What if she was married? She wore no ring, although that might or might not be significant. Not that it really mattered, he was simply curious. Surely a woman as lovely as she would have been married by her age. In spite of the fact that he really didn’t care, the idea that Kate was a married woman was not a pleasant one. Still, she could be a widow. His spirits lifted at the thought. That would explain why she was traveling by herself. If, of course, she wasn’t part of a larger group of brigands scheming to hoodwink kind, trusting ladies like his mother out of…out of what? A few gowns belonging to his cousin? A few nights at a country house? Why when it came to Kate was as big a question as who.
“Oliver, after dinner I suggest you show our guest the library. Perhaps a favorite book might spur some recollections.” Mother smiled at Kate. “I know my favorites always bring back fond memories. I remember the first time I read Emma. I was just a girl and had a rather romantic nature, as most girls of that age do. I thought how lovely and thoughtful of Emma to want to see her friends happily wed. It’s a feeling that has remained with me to this day. I like to think I assisted my niece Fiona in finding the perfect match.” She signaled to a servant to remove the plates in advance of the next course. “Did I mention that Oliver is not married?”
He groaned to himself. “Mother.”
“No, I don’t believe you did.” Kate cast him a polite smile but there was laughter in her eyes.
“Nor are his affections engaged.” She looked at her son. “They aren’t, are they?”
“No,” he said coolly. “When that day comes you shall be the first person to whom I will reveal the joyous news. Although I daresay you will probably know before I do.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm, Oliver.” She sniffed. “It’s most unbecoming.” She leaned toward Kate in a confidential manner. “His inability to find a suitable wife is an ongoing topic of discussion between us.”
He snorted. “A discussion that is decidedly one-sided.”
She continued as if he hadn’t said a word. “In spite of his sense of responsibility, he has yet to fulfill his duty to his family in this respect. And he is very nearly in his thirty-third year.”
“Really?” Kate’s eyes widened and she looked at him. “As old as that.”
“And growing older every minute,” he said, his tone resigned. He had long ago realized trying to steer his mother away from the subject that was near and dear to her heart was futile. It did no good and she would simply ignore him anyway. Still, it was worth an attempt. “Regardless, Mother, I’m quite sure Kate doesn’t want to hear about my failure to wed.”
“Oh no, my lord, I find it fascinating.” Blast it all, the woman could barely keep from laughing aloud. “Lady Norcroft, surely you have some idea why your son has failed in his familial duties.”
“Believe me, I have given it a great deal of consideration and I don’t understand it. Oliver has quite a lot to commend himself. His title is old and distinguished. The family fortune is sound.” She glanced at him. He nodded. “Admittedly, he has no sense of adventure.”
“Define adventure,” he said wryly.
“But he’s quite a fine-looking fellow. Don’t you think so, Kate?” Mother asked in an innocent manner that didn’t fool anyone.
“Yes, Kate.” In for a penny as they say. He leaned slightly toward her. “What do you think?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “I can’t recall ever meeting a more attractive man.”
“Excellent answer.” He laughed. “And most diplomatic.”
“He has his father’s eyes,” his mother said. “They were the bluest eyes I had ever seen.”
“They are indeed…” Kate’s gaze met his and for a moment or a lifetime they stared into each other’s eyes. And again he had the oddest feeling that he could gaze into those green eyes for the rest of his days. Inevitable. She cleared her throat. “Blue. Quite a lovely shade of blue. Very fetching, my lord.”
He grinned. “Thank you.”
How peculiar that this stranger had this effect on him. Did he have the same effect on her? He rather hoped so. And that too was odd.
“And most modest as well.” Lady Norcroft nodded. “I don’t know why he hasn’t married.”
“Perhaps,” Kate chose her words with care. “He simply hasn’t found the right woman.”
“Yes, well, of course that’s part of it. But I fear, very possibly, that is I have come to suspect, perhaps…” Lady Norcroft hesitated then lowered her voice. “We are cursed.”
The oddest expression flashed across Kate’s face. So quickly he wasn’t sure he had seen anything at all. Not that it wasn’t understandable. Even a woman who did have her memory intact might be startled by his mother’s comment.
“Cursed?” Kate said, her eyes wide with…what? Curiosity? Apprehension?
“That’s ridiculous, Mother,” he said firmly. “We are no more cursed than we are spotted gazelles. There are no such things as curses.”
“Then how do you explain the fact that your father died at such a young age? As well as his sister, his two brothers before him, and your grandfather. Most of whom met their fates in extremely unusual accidents.” She huffed. “If we are not cursed, how would you explain it?”
“Life, Mother.” He shrugged. “It’s all been most unfortunate but there’s nothing more to it than that.”
“It seems to me,” Mother said thoughtfully. “Your grandmother once mentioned something about an old family curse.”
“What kind of curse?” Kate’s eyes lit with interest.
“I don’t recall exactly.” Mother’s brows drew together. “It didn’t seem important at the time.”
“Nor is it important now. What it is is absurd. Besides, I’ve never heard anything about it,” Oliver said pointedly. “And I would think, as head of the family, I would have heard something.”
“From whom?” Mother asked. “You are the last of your line. Your grandmother died when you were very young. Your father is gone. There is no one left who could tell you of such things. And one should know. Forewarned is forearmed you know.” A gleam of determination shone in his mother’s eyes. He had seen that look before. It did not bode well. “There are trunks full of old family papers in the attic…”
“But then people tend not to, do they?” Kate said abruptly. “Hear about things like family curses that is. Everything is going along quite nicely until one day, it rears its head and changes everything you had always understood about the world and much of what you have always accepted as true and rational. And sends your life spinning in a direction you never would have dreamed and never would have chosen had it not been for family responsibility and duty and…and…”
Oliver and his mother stared at her. Kate glanced from one to another, drew a deep breath and picked up her wine glass.
“I have no idea where that came from,” Kate said under her breath and took a long swallow of wine.
“Nonetheless, it was most interesting,” Mother murmured.
“Perhaps you are not as practical as you thought,” Oliver added, studying her carefully. She appeared as startled by her comments as they were. He did hope she had only lost her memory and not her mind.
“Apparently you are a believer in such things.” A casual note sounded in his mother’s voice although her gaze on Kate was intense. Oliver grimaced to himself. If there was one thing in recent years that caught his mother’s attention nearly as much as her son’s marital state, it was all things of a magical nature. Which now appeared to include curses.
“I don’t know what I believe, Lady Norcroft.” The tiniest hint of unease shaded Kate’s green eyes and her smile was weak. “I wish I did.”
“I do hope you know how to dance although I can’t imagine that you don’t. We should probably determine that for certain. After all, the Harvest Ball will be upon us in no time.”
Oliver stared at his mother. It was not like her to abruptly change a subject she relished. Still, he was more than willin
g to discuss anything that was not magical nonsense or his failure to wed.
“It’s still nearly a week away,” Oliver said. “It’s more than likely Kate will no longer be with us by then.” The moment he said the words, he realized he hoped he was wrong.
“Rubbish. Why, even if we know her real name by then, we shall insist she remain as our guest until after the ball.”
“I can’t imagine that I wouldn’t want to stay. I can’t recall ever having been to a Harvest Ball, or any ball for that matter, but it does sound like a grand time.” Kate glanced at him. “If you will have me, of course.”
“I will have you, of course,” Oliver said at once then realized what he’d said. “What I mean to say is we will have you. As our guest that is. It will be our pleasure.”
“You are most gracious, my lord.” Amusement danced in Kate’s green eyes.
“Now that that’s settled, we will need to do something about a gown. You simply can’t wear one of Genevieve’s. Besides, I always say there is nothing like a new gown to raise a girl’s spirits.” Mother thought for a moment. “I doubt if there is anyone in the village up to the task of creating an appropriate gown. We shall have to send for Madame DuBois to come from London.”
Kate shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense. You could and you shall. Madame DuBois will no doubt jump at the chance to leave the city for a few days.”
“And the chance to charge us an outrageous amount for her holiday in the country,” Oliver said in a dry manner. Not that the idea of seeing Kate in one of Madame DuBois’s creations didn’t have a great deal of appeal. He knew nothing about fashion but the gowns the Frenchwoman had created for his cousins had transformed each of them from merely pretty to enchanting.
“Quality, Oliver, always has a price.” Mother waved off his comment then directed her attention to Kate. “I think shades of green would be lovely with your hair and eyes. The color of sea foam perhaps or…”
Kate would be exquisite in green although he would wager she would be remarkable in very nearly any color. Definitely enchanting, completely seductive, and very nearly irresistible.
Irresistible? Shock coursed through him and he scarcely noticed the fig pudding a servant set before him and fig pudding was one of his favorites. What was he thinking? He knew practically nothing about this woman. Not her name, not her purpose. She seemed both honest and kind. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely that she had indeed lost her memory. Even so, he had nothing but her admittedly charming nature to base his assessment on.
Seductive? Good God, the woman was seducing him! She was subtle, but he knew a seduction when he saw one. So much for keeping his wits about him.
His mother chatted on about fabrics and plans for the Harvest Ball. Kate responded with nothing personal whatsoever. Oh, she was good, whomever she was. Why, it wasn’t enough to seduce him, she was seducing his mother as well!
Well, he wouldn’t allow it. No one seduced the Earl of Norcroft without his willing participation. Of course, now that he thought about it, no one had ever seduced him at all. He had always been the one to seduce, to pursue, to capture. No, he wouldn’t stand for being seduced.
And why not?
The thought pulled him up short. He narrowed his gaze and watched his guest. She was certainly lovely enough and he was already falling under whatever spell she wove. If she was intent upon seducing him, why not let her? Why not play along with whatever game she played if indeed she played any game at all. If she was exactly as she appeared to be, there would be no harm in it. If not…he shrugged to himself. He would no doubt know soon enough one way or the other.
As long as he kept a clear head, he would be fine.
“Did you say something?” his mother interrupted his thoughts.
Kate looked at him expectantly.
“I was just wondering if Kate was ready to join me in the library,” he said smoothly.
“I fear I find I am quite exhausted.” Kate shook her head. “It’s been an unusual day to say the least and in spite of the vast amount of sleep I’ve had I find I should like nothing better than to retire for the night. Would you mind terribly if we waited until morning? After breakfast perhaps?”
Yes! “Not at all.”
She rose to her feet and he stood at once. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your kindness.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear,” his mother said.
“Until the morning then, my lord.” Kate cast him a brilliant smile and his heart shifted in his chest.
“Until morning.” He nodded and realized the threat posed here had nothing to do with his head.
The risk might well be to his heart.
Chapter 7
“Good morning, Oliver.” Kate stepped into the library.
From his perch atop a tall, wheeled ladder that rested against book-laden shelves, Oliver smiled down at her. “Good morning.”
The morning light through tall floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the room and she shaded her eyes to peer up at him. “What are you doing up there?”
“Gathering books that may help determine who you are.”
“With information about loss of memory?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What a shame,” she said more to herself than to him. She had wondered last night that if a blow to the head had caused her problems, a blow might be able to reverse it. As much as it did make sense, she was not at all willing to throw herself off a train platform or anything else on the possibility it would restore her memory.
Oliver started down the rungs, several volumes tucked under one arm, using only one hand to cling to the ladder and guide himself down.
Her heart caught. “Do be careful. I should hate to see you fall.”
He flashed her a cocky grin. “I should hate to see that myself.”
Three rungs from the bottom, Oliver slipped and Kate held her breath. He dropped to the floor with a thud but no apparent ill effects. “How are you this morning?”
“Perhaps a more pertinent question might be who am I this morning.”
“Very well then.” He strolled across the room to a long, narrow table and set the books alongside others already arrayed. She trailed after him. “Who are you this morning?”
“As important as the question is, it still has no answer,” she said with a sigh. “I am still Kate as far as I know. I had hoped I would awaken today with full knowledge as to my name and where I’m from and all the myriad details of life that one takes for granted until they have vanished.”
“No interesting dreams that might provide insight?”
“Not even one.” She shook her head. “My sleep was remarkably undisturbed.” Still, in spite of her fatigue, there were several hours before she could get to sleep when she’d tossed and turned and tried to think of something—anything—that would provide a clue to her identity. When she’d tried, with just as little success, not to think about the dashing earl with blue eyes and wicked smile, who had taken up permanent residence in her head. That alone made her wonder if her presence here had to do with him and was far more than mere happenstance. Besides, there was something about the man. “Not a single dream that I can recall, which in and of itself strikes me as odd. One would think someone in a situation like mine would have all sort of dreams.”
“Indeed one would.”
“Instead, I slept quite soundly.” She thought for a moment. “As if I hadn’t a responsibility or care in the world which I suppose, at the moment, I don’t. It’s rather like being on holiday from myself. You should try it, Oliver.”
“I suspect there are better ways to begin a holiday than by falling off a train platform.”
“Probably.” She watched him arrange the books he had deposited on the table. “Still, it’s remarkably relaxing. I have the distinct feeling I have any number of worries and concerns that prevent me from having the kind of refreshing slumber that I enjoyed last night.”
<
br /> “I understand Dr. Miller was here earlier this morning.”
“He seems very competent.”
“And?”
“And he pronounced me fit.” She grimaced. “Although how someone who has lost her memory could be called fit makes no sense to me.”
“At least he didn’t pronounce you mad.”
“That is something I suppose.” Dr. Miller had been pleasant enough, and he did seem knowledgeable but he’d admitted he’d had no experience with cases like Kate’s. “He said my head was fine but he had no idea what to do to restore my memory save wait, although he did seem confident it would return eventually.”
“Perhaps there is more we can do than wait.” Oliver glanced at her. “If you’re willing.”
“Yes, of course.” Still, as much as she wanted to know who she was, she wasn’t at all sure the knowledge would be good. What kind of woman had concerns and responsibilities so pressing as to keep her from sleep? Good Lord—who was she? “I gather, looking at all this, you have some sort of plan.”
“Not a plan really, just an idea.” He waved at the display of books. “These are the kinds of subjects a properly educated person would be familiar with.” He studied the books with a skeptical air. “Although I admit they are probably more representative of the studies of a young man rather than a girl. I have no sisters and I’m not at all familiar with what studies might comprise a girl’s education.”
“Probably nothing of any significance,” she said under her breath and wondered where that thought had come from. “It certainly couldn’t hurt. Let us see if anything is familiar.”
“This.” He picked up a book and handed it to her. “Is Latin grammar.”
“So it is.” She paged through it. “Epicuri de grege porcus. Something about a hog I think or a good meal. It seems vaguely familiar but not at all interesting.”
“Then apparently you have studied Latin,” he said wryly. “Perhaps we should turn to poetry or literature.” He picked up a book and paged through it. “Who wrote ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’?”
“John Keats,” she said without thinking.
Seduction of a Proper Gentleman (Last Man Standing) Page 8