As to her station in life, one might be able to bluff one’s way through a meal but the knowledge she had effortlessly displayed in the library bespoke of a quality education. Too accomplished for a female perhaps, but an education that could only be provided by wealth and position. No matter what else Kate might or might not be, it was obvious she was a lady.
But was she a married lady?
He tried to push the thought out of his head. It scarcely mattered at the moment. Still, it might well matter eventually. Oliver couldn’t deny that he liked her. Quite a lot actually. Given the short amount of time he had known her and the fact that he didn’t really know her at all, it was most curious. Perhaps it was easier to truly know someone when they were not shackled by all the bits and pieces of life people dragged around with them. It could be that her circumstances simply appealed to his romantic nature and there was nothing more to it than that.
Admittedly, there was something quite compelling about a beautiful woman of mystery. Add to that her obvious intelligence and her innate courage—Oliver was confident that if he had awakened to find himself surrounded by strangers without knowing his own name he’d be a blithering fool by now. Coupled with her willingness to understand, if not completely accept, the basis for his suspicions one might well have a woman one could spend the rest of one’s days with.
If, of course, one knew her name.
Kate selected an arrow and glanced at him. “This is all in remarkably good repair. I had the impression it was scarcely used, that your mother no longer pursued archery.”
He nodded. “She doesn’t.”
“Beg pardon, my lord,” Hollinger said. “Lady Norcroft regularly practices with her bow.”
Oliver drew his brows together. “Really? I had no idea.”
Hollinger wisely said nothing.
“But she no longer competes.” He glanced at Hollinger. “Does she?”
“Lady Norcroft feels, as she is currently the only Lady Norcroft, her time is better spent attending to the duties of her position.” Hollinger paused. “She also says she would prefer to rest on her past triumphs rather than prove a point she believes has already been proved.”
“I see.” Oliver thought for a moment. “Does she regret it?”
Hollinger hesitated. “I couldn’t say, sir.”
“I had no idea.” Here was yet another thing he didn’t know about his mother.
“What a good son you are, Oliver,” Kate murmured and selected an arrow.
“Indeed I am.” He was, wasn’t he? He provided for his mother and kept her from harm exactly as his father had instructed. And if he hadn’t known of her desire for adventure or her regrets at sacrificing a pastime she had once enjoyed, it certainly wasn’t deliberate. After all, he was a grown man and he had his own life to lead. Besides, he had always assumed his mother did precisely as she pleased. “I am a good son,” he repeated in a firmer manner than before.
“Of course you are.” Kate cast him a blinding smile and his heart tripped. Blasted woman.
She nocked the arrow and assumed what looked like the proper position. He had never had any particular interest in archery but he remembered watching his mother practice in this very spot when he was a boy. Now, he realized that had ended when his father had died, although she had certainly gone on with her life. At least he’d always thought she had.
Kate took aim and let the arrow fly. It hit the outer white circle with a familiar twang.
“You are good at this,” he said with a smile.
She wrinkled her nose. “Not at the moment.” She took another arrow, determination in the very line of her body. “But I will be.”
He chuckled. “I daresay I couldn’t have hit the target at all.”
“I’m sure you have all sorts of other skills, Oliver,” she murmured, sighted the target, and shot. This arrow struck a few inches closer to the center gold circle than the first. She nodded. “Better.”
She plucked another arrow from the quiver, her concentration entirely on the task at hand. Oliver realized it scarcely mattered if he were here or not.
Hollinger cleared his throat. “If you would excuse me, sir, I have matters to attend to in the manor.”
“Yes, of course.” Oliver accepted the quiver of arrows and the butler took his leave. Odd, he would have wagered Hollinger intended to linger as long as possible—unless he had instructions to leave the two of them alone, which wouldn’t have surprised Oliver one bit.
The third arrow hit the target’s inner white circle and Kate nodded with satisfaction. “There, that’s much better.”
“It’s excellent.” He handed her another arrow. “Does this bring back any memories?”
“I’m afraid not.” She nocked the arrow and prepared to shoot again. “Apparently, I know how to do this but I don’t know how I know. It’s as natural as breathing. I do it without thought.” She drew back and released the arrow and it struck the red circle.
“You make it look effortless. This is not a skill one acquires overnight.”
“Probably not.”
“It might well be something you first learned as a girl.”
“Possibly.”
“Perhaps this is how you came to be here,” Oliver said thoughtfully.
“What?” She reached for another arrow and smiled ruefully. “Shot through the air until I landed at the train platform?”
“That would be entirely too easy an explanation.” He smiled and passed her an arrow. “If, by some bizarre twist of all that is logical in this world, my mother’s theory that you are related to an acquaintance of hers is correct, it could be someone she knew through her involvement in archery.”
“Yes, I suppose it could.” She nocked the arrow and drew it back.
“Possibly whomever taught you to shoot. Your mother perhaps.”
“My mother is dead,” she said absently, let the arrow fly, then turned sharply. “My mother is dead! Oliver, I remember that!”
At once he realized there were any number of memories she might not wish to remember. “Kate, I am sorry—”
“No, no.” She waved off his apology. “It’s quite all right. There’s no…” Her brow furrowed as if she were searching for the right word. “No immediate sorrow attached to it. It is sad, of course, but I have the feeling my mother’s death was a very long time ago. My father’s as well.” Her eyes widened. “Good Lord, I’m an orphan!”
“But are you a widow?” he said without thinking.
“For heaven’s sakes, Oliver, now is not the time to concern yourself with my marital status.” She thrust the bow at him. He grabbed it, juggling quiver and bow. Kate clasped her hands behind her back and paced to and fro. “We have more important matters to consider.”
“I can’t think of anything more important than the question of your marital status,” he said under his breath.
She ignored him. “What do we know about me thus far?” She glanced at him. “Oh, have I now passed your test?”
He nodded. “I would say without hesitation that you are indeed a properly raised lady and I suspect one of means as well.”
“Why?”
“Accomplishment with a bow these days takes a commitment of leisure time those without money rarely have. Your education is obviously extensive, especially for a female. Such education does not come cheaply. While your accent is Scottish, it indicates as well that you were educated in England, at least according to my mother. Again an indication of wealth.”
“Very well then. I am a lady of means and an orphan.” She thought for a moment. “Although it does seem to me, even if I do not have parents, I have family.”
He nodded. “You said something last night about family responsibility that implied as much.”
“Perhaps I have aunts or uncles or grandparents or—”
“A husband or children.”
“No, I don’t have children,” she said firmly. “I am confident of that.”
“How can you be so certain
?”
She stopped and stared at him. “Goodness, Oliver, I think if I had children I would know.”
“You don’t know your own name,” he said as gently as possible.
“Nonetheless, even if one has lost one’s memory, I can’t believe one would forget one’s own children. You might not remember their names or anything about them but you would know.” She pressed her hands to her heart. “Here. I would know.”
“And you have no such feeling?”
“No,” she said again, a slight wistful note in her voice. “I don’t have children.”
“What about a husband?” he asked in as casual a tone as he could muster, as though the question wasn’t the least bit important. “Wouldn’t you have the same sense about a husband?”
“One would think so.” The wistful note had vanished and the practical Kate had returned. “But I feel nothing regarding a husband whatsoever.”
Oliver shifted the bow. “Perhaps you don’t like him?”
She scoffed. “Then I can’t imagine I would have married him.”
“People marry for any number of reasons aside from affection. For duty or honor or necessity.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She glanced at him. “Would you?”
“I am fortunate enough never to have been in the position where I have had to discover the answer to that.” He shrugged. “My father married for love as did my grandfather. I have always assumed I would do so as well. Indeed, I intend to do so.” Even as he said the words he realized this was one area in which his familial responsibilities would play no part. As much as he had no reluctance to marry, he would not do so to satisfy any sort of obligation. He had no need to wed for wealth or position; his fortune was sound, his title secure. It struck him that he was extraordinarily lucky to be able to follow his heart when the time came.
She took the bow from him. “Why haven’t you married?”
“Just as you said last night, I have not yet found the right woman.”
“And when you do?”
“I shall surely marry her at once,” he said with a grin. “If only to make my mother happy.”
“You are a good son.” She laughed and he noted what a lovely laugh it was. Genuine and honest and appealing, the laugh of someone unfettered by day-to-day concerns. He’d never thought a laugh to be particularly significant, but he realized he liked listening to her laugh and he rather hoped that no matter what else might change once they knew the truth about her, regardless of what responsibilities she might have, her laugh would remain as free in spirit as it was now.
Kate shot another few arrows, each landing fairly close to the center of the target. He suspected if a score was being kept she would do quite well.
She glanced at him. “Would you care to give it a try?”
Even though he knew archery was a perfectly acceptable sport for a man, indeed it was more of a man’s endeavor than a woman’s, he’d never had any particular desire to follow in his mother’s footsteps. Still, he had always assumed he could shoot and shoot well if he had wished to. He reached for the bow. “Why not.”
“Do you know how to properly stand?” Amusement sparkled in her eye.
“I have been standing much of my life, Kate,” he said in a casual manner. “Properly for my needs up to now. However, as a boy I spent long hours watching my mother practice.” He planted his feet a comfortable few inches apart, his body at a right angle to the target. “I believe I can do this correctly.”
“Very good, Oliver.” She handed him an arrow.
“I thought so.” He nocked the arrow, raised the bow, and aimed. This was as easy as he had thought it would be. He drew the arrow back and released it. It flew in the general direction of the target but far to the right and entirely too high.
“Nice effort, Oliver.” She smiled in a vaguely condescending way.
He drew his brows together in irritation. Obviously he was not concentrating as he should. He shot three more arrows in fast succession, each flying wide and high of the mark.
“You don’t like being beaten by a woman, do you?”
Frustration clenched his jaw. “I was not aware this was a competition.”
She shrugged.
“I am not being beaten by a woman I am being beaten by my own inadequacy.”
“And that’s better than being bested by a woman,” she said in an altogether too innocent manner.
“Infinitely.”
She bit back a smile. “Perhaps if you held the bow more like this.” She pantomimed holding the bow. “And drew the arrow back like this.”
He gritted his teeth. “That’s exactly what I was doing.”
“No, that’s not what you were doing.” She rolled her gaze toward the sky. “You were holding the bow—here, let me show you.” She adjusted the bow in his hands then furrowed her brow. “This is most awkward. It’s like trying to do it in a mirror. Here.” She took the bow. “Stand behind me.”
He moved to her back.
“Now, put your arms over mine.”
“With pleasure,” he murmured and wrapped his arms around her.
She ignored him. “Do you understand what I’m doing? The placement of my arms? The position of my body?”
“Oh, I do, Kate, I do indeed.” His chest was flat against her back, her head coming just to his nose. She was quite a perfect height for him. Most convenient if he wished to kiss her again or explore the length of her lovely neck.
She stilled. “What are you doing?”
He shifted his head slightly to nuzzle the side of her neck. She smelled fresh and alive and reminiscent of spring. He drew a deep breath. “I’m learning to shoot an arrow.”
“There are many things I do not recall, Oliver,” she said slowly. “But I am fairly certain that is not what you are doing.”
“I never was much of a scholar,” he murmured against the warmth of her skin and she shivered beneath his touch.
She lowered the bow. “This is not a scholarly pursuit.”
“Nonetheless, I find it remarkably difficult to concentrate.”
“As do I.” She sighed and relaxed against him. “Oliver?”
“Hmmm?”
“Does this strike you as unusual?”
“This strikes me as delightful.”
“But does it seem entirely too fast?”
“It seems entirely too perfect.”
“It strikes me as…” She hesitated. “Right.”
He paused. He was hard pressed to deny it. Still, deny it he must. There was too much about her he didn’t know. Too much she didn’t know. He released her and stepped back. “My apologies, Kate. I lost my head. I have no right to—”
She whirled to face him. “And yet you kissed me. Not more than an hour ago.”
He drew a deep breath. “That might have been a mistake.”
“Was it Oliver?” Her gaze bored into his. “Was it a mistake?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Surrender, sweet and misguided and inevitable washed through him. A voice in the back of his head screamed too soon, too fast, too uncertain. He ignored it. Oliver took the bow and tossed it aside then pulled her into his arms. “I don’t seem to know anything when it comes to you.”
“And I don’t know anything save how to shoot an arrow and that my parents are dead and…” She swallowed hard. “And how I feel when I am in your arms.”
He pulled her closer against him. “It is very probably a mistake you know.”
“I do know that.” Still she made no effort to pull away.
“One of us should keep his wits about him,” he said and realized he had no idea how to go about doing so. He’d never been an impulsive sort and his behavior now was as foreign to him as the feelings he had for the stranger in his arms.
“We both should keep our wits about us.” She blew a long breath. “This is probably no more than my need for comfort and your need for…”
“Adventure.” He nodded.
She paused. “Advent
ure?”
He chuckled. “You have to admit a beautiful woman who has no knowledge as to who she is, appearing from who knows where is certainly an adventure of a sort.”
She shrugged off his arms and stepped back. “I have no desire to be any man’s adventure.”
He stared at her. “I did not mean to offend you. I simply meant—”
“Yes, my lord.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you mean?”
“Well, I meant…” What did he mean? He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what I meant but I certainly did not intend to insult you.”
“What did you intend?” Her eyes narrowed. “Simply because I have misplaced certain facts about my life—”
“Misplaced?” He stared in disbelief. “I would scarce use the word misplaced. You don’t know your name!”
“You needn’t keep saying that, I am well aware of it. Regardless, that does not give you the right to toy with my affections.”
“I’m not toying with your affections. I’m…”
“You’re what?”
“I’m not sure exactly but I’m not toying.” He folded his arms over his chest, a mirror image of her own stance. “Perhaps you’re the one toying with my affections. After all, I don’t know anything about you.”
She snorted. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know my name. My title. My position. I daresay anything else anyone wishes to know about me is easy to determine.”
“I know you are annoying and infuriating and arrogant.”
“And I know that you are stubborn and outspoken and, and, and I don’t know what else.”
“And therein lies the problem, my lord.”
He raised a brow. “Just one?”
“One of many,” she snapped, swiveled away from him and picked up the bow. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I should like to resume shooting.”
“One never knows when such a skill will come in handy,” he said in a grim manner.
“No.” She met his gaze directly. “One doesn’t. Go away, Oliver, before I shoot you.”
Seduction of a Proper Gentleman (Last Man Standing) Page 10