Seduction of a Proper Gentleman (Last Man Standing)

by Victoria Alexander

  He rolled over onto his side, propped his head in his hand and studied her. “I can well imagine.”

  “No, my lord, I don’t believe you can.” She brushed the leaves out of her hair. “All sorts of thoughts keep popping into my head about all sorts of things. None of which seem to be pertinent to the question at hand.”

  “Who you are.”

  “Exactly. It does me no good to learn that I am familiar with Roman walls—did you know there are miles of walls in Briton? Hadrian’s is the best known of course, but there are countless, shorter structures.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “It’s interesting enough but useless at the moment.” She grimaced. “At the very least, it’s disconcerting to know something and not know how or why you have such knowledge. All in all there have been times today when I have wanted to do nothing more than weep uncontrollably.”

  He sat up, his eyes wary. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

  “Not at the moment.” Relief washed across his face and she smiled. “I do reserve the right to do so later should the need arise.”

  “Quite so,” he said under his breath.

  “However, I suspect I am not the type of woman who does weep, uncontrollably or otherwise.”

  “You remember that then?”

  “It’s not a memory.” She searched for the right word. “More of a feeling I would say.”

  “So you still don’t remember anything significant?”

  “Nothing pertinent. Oh I’ve discovered a few things about myself but again they are more feelings than facts.” She shook her head. “No. I seem to know about this.” She waved at the wall. “But that hardly seems helpful.”

  “Perhaps you’re the scholar.”

  “Me?” She laughed. “But I’m a woman.” Still, it was an interesting thought and she liked the idea of it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was looking at your wall.”

  “No, I meant should you be out of the house, wandering about by yourself?”

  She bristled. “Am I a prisoner then?”

  “Only in my—” he started then apparently thought better of it. “No, of course not.”

  At once the impropriety of her position, coupled with the suggestive nature of what he didn’t say, struck her and she had the strangest feeling that she didn’t especially care about propriety. And yet, it did have its uses. Sitting on the ground beside the too charming, too attractive, too forward earl was entirely too intimate for comfort. Even so, she regretted the need to move. “Would you be so kind as to help me up?”

  “Certainly.” He scrambled to his feet and held his hand out to her.

  She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. His gazed locked with hers and for a long, breathless moment they stared into one another’s eyes. She could lose herself in those eyes and wondered at the absurd feeling that such a loss would be quite wonderful. And wondered as well why she wanted nothing more than for his lips to meet hers.

  “Do you intend to kiss me?” she said without thinking.

  “Of course not,” he said quickly but she read the lie in his blue eyes.

  “You certainly look like you intend to kiss me.” Oddly enough, the idea of his kissing her didn’t bother her in the least. Indeed, she would more than likely kiss him back. Good Lord, was she a tart?

  “If I had intended to kiss you I daresay I would have done so by now.”

  “If you do not intend to kiss me you should probably release my hand.”

  “Indeed I should.” And yet he didn’t. “Still, holding your hand is a far cry from kissing you. We have only just met and, given we don’t know your name, that meeting was decidedly one sided.”

  “Then am I to assume you don’t kiss women you’ve just met?”

  “Rarely.” He chuckled. “It depends upon the woman.”

  She pulled her hand from his. “You are quite a flirtatious sort aren’t you?”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Am I?”

  “Yes, I would say so. Why, even yesterday, in the midst of your suspicions, there were definite instances of flirtation.”

  He stared at her for a moment then laughed. “Yes, I suppose there were.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. “Why?”

  “Why?” He raised a brow. “Well, you’re a lovely woman. Do I need a better reason than that?”

  “Yes, Lord Norcroft, I believe you do.”

  “Oliver.”

  “What?”

  “As I am calling you Kate, you should call me Oliver.”

  “That doesn’t seem entirely proper to me,” she said even though she already thought of him as Oliver.

  “No, but nor does it seem fair that I am addressing you as Kate and you are calling me Lord Norcroft. After all.” He leaned closer to her. “You did nearly kiss me.”

  “I most certainly did not!” Indignation colored her voice. She turned away from him and seated herself primly on the wall. “However, I must thank you for proving my point. You are a most flirtatious man and no doubt extremely dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” He grinned in a wicked manner and her heart caught. Dear Lord, she was a tart. “I quite like that.”

  “That, my lord—Oliver—is precisely what makes you so dangerous.”

  He laughed. “You’re somewhat flirtatious yourself as well as most amusing.”

  “Not dangerous?” She picked at an invisible thread on her skirt.

  “Oh, I suspect you might be very dangerous.”

  She glanced at him. “Because you don’t know who I am or why I am here or what I might want from you?”

  “No, because I don’t know what I might want from you.”

  “Oh my.” She stifled a satisfied grin. “You are dangerous.”

  “If I can’t be scholarly, dangerous will have to do.” He offered his arm. “Allow me the honor of escorting you back to the house.

  She stood and took his arm. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Please do.”

  “What is your impression of me?”

  “My impression?”

  “Yes, you know.” Impatience sounded in her voice. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

  “Do you wish me to be completely honest?”

  Honesty did seem best. Besides, if she had anything to lie about she couldn’t remember it. “I’m afraid I do.”

  “The first time I saw you, you were unconscious.” He shook his head in a serious manner but there was a teasing note in his voice. “Therefore there wasn’t much of an impression to be made. I did think you were lovely and I wondered about the color of your eyes.”

  She stopped. “The color of my eyes? Why?”

  “I am exceptionally fond of green eyes and red hair. I must say I was not disappointed.”

  “Do you think you could stop flirting and answer my questions in a serious manner?” She released his arm and stepped back. “In spite of your tendency toward rudeness—”

  “I did apologize—”

  “And your overly protective manner—”

  “I have a great number of responsibilities.”

  “You strike me as a man of reasonable perception and intelligence—”

  “I’m no scholar,” he muttered.

  “Nor is one currently necessary although it is obvious that you are not stupid.” She resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “We have spent a little time together now. Granted not long but surely you have some opinion. I am lost, Oliver, and I need you to tell me what you think.”

  He studied her for a long moment then chose his words with care. “I think you may indeed have lost your memory.”

  “But you’re not certain?”

  “Not completely.”

  “I see.” She nodded slowly. “Well, then that’s that.” She started quickly back toward the house.

  He hurried after her. “What’s what?”

  “It’s extremely awkward, my lord.” She nee
ded to get back to the manor as soon as possible. It was the only haven she had. “I have no way to convince you of the truth.”

  “What do you expect of me, Kate?” Irritation sounded in his voice. “An unconscious woman is dropped on my doorstep and when she awakens, she claims to have no knowledge of who she is. Her bags and any identification they might contain, are conveniently lost—”

  “Conveniently?” She whirled to face him. “Conveniently?”

  “Yes,” he said in a haughty manner.

  “This is not my dress!” She shook her skirt at him. “It’s nice enough I suppose but it’s a bit too large and it’s not mine. Do you know what it feels like to have to wear someone else’s dress?”

  He bit back a grin. “I haven’t actually worn someone else’s dress—”

  “Don’t even try to be charming! It won’t work.” She again started off then turned back on her heel. “To what end, Oliver? Have you considered that? Why would I—why would anyone—perpetrate such a hoax on you? No, I can well understand why someone might want to complicate your world but why would anyone want to do such a thing to your mother? She’s a very nice lady.”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet,” he admitted.

  “Well, I have no intention of lingering here until you do so.” She turned and started across the lawn. “And I have no intention of staying where my…my character is in question.”

  “Mais vous avez nulle part pour aller,” he called after her in poorly accented French.

  “Sans se soucier je ne resterai pas où je ne suis pas voulu. Particulièrement pas avec un homme qui me pense suis un menteur!” she said without thinking, then pulled up short. “That was French! I speak French!”

  “Most ladies do.” Reluctance sounded in his voice. She ignored him.

  “You said But you have nowhere to go. And not well I might add. And I said Regardless, I shall not stay where I am not wanted. Especially not with a man who thinks I am a liar.”

  “I never said you were a liar,” he said under his breath.

  “Hah! It was implied.” In spite of her annoyance, satisfaction surged through her. She spoke French! What an accomplished thing to find out about oneself. “Do you think I’m French?”

  “No.” He took her arm and steered her toward the manor. “I don’t know what I think but I am prepared to believe you are not deceiving me about what you do or do not remember.”

  “Why?” She stood her ground and yanked her arm free.

  “I don’t think you’re that good an actress.” He again took her arm and started across the lawn.

  “That wasn’t the least bit charming.”

  He ignored her. “And I find myself preferring to think you are who my mother thinks you are.”

  “And who does your mother think I am?”

  “She thinks you are the daughter or relation of an old friend or acquaintance. Someone she knows at any rate. She thinks whatever was in the envelope explained exactly that.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the way she sees the world.”

  “No, why do you prefer to think that?”

  “Because my mother is a trusting soul and I do not want to see her illusions shattered.”

  “She is no more a trusting soul now than a few minutes ago. So the question remains, why?”

  “Because you have green eyes,” he snapped.

  “Come now, I don’t think—”

  “Because, Kate or whatever your name is.” He stopped, pulled her around to face him. “When I look into those lovely green eyes of yours I get the most remarkable sense of—”

  “Inevitability?” Dear Lord, did he feel it too?

  “Yes! No! I don’t know. Possibility perhaps. But know this.” He tipped her chin up with his finger and glared into her eyes. “If we had been introduced at a party or your eyes had met mine across a crowded dance floor or you had ridden past me in the park I would be actively pursuing you at this very moment. And I have not found a woman I would actively pursue in some time.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed hard. “Now do you intend to kiss me?”

  His gaze slipped from her eyes to her lips and back. “Regrettably, no.” He dropped his hand, grabbed hers and headed briskly back toward the manor, fairly pulling her along behind him. “I do, however, want to. Rather a lot. Which does not strike me as wise.”

  “Because you don’t trust me?” Even so, it was delightful to know he wanted to kiss her. “Or because I’m dangerous?”

  “Both. I don’t trust you and in that, for once, I do hope I am wrong.”

  “You’re being charming again although I would appreciate it if you would walk a little slower. I can scarcely keep up with you.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s my nature.” He flashed her a grin. “The charm that is.” But he eased his pace.

  “What are we to do now?”

  “Now, you should return to your room and rest until dinner.” He glanced at her. “You have suffered two falls and we cannot proceed if you are not well.”

  “I slept a very long time and now I feel fine. Quite up to snuff I would say although a little hungry.” And indeed, at this very moment, she felt more than fine. She was oddly happy although she couldn’t say exactly why. There really was nothing to feel happy about except that he had wanted to kiss her. Still, in the scheme of things it wasn’t particularly important. And yet, it did feel important.

  “I shall have something to eat sent to your room.” He shook his head. “Falls are nasty things. You cannot be too careful.”

  “How very kind of you to—” Her brow furrowed. “Proceed with what?”

  “It seems to me the best way to help you regain your memory is to do it one small step at a time. Today, you remembered Roman ruins and French. Tomorrow, we shall see what else you know.”

  “And you’re going to help me do this?”

  “I’m going to be with you every minute.” His tone was determined, resolute, even slightly grim.

  Still, the thought of spending time with him was not at all unappealing. “Every minute?”

  “As nearly as possible.”

  “Oliver.” She stopped and he turned back to her. “I am most grateful. I am lost and I should dearly love to be found.”

  His expression softened. “Before I’m through, I—we—are going to know everything there is to know about you.”

  She arched a brow. “Is that another threat?”

  “Not at all. It’s the same threat.”

  “The same promise?”

  “Precisely.” He leaned toward her. “Make no mistake, Kate, for good or ill, I will find you.”

  Chapter 6

  He did hope she wasn’t married.

  Oliver sat at the end of the long dining table, his mother to one side, Kate to the other. He had studied her throughout dinner as surreptitiously as possible. Not an easy task in such a small gathering. Still, as subtle as he had tried to be, he was hard pressed to tear his gaze away. There was something about the woman…

  “Now then, Kate,” his mother began, “tell me what you know of literature.”

  “I’m afraid, Lady Norcroft, the problem of my memory does not seem to be resolved as directly as that,” Kate explained for perhaps the third time since the start of the meal. An explanation his mother seemed determined to ignore. Still, Kate did not make his mother feel foolish for her endless but well-intentioned suggestions. Whatever else she might or might not be, it struck him that Kate was a genuinely kind person.

  And apparently much more patient than he. “I believe she has mentioned this before, Mother.”

  “I know that, Oliver, there is nothing wrong with my memory. But given the manner in which memories are returning to her, it does not seem ill-advised to venture queries in a repetitive fashion. Some morsel of information might occur to her at any moment.” She cast her son a chastising glance. “I should think any attempt to assist Kate to recover is well worth the effort. Don’t you agree, Kate?�
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  “I am exceedingly grateful for any and all help,” Kate said with a pleasant smile.

  Diplomatic as well as kind. Not necessarily qualities of a lady—he knew many well-bred ladies who weren’t the least bit kind or diplomatic—but good to know nonetheless.

  She ate with an effortless grace, never hesitating over which piece of cutlery to use. This meant she’d been shown from the time she could pick up a fork exactly which one was correct. If she was an actress, and this was some sort of deception on her part, she had obviously trained for the role.

  “You say that when you looked at the wall, you knew all about it?” Mother asked.

  Kate nodded. “I can’t tell you how I knew, the facts were simply there in my head. I have as well discovered certain things about myself that have come to me without particular effort.” She wrinkled her nose. “Character flaws for the most part.”

  “Flaws are what make us human, my dear, as well as interesting. Perfect people aren’t the least bit interesting.” Mother shook her head. “Why, Oliver has any number of flaws and he is most interesting.”

  Oliver ignored her and directed his attention to Kate. “What kind of character flaws?”

  “Pride for one. Vanity for another.” Kate picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. “I dislike wearing someone else’s clothing.” She glanced at his mother. “I am grateful but I find I don’t like being completely dependent on strangers.”

  “I, however, am optimistic that while we have never met directly, we are not precisely strangers,” Lady Norcroft said firmly.

  “I haven’t discovered a sense of optimism yet.” Kate thought for a moment. “Although I don’t seem to feel especially pessimistic either. And given the precarious nature of my situation, one would think pessimism is definitely called for.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I am an optimistic person. Or possibly merely hopeful that all will be well in the end. Still, it does seem to me that I am also a sensible sort. It’s all most confusing.”