Seduction of a Proper Gentleman (Last Man Standing)

by Victoria Alexander

  “Oh my.” She fairly sighed the words. “How lovely.”

  He laughed. “Indeed it is.” He released her hand and picked up a pastry. “Now, tell me all that transpired between you and my cousins.”

  She raised a brow. “What little you didn’t overhear you mean.”

  “If I had known it was going to be so interesting I would have arrived much earlier.”

  “There really isn’t much to tell. Other than the fact that they, or rather Genevieve, suspects I am feigning a loss of memory to trap you into marriage, I learned I have a fair number of flaws that can only be corrected by a brilliantly clever dressmaker. And, oh yes.” She wrinkled her nose. “I am old.”

  “Are you?” His blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “Practically in my dotage.”

  “As am I.” Again he gazed into her eyes. “Which makes us very nearly perfect for each other.”

  A match five hundred years in the making.

  The words popped into her head without warning. Where on earth had that come from? It was at once unsettling and rather delightful.

  Still, through the remainder of their charming breakfast and long past the time when Oliver had left her and she had taken up her bow, she couldn’t quite dismiss the sense of desperation Genevieve’s charge had triggered. Nor could she ignore the growing feeling that there was something important, something critical, she had to accomplish.

  As well as the increasing belief it had everything to do with the future and the past and most of all, the Earl of Norcroft.

  Chapter 12

  Oliver was going to have to kill them. One at a time or possibly all three together. And why not? A man could only hang once.

  “Don’t you think so, Oliver?” Gen fluttered her lashes at him and he muttered an incoherent response.

  A jury of his peers—men with sisters or interfering female cousins—would certainly understand. They might not even convict him.

  Gen turned her attention to a more receptive quarter. “Mr. Berkley?”

  “Oh, I quite agree, Miss Fairchild.” Berkley nodded with the kind of enthusiasm only a young man eager to work his way into the affections of a young lady could muster. “Indeed, I would say this is an excellent time of year for long walks. The scent of autumn is in the air and I must admit, it is perhaps my favorite season.”

  Oliver resisted the urge to snort in disdain although admittedly he could hardly lay the blame for his foul mood on the boy. It wasn’t young Berkley’s fault that this had not turned out as Oliver had planned. He had proposed a walk around the grounds for the singular purpose of being with Kate and only with Kate.

  He had not seen her alone since their al fresco breakfast yesterday morning. Her time had been taken up with what seemed to him endless dress fittings. How complicated could it possibly be to create one mere gown? When she wasn’t involved with the dressmaker, one or more of his cousins was inevitably at Kate’s side or at his. Like an unpleasant substance one could not get off one’s shoes. No, a jury of his peers might well applaud murder in this case.

  He could scarce blame Kate for begging off this particular outing. Once Gen and Mr. Berkley and the twins had invited themselves, Kate had said she was tired and had retired to her rooms. She probably wished to avoid the crowd as much as he did.

  “I too have always liked autumn,” Gen said in a tone that clearly implied how very clever Mr. Berkley was for selecting such a season. Where did women learn these things?

  Behind them one of the twins choked back a laugh.

  “I thought you preferred spring,” the other twin said.

  “Spring is nice as well,” Berkley said quickly.

  Oliver groaned to himself. Was he ever so insipid, so addle-brained over a woman? Even when he had fancied himself in love he had surely never been quite so idiotic. Of course, it was the height of idiocy to fall in love with a woman who didn’t know her own name.

  The thought pulled him up short. Not that he was in love with Kate. Certainly he wanted her but what living, breathing man wouldn’t? She was lovely and intelligent and amusing. In case of attack, she could hold back invading marauders with her arrows. He bit back a grin at the thought. But she would indeed make some man the perfect countess—or rather wife. For all they knew she already had.

  “Oliver,” Sophie hooked one arm through his, Belle took his other arm. He hadn’t realized he had fallen back with the younger girls.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since we arrived,” Belle said. “But it’s been next to impossible to get you alone.”

  “What a coincidence.” Oliver ignored the irony. Certainly it wasn’t as if he had intended anything untoward when alone with Kate.

  “We have to confess.” Belle began. “We are finding this all quite fascinating.”

  There was a question of honor to consider here. Oliver had never been involved with a married woman. Nor, he was confident, was Kate the type of woman who would betray a husband whether she liked him or not. No, she would be an excellent wife.

  Sophie nodded. “It’s the first time, you know, that anything of this nature has occurred.”

  Kind and loyal and…bloody hell, every day she was here she was that much harder to resist. He had never been good at resisting anything tempting. And he wasn’t sure he had ever met anyone as tempting as Kate.

  “Not that we didn’t think it would eventually,” Belle added quickly. “And we do think it’s most romantic.”

  What would he do when she was gone?

  Belle glanced at him. “Well, what do you say?”

  “I told you the night you arrived that I am not going to discuss Kate with the three of you. You know everything you need to know. Anything beyond that is quite frankly none of your business.”

  “Oliver,” Belle said.

  “I don’t care what Hollinger says, I don’t know how I feel about her or what my intentions are.”

  “Oliver, we—” Sophie started.

  “It’s damnably hard to determine how you feel about a woman when you don’t know her blasted name. And yes, admittedly there are…feelings.”

  “Oliver,” Belle tried again.

  He ran his hand through his hair. “But I have no right, no right at all. There,” he snapped. “Are the two of you happy now? Have you learned what you wanted to know?”

  The girls exchanged glances.

  “Oliver,” Belle said carefully. “We were asking what you thought of Mr. Berkley.”

  “Not what you think of Kate.” Sophie grinned. “But it was most interesting nonetheless.”

  “And we have certainly been wondering.” Belle’s smile matched her sister’s. “But we never imagined you’d tell us.”

  “Yes, and I shouldn’t have but what’s done is done.” He drew a deep breath. “Now, what about Mr. Berkley?”

  “What is your opinion of him?” Sophie asked.

  “He seems adequate enough. But he’s entirely too young for anything of a permanent nature. As is Gen,” Oliver added firmly.

  “Don’t be absurd.” Belle scoffed. “Gen is a full year older than we are and women our age are married all the time.”

  Oliver stopped in mid-stride. “Is it that serious then?”

  Sophie shrugged. “We’re not entirely sure. The three of us have always shared everything but Gen has been remarkably reticent to say anything at all about Mr. Berkley.”

  “Almost as much as you have been about Kate,” Belle said in an overly innocent manner.

  “But we do have our suspicions. We’re fairly confident that Gen invited Mr. Berkley here to get your opinion.” Sophie paused. “And possibly your permission.”

  He blew a resigned breath. “She really doesn’t need my permission.”

  Belle stopped and stared at him. “Of course she does. You are the one person whose permission she does need and I daresay the only person whose opinion really matters.”

  “Goodness, Oliver, you can be su
ch a dolt.” Sophie huffed. “Aside from Fiona, you and Aunt Edwina are the only family we have. Aunt Edwina has become like a mother to us and you are the brother we have never had. You took us in when we had nowhere else to go. None of us would ever take a step as drastic as marriage without your permission or your blessing.”

  “Well, Gen might,” Belle said under her breath.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Oliver stared at the girls. There was something quite heartwarming about their declaration as well as knowing that they felt about him precisely as he felt about them. “All right then.” He again linked their arms and they strolled after Gen and Berkley who were now considerably farther along the path but still well within sight. As Oliver intended they remain. “As you have been in the young man’s company far more than I have, allow me to ask you both, what do you think of Mr. Berkley?”

  “He’s quite nice and handsome enough,” Belle said. “But really rather dull.”

  “Admittedly, she doesn’t seem to find him as boring as we do.” Sophie shrugged. “But Gen says the boring ones are far easier to manage.”

  Oliver choked back a laugh. “Does she?”

  “Indeed she does.” Sophie nodded. “You’d be surprised at the knowledge a girl acquires during her first season. We have all learned a great deal.”

  “Particularly when it comes to men.” Belle smiled knowingly. “You are all much less complicated than you at first appear.”

  He laughed. “Are we indeed?”

  “You certainly are. Why, just look at Mr. Berkley.” Sophie nodded at the couple ahead of them. “I daresay Gen can make him do nearly anything she wishes.”

  “That is interesting. Ladies, I must say I am delighted we have had this chat.” He chuckled. “I have to confess, while I have indeed felt the obligations of a brother in regards to all of you, knowing you feel the same is something of a burden lifted. It makes my position, and my responsibilities, much clearer. And I fear I have not been as attentive as I should have been.”

  “You haven’t?” Unease sounded in Belle’s voice.

  “No, I certainly have not.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I have been content to allow my mother to be both guardian and chaperone. Why, I’ve scarce paid any attention to your activities at all.”

  “We hadn’t noticed,” Sophie said weakly.

  “Well, that is going to change.” Even as he said the words, he realized they were true. He had been remiss up to now. He was the protector of these young women and protect them he would. “Especially as you are now out in society and you have learned so much about”—he cleared his throat—“men. We are a wicked, unscrupulous lot and certainly not to be trusted when it comes to lovely young women. There is a great deal I should warn you about the ways of men. I assure you, I will no longer shirk my responsibilities in that respect.”

  Oh, this was fun. Not that he didn’t mean every word. Still, the expressions on their faces were most amusing. Both girls appeared stricken, as if they had just been confronted with their worst fear.

  They traded glances. Oliver could practically see the gears and wheels of their minds spinning. It was at moments like this when he wondered if each twin knew what the other was thinking without saying a word.

  “I’m famished,” Sophie said abruptly. “Perhaps we should go back to the manor?”

  “There’s nothing like a long walk to make one hungry.” Belle nodded far more eagerly than was necessary given the subject. “Oliver, isn’t it almost time for tea?”

  “Call your sister and Mr. Berkley and we’ll start back.” It was obvious the girls needed to discuss his newfound determination to watch their every move with each other and probably Gen as well. He could scarcely keep from laughing aloud. It served them right. They had been watching Kate’s every move since their arrival. It was obvious that they—or at least Gen—didn’t believe Kate had truly lost her memory and now hoped to catch her in a lie. It was obvious as well that they wished to keep Kate and Oliver apart. While annoying, he could reluctantly forgive them for that. After all, they only wanted to keep him from harm just as he wanted to protect them.

  Oliver pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “I hadn’t realized it was so late. It’s already half past three.”

  Kate’s eyes fluttered open. Good Lord, how long had she slept? She hadn’t intended to do more than close her eyes but without warning exhaustion had slammed into her. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. She’d slept for more than an hour. It was already half past three.

  Was it only a week ago that she and Hannah had taken the train—

  Hannah!

  Kate bolted upright. She remembered Hannah! She remembered it all! She wasn’t Kate, only one person had ever called her Kate—her husband. Her dead husband. Dear Lord how could she have forgotten Kenneth? How could she have forgotten everything?

  She slid off the bed and paced the room. She was Lady Kathleen MacDavid. Widow of Sir Kenneth. Granddaughter of the Countess of Dumleavy, the niece of Malcolm, the current earl, and his sister Hannah.

  Hannah! Kathleen gritted her teeth. Hannah had done this to her. How could she?

  Indeed, her step slowed, how could she possibly have accomplished this? Magic? Hannah’s smug voice popped into her head. No, of course not, that was absurd. Kathleen didn’t believe in such nonsense.

  She drew her brows together and tried to think. She clearly remembered arriving on the train from London. Hannah had arranged for a carriage to meet them to take them the rest of the way to…to where? A party somewhere. Lord Darlington’s estate! Yes, that was it. Lord Darlington was having a party Hannah wished to attend. While the drive from the village of Norcroft would still take several hours, Hannah had pointed out it would be much longer and ever so much more tedious to take a carriage all the way from London. Besides, Hannah found trains something of an adventure and indulging her had, at the time, seemed innocent enough. Beyond that, Kathleen hadn’t been averse to seeing the village. She might very well spend much of the rest of her life here.

  The last thing she remembered was Hannah apologizing and saying something in Latin…and…and she must have pushed her! Pushed her right off the train platform. Blast the woman anyway. It was part of the preposterous plan her aunt had come up with, although surely Hannah had never intended for Kathleen to actually lose consciousness. Odd in and of itself as her fall was not particularly significant. If Kathleen recalled correctly, she was only supposed to pretend to be unconscious. Apparently, no pretense had been necessary.

  Kathleen wrapped her arms around herself and continued to pace. It was a silly plan, no more believable than a French farce with as little chance for success, and Kathleen had steadfastly refused to go along with it. Hannah had thought if Kathleen had fainted or was otherwise incapacitated, the letter of introduction from her grandmother would be found and she would be taken to Norcroft Manor. Obviously, Hannah had made sure there was no letter in the envelope. The letter would have identified Kathleen and Hannah could not have that. Once ensconced in Norcroft’s home, Kathleen would then get to know the earl and he would get to know her. A wedding would surely be the end result. After all, this match was fated, five hundred years in the making.

  Of course, that wasn’t the most ridiculous part of the plan. She certainly remembered Hannah’s harebrained scheme as well as her own refusal to go along with it. And she remembered Hannah pushing her off the platform—no. She furrowed her brow and tried to concentrate. Hannah had apologized and Kathleen recalled a genuine look of regret in her eye.

  “Extrema remedia, dear,” Hannah had said, had murmured something else Kathleen hadn’t caught and the next thing Kathleen knew she’d been falling the scant three feet or so off the platform. She remembered as well hitting the ground and noting it wasn’t a bad fall. Why, she hadn’t been the least bit injured.

  Damnation, Hannah hadn’t touched her!

  In her aunt’s fifty-some years of life Kathleen would wager Hannah had
never cast a spell that had worked. Until, perhaps, now. It certainly explained the fall, her loss of consciousness as well as losing her memory. No, it was impossible. Her mind was obviously befuddled for her even to consider something so farfetched. She might be willing to believe in a family curse but magic—as well as the idea that Hannah had mastered such a craft—was another matter entirely. Somehow, Hannah had pushed her and Kathleen had hit her head and lost her memory. Yes, that was the answer. After all, Hannah certainly wouldn’t hesitate to do such a thing. Extreme ills and all that. Still…

  A pretense of amnesia on Kathleen’s part had been Hannah’s plan all along. Kathleen drew a deep breath. It was entirely too much of a coincidence that it had simply happened of its own accord, and had lasted a full week, nearly to the hour. But to accept that this was all Hannah’s doing was to accept, well, magic and Kathleen wasn’t at all certain she was prepared to do that. Still, she was a rational person and magic, no matter how irrational it sounded, was, under these circumstances, the only rational answer. Regardless, the spell, if that’s what it was, had run its course.

  She knew her name, she knew why she was here and more importantly, she knew she was free. Free to be with the man she loved.

  The man she loved? Kathleen sank down on the bed. The last thing she needed at the moment was another revelation. But as much as she’d tried to resist it, she had fallen in love with Oliver. Love that had nothing to do with a curse or fate or any kind of magic save that which occurred between a man and a woman. She loved him because he was kind and generous and thoughtful. Because he carried his responsibilities with grace and humor. And because when he kissed her, it was as if she had never been kissed before. Certainly she had loved her husband and nothing would ever change that. But her brief marriage was a very long time ago and what she had found with Oliver was right for today and tomorrow and the rest of her life. And that had nothing to do with any curse. He was what she wanted, what she needed, now and forever.