern Woman. And as such, she would gather her fortitude, recall with whom she was dealing, and put her plan into action. She was not the same naive girl Dr. Oliver had met three years ago. Her inner voice warned her that unfortunately he was the same devastatingly attractive man she‘d met. But she could easily resist him. She knew the sort of cad he was. And he would soon know she was not a woman to be trifled with. She took comfort in the fact that she was going into battle well-armed with her Ladies’ Guide and a foolproof plan.
The gravel drive crunched beneath her shoes, yanking her from her thoughts. She jerked her gaze away from Dr. Oliver’s back to look up at the majesty that was Creston Manor and could not deny her surprised pleasure at the grandness of the house. Two impressive stone stairways curved gracefully downward, appearing like welcoming arms to embrace any and all who approached the massive double oak doors. The windows gleamed, reflecting gilded sunshine, and the aged brick and soaring white columns lent the structure an air of old world charm that appealed to Victoria’s sense of proportion.
Settling her hand on the glossy black, wrought-iron banister, she climbed the stairs behind Dr. Oliver. She looked up and found herself staring at his backside. One would have had to been blind-and her eyesight was exceptionally keen-not to notice how his breeches hugged his muscular legs. How those muscles flexed with each stair tread he climbed. The trimness of his hips. The broadness of his back. The fascinating shape of his… bottom.
How utterly aggravating that he looked as marvelous from the back as from the front. How incredibly irritating that in spite of being filthy, sweaty, and smelling as if he’d spent the day cavorting in a dirty barn, she still had to grip the banister tighter to quell the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch him.
And how completely unsettling and frustrating that her heart had stumbled into an erratic beat the instant she’d seen him. Just as it had the first time she laid eyes on him three years ago. Botheration. What on earth was wrong with her? Clearly the long journey had addled her wits, for Dr. Oliver’s unkempt appearance alone proved that he was no more of a gentleman than when they’d last met. Well, once she’d had a bath, changed her clothes, and enjoyed a hot meal and a good night’s rest in a proper bed, she’d be set back to rights.
But, there was no denying that Dr. Oliver was still devilishly attractive. Perhaps more so. ‘Twas fortunate that she knew what sort of ill-mannered man he was, lest her head might have been turned. Yet, during those few seconds when they’d studied each other, she’d noted that there was something different about him… something in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. Shadows… of hurts, perhaps. Or secrets. If it had been anyone else, she would have felt sorry for the person. Indeed, a fissure of sympathy had nearly worked its way into her heart before she’d squashed it like a bug. If he had hurts, he no doubt deserved them. And as for secrets, well, that was fine. She had some secrets of her own.
She looked up and was once again treated to the sight of Dr. Oliver’s backside. Left, right, left, right, flex, flex… heavens, how many steps were there? She yanked her gaze away from his far too fascinating bottom and noted with relief that only five steps remained. When he reached the top, Dr. Oliver turned and paused, clearly waiting for Aunt Delia, who was maneuvering the stairs at a slower pace. Victoria stopped as well, and was disconcerted to find herself standing no more than three feet away from him. And the fact that she was disconcerted only added to her irritation. How was it that despite his dishevelment she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from him? Certainly if she were dirty, rumpled, and smelled like she’d cavorted in the barn no one would mistake her for attractive.
“Are you all right, Lady Victoria?” he asked. “You look flushed.”
She gifted him with one of the cool, detached looks she’d diligently practiced in the cheval glass for just this occasion. “I’m fine, Dr. Oliver.”
“I hope climbing the stairs wasn’t too taxing for you.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and she realized he was making sport of her. Obviously believed she was nothing more than a hothouse flower. Arrogant beast.
“Certainly not. I’m perfectly fit. Indeed, I daresay I could sprint up these steps without losing my breath.” She fought the urge to clap her hand over her mouth. Damnation, she’d meant to say nothing more than certainly not.
He cocked a single dark brow and appeared wholly amused. “A feat I look forward to witnessing, my lady.”
“I was speaking metaph
orically, Dr. Oliver. As I cannot imagine a scenario that would lead me to sprint anywhere, let alone up the stairs, I fear you shall witness no such thing.”
“You might sprint if you were being pursued.”
“By whom? The devil himself?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps an ardent admirer.”
She laughed, and mentally applauded the carefree sound. “None of my admirers would act in such an undignified, ungentlemanly manner. But even if, for some bizarre reason, they should, I’m confident I could outrun them, as I’m very agile and fleet of foot.”
“What if you didn’t wish to?”
“Didn’t wish to what?”
“Outrun him?”
“Well, then, I suppose I would be-”
“Caught?”
Victoria stilled at the intense expression in his eyes, which was at complete odds with his lighthearted tone. She pressed her lips together to stem the torrent of nervous words that pooled in her throat and noted how his gaze flicked to her mouth. Heat snaked through her and she had to swallow to find her voice. “Caught,” she agreed, thankful her voice was steady. “But not captured.”
“Indeed? That almost sounds like a challenge.”
Triumph rippled through her. Tantalize him with a challenge… Excellent! The first step of her plan was already in motion, and she’d only just arrived. At this rate she would accomplish her goal in record time. Why, she might even make it back to London before the Little Season ended.
Lifting her chin a notch, she said, “You may take it however you wish, Dr. Oliver.”
Whatever he might have replied was silenced by Aunt Delia’s arrival. “This way, ladies,” he murmured, leading them to the door.
You may lead me into the house, Dr. Oliver, but rest assured, ‘tis I who intend to lead you on a merry chase. Then blithely walk away, as you did three years ago.
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.
Not Quite A Gentleman Page 4