Not Quite A Gentleman

Six

Today’s Modern Woman must realize knowledge is equal to power. It is therefore essential to discover everything she can about a gentleman, be he friend, enemy, or lover. The more she knows, the more power she will be able to wield in the relationship, and the less likelihood that she will be taken advantage of.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Gritty-eyed from a troubled night filled with much thinking, exhaustive pacing, and little sleep, Victoria requested a breakfast tray in her bedchamber. After a light repast of tea, toasted bread, and eggs-eggs she glared at wondering if they came from his hens-she rose. Wanting to be alone with her thoughts, she didn’t summon her maid, and dressed herself in her favorite forest-green riding habit. After ensuring that the much contested letter was safely concealed, she set off for the stables. A brisk ride always helped clear her mind and improve her mood, and heavens knew she needed both.

And it was all his fault. That doctor posing as a spy posing as a doctor. No wonder he hadn’t given her or their encounter three years ago a second thought. He no doubt had women in every town, village, and hamlet. She’d provided nothing more than a momentary diversion to an accomplished scoundrel. Recalling how she’d flirted with him at their one meeting, she inwardly cringed. He’d no doubt been highly amused. Well, she had no intention of amusing him again.

After Dr. Oliver had departed her bedchamber last evening, she’d locked her door-and shoved a chair beneath the knob for good measure-then spent hours poring over the letter, trying to find some secret meaning, some hidden pattern of words or letters, but could find nothing. How could a letter that spoke of nothing but art, museums, and the weather translate into a tale of danger and jewels? She finally admitted defeat when the words swam before her eyes from fatigue. But she would make another attempt after she returned from her ride, renewed and refreshed.

Even more frustrating than her failure to decipher the note, however, was the unfamiliar disquiet she felt. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d been so bombarded with conflicting emotions. Indeed, until this journey where she’d discovered the note in her luggage and then Dr. Oliver in her bedchamber, her life had consisted of a pleasant but unbroken pattern of Seasons in Town, summers in the country, and yearly holidays in Bath. With the exception of that stolen kiss three years ago, nothing extraordinary had ever happened to her, and her life had progressed precisely on the course she’d set for herself.

But now it felt as if she were being buffeted on storm tossed waters, her emotions awash in turmoil. Worry for her father’s safety warred with a sense of confusion, disbelief, and betrayal at learning of his secret life. Thrown into the seething tempest of her emotions was her anger at Father for treating her like a child. Dozens of questions buzzed through her mind, and by God, she intended to demand answers from him the instant she returned to London. How long had he been involved with the Crown? Had Mother known? Most likely not. Victoria could only imagine that such a revelation would have been met with a case of the vapors that spanned months.

Yet underlying all that was the undeniable thrill and pride she felt at asserting herself and standing her ground with Dr. Oliver. The teachings she’d absorbed from the Ladies’ Guide had served her well, and although she had to alter her plans to accommodate the new turn of events, she’d managed to set up a challenge for Dr. Oliver while still affording herself the perfect opportunity to exact her revenge on him. Forcing him to accept her help in his mission would ensure they’d spend ample time together so she could entice him to kiss her again. Then she would return to London, marry one of her earls, and take her place in Society as she’d always planned. Only this time she’d make certain it was a kiss, an encounter, Dr. Oliver wouldn’t soon forget.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment last night she’d thought he meant to kiss her. The way he’d bracketed her against the wall… his arms so strong, his chest so wide and solid in front of her. That same sense of warm giddiness she hadn’t experienced since that night three years ago had raced through her. Her heart had pounded, not with fear, but with exhilaration at his nearness. The clean scent of him, linen and starch and something else she couldn’t define but found heady and pleasing, had filled her head. His body had emanated an intoxicating heat that made her press her back more firmly against the wall to keep from moving closer to absorb his warmth. She’d felt utterly surrounded by him, his tensile strength. It was all that, and the compelling look in his eyes, that kept her captive far more than his arms.

And his touch… that gentle sweep of his finger over her flaming face had forced her to lock her knees so as not to slither to the floor. And his outrageous suggestion that she would ever remove her clothes in front of him… another wave of heat washed over her. That will never happen, Dr. Oliver, although I intend to make certain that you want it to.

Right now she had the upper hand in their dealings, like a chess game where she’d put his king in check. Next, she needed to outmaneuver him into checkmate before he could regroup and plan a defense. She needed information-about him and this failed mission. Her eyes had been opened wide last night, filling her with a determination she’d never before felt. No longer would she permit anyone to treat her like a child to be pacified with a pat on the head then sent on her way. Lady Victoria Wexhall was a Modern Woman and a force to be reckoned with. Brace yourself, Dr. Oliver. Your citadel is about to be seized.

She exited the house through the rear terrace, surveying the grounds from her vantage point as she crossed the spacious flagstone patio. The gardens stretched to her left, an array of perfectly trimmed hedges and colorful blooms. They appeared to be at least as large as the gardens at Wexhall Manor-a pleasant surprise. Beyond the gardens rolled an expanse of verdant lawn, sparkling with a silver dusting of morning dew. The lawn gave way to soaring trees that rose up to spear a sky still stained with fading mauve traces of dawn.

She paused for a moment before walking down the wide, curved terrace steps. A slight breeze teased the tendrils of hair surrounding her face, brushing welcoming, cool air over her skin. She lifted her face, closed her eyes, and drew in several deep breaths. The air smelled so different here… clean and fresh as country air was wont to smell, but with an intriguing underlying hint of salty tang from the sea. She’d make certain her morning’s ride included a view of the water.

Deciding she’d best be off before anyone else in the household awoke, she was about to start down the steps when a soft mewing sound arrested her. Victoria looked down and saw a tiny kitten rubbing against the hem of her skirt.

“Well, hello,” she crooned, crouching down to scratch the ball of fluff behind its minuscule ears. “What are you doing out here all alone? Where’s your mama?”

For an answer, the kitten let out the most pitiful sounding mewl Victoria had ever heard. “My my, that is indeed sad.” She scooped up the kitten and cradled it against her chest, where it set up an immediate purr.

“Aren’t you a charmer.” She smiled and tickled her fingers under the animal’s soft chin. The kitten was pure black, except for the tips of its four paws, which were snowy white.

“You look as if you were dunked in a bucket of paint,” Victoria said with a laugh. A delighted purr rattled in the kitty’s throat, and it stretched out a white-tipped forepaw to rest along her sleeve. “I wonder if you might be the little devil who was stuck in the tree.”

“Yes, she is,” came a deep, familiar voice from directly behind her.

Victoria turned swiftly. Dr. Oliver stood not six feet away, his arms casually crossed over his chest. Her heart lurched, surely just the result of his unexpected company, while her stomach jittered-no doubt due to the eggs. Her gaze traveled over him, noting his mussed dark hair, as if he’d combed his fingers through the shiny strands, leaving several locks drooping onto his forehead. Her gaze dipped lower and she was instantly riveted by his shirt, or rather by the way he wore the garment. No cravat graced his neck, affording her an unimpeded view of his tanned throat and a tantalizing glimpse of muscular chest before the white linen thwarted her view. He’d rolled back his sleeves, revealing strong forearms roped with muscle and dusted with dark hair. He looked nearly as devastating wearing a shirt as he had when she’d viewed him shirtless yesterday.

Camel-colored breeches hugged his long, muscular legs in a way that made her wish she could halt time for several moments just to give her the opportunity to study his fascinating limbs in minute detail. His black boots were clearly old favorites, as they looked as if he’d walked across England wearing them. How had he managed to cross the stone terrace without her hearing him? He must move like a ghost. An annoying, irritating, arrogant ghost. Still, no matter what else she might think of him, she could not deny that he was attractive. In an uncouth, ungentlemanly sort of way. With an effort, she pulled her gaze upward. The speculative look in his eyes indicated she’d been caught staring, and her face heated. Thank goodness spies couldn’t read minds.

He offered a bow that somehow managed to seem polite and mocking at the same time. “Good morning, Lady Victoria.”

She inclined her head in her most regal, prim fashion. “Dr. Oliver.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Marvelously.”

He cocked a brow. “Indeed? Based on the shadows beneath your eyes, I would have guessed you’d remained up all night, most likely attempting to decipher my letter.”

Victoria couldn’t decide what irked her more-his eerily accurate guess, or the fact that he’d intimated she looked tired. “Why, thank you. I’m certain I don’t know when I’ve been the recipient of such a flowery compliment.”

Instead of looking abashed, he smiled, his teeth flashing white. “You’re heading toward the stables?”

“Yes. I enjoy an early morning ride.”

“I’m on my way there as well. Shall we walk together? In spite of our meeting last evening, I’m certain we can make it to the stables without inciting an argument.”

“Yes-if we both remain silent.”

Another grin flashed, then he indicated the steps with a flourish of his arm. “Shall we?”

As this was a perfect, albeit unexpected, opportunity to learn more about him, Victoria said, “By all means.”

They descended the wide, curved stairs, then struck out across the immaculately manicured lawn. Instead of remaining silent, Dr. Oliver nodded toward the kitten who had drifted off into a purring sleep. “It seems you’ve found a friend. Look at her, sleeping like an angel.” He shook his head and laughed. “I nearly broke my neck rescuing that imp, and do you think she was the least bit grateful?”

“Of course not,” Victoria said, running her index finger over the kitten’s warm fur. “You ruined all her fun. I’m certain she stuck her nose in the air and flounced away.”

A slow smile tilted one corner of his mouth, creasing an intriguing dimple in his cheek. “Typical female,” he murmured.

Choosing to ignore that lest an argument ensue, Victoria asked, “What is her name?”

“Boots.”

She couldn’t help but grin. “Boots… ‘Puss in Boots.’ ‘Le Chat Botte.’ A very apt name. And one of my favorite fairy tales.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. “It is a favorite of mine as well.”

Victoria’s brows shot up. “Fairy tales? A fearsome spy like you?”

“Believe it or not, I once was a child. For my eighth birthday, I received a copy of Perrault’s Histoires ou contes du temps passé, avec des moralités: Contes de ma mère l’Oye. It instantly became my favorite book. It is to this day.”

“Stories or Tales from Times Past, with Morals: Tales of Mother Goose,” Victoria translated. “Your French is perfect.”

“Thank you. A handy talent when one is employed spying on the French.”

“I have two later editions of the book, one French, one translated into English, which I treasure, but I would dearly love an original.”

“Mine is a first edition.”

Victoria turned to stare at him. “A 1697 first edition?”

“I don’t know of any other year a first edition would have been printed.”

“Oh, I am green with envy! I have wanted one for years, but it is impossible to find.” She eyed him. “Would you consider selling yours?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What if I were to make you an outrageous offer?”

His eyes filled with an unreadable expression that she supposed had helped him enormously during his career as a spy, but which she found utterly vexing. “An outrageous offer meaning a large sum of money, Lady Victoria? Or outrageous in an altogether different way?”

Heat suffused her all the way up to her hairline. “Money, of course.”

He shook his head. “I’m not interested in selling it, for any sum. It was the last gift I received from my mother before she died. My attachment to the book has nothing to do with its monetary value.” His gaze raked her face. “That surprises you.”

“Actually, yes. I didn’t think men were so sentimental.”

“Men in general, or me in particular?”

Victoria shrugged. “Both, I suppose.”

Silence fell between them, and Victoria found herself undeniably curious about this man who, based on what his brother had said, could have used the money, yet wouldn’t consider selling a very valuable book because it had been a gift from his mother. Botheration, when she’d set out to find out more about him, she hadn’t anticipated discovering anything, well, nice.

“I’m intrigued that ‘Puss in Boots’ is your favorite tale from Perrault’s collection,” Dr. Oliver said. “I would have thought ’Cinderella‘ more to your liking.”

“Indeed? Why is that?”

“A handsome prince, a glittering ball… they seem like things most ladies would like.”

“Oh, I enjoyed the story, especially the magical aspect of the fairy godmother and the romantic way the prince pursued the woman who had stolen his heart. But the fiendishly clever Puss in Boots enchanted me. His ingenuity made me wish he were real so I could match wits with him. I even attempted to fashion a pair of boots for my own cat.”

“Having recently seen an example of your sewing ability, I’m guessing that the boots were not a smashing success.”

Victoria shot him a mock glare. “Unfortunately they were not, but most of the blame rests upon Buttercup, who simply refused to wear them.”

“You named your cat Buttercup?” He twisted his face into a comical look.

“From what I’ve heard, you are hardly one to cast aspersions on the names of anyone else’s pets.”

“I suppose not, although in my defense, I’ve only named Boots and my dog. All the others came to me with names.”

“You could have changed the names, you know.”

“Would you like it if someone changed your name?”

“No, however I am not a barnyard animal.”

He touched his finger to his lips. “Shhhh. They don’t know they’re barnyard animals,” he said in an exaggerated whisper. “They think they are visiting royal dignitaries.”

Victoria fought back a smile at his nonsense. “I admit I know what you mean. I belong to Buttercup. She allows me to live in her house.”

“Yes, that’s the way it was with Boots the instant I brought her home. Settled right in and took over my favorite chair. Someone once told me that dogs have owners and cats have-”

“Servants,” she finished with a laugh. “Completely true. Was Boots a gift?”

“A patient offered as payment a kitten from his cat’s latest litter. I looked over the group, but I knew immediately that this little devil was the one.”

She glanced down at Boots. “I can see why it was a case of love at first sight. She’s darling. She reminds me of my Buttercup.”

“Buttercup is black and white?”

“Oh, no. She has the stripes of a tabby, but her fur is golden in color.”

“Ah, yes, I can see how she would remind you of Boots. The resemblance is striking.”

Victoria couldn’t help but laugh at his arid tone. “I meant because Buttercup enjoys being held in just this same way, and she falls asleep within minutes of being scratched behind her ears.”

“Something many animals enjoy, as it is a difficult spot for them to reach themselves.”

“Tell me, Dr. Oliver, why was ‘Puss in Boots’ your favorite tale?”

“Like you, I greatly admired the cat’s cleverness. My favorite part was always when he instructed his master to bathe in the river, then he hid his clothes under the rock and told the king not only that his master was drowning, but that thieves had stolen his clothes.”

Victoria chuckled. “Quite a sight for the king and his daughter to witness.”

“Indeed. And a clever way to ensure that his master’s ragged clothes weren’t seen by the royals. Although, I’ve always wondered if the princess fell in love with the master because he looked so handsome wearing the rich clothing her father lent him-or because she’d seen him naked.”

Victoria tried to smother a laugh but wasn’t entirely successful. She looked up at him and saw the glittering mischief in his eyes. Before she could think of a suitable reply, he said, “And the moral of the story always resonated with me.”

She considered for several seconds, then quoted, “ ‘There is great advantage in receiving a large inheritance, but diligence and ingenuity are worth more than wealth acquired from others.’”

He looked mildly surprised at her recitation, then nodded. “Suited my situation as the lowly second son rather well,” he murmured. “I found those words… inspiring.”

An odd feeling she couldn’t name washed through Victoria. Before she could figure out what it was, he added, “The other moral I admit I found quite shallow-that one’s clothes and appearance and youth play a role in matters of the heart.”

“Shallow, perhaps,” she conceded, “but true nonetheless. I believe it is human nature to be attracted to that which is beautiful. After all, not only was the master very handsome, but the princess was described as the most beautiful young lady in the world.”

“True. However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Would the princess have fallen in love with the handsome hero if she’d seen him wearing his poor man’s clothes?”

“I don’t know.” Some inner devil made her add, “But if your theory holds true, she fell in love with him because she saw him wearing no clothes.”

He laughed. “Yes. But it does beg the question: If all the accoutrements of wealth and privilege were stripped away, leaving nothing but the true person exposed, would that person still be loved? Admired? Sought after? I think not.”

“A rather cynical view.”

“No, merely a realistic one. Take yourself as an example, Lady Victoria. You father is currently entertaining offers from not one, but two earls. If either man was suddenly stripped of his wealth, position, and title, would you still consider marrying him?”

There was no mistaking the challenge in his gaze, and a fissure of irritation wound through Victoria. “You make it sound as if there is something wrong with a woman wishing to marry well.”

“Not at all. I’m merely challenging the definition of ‘well.’ Has it more to do with one’s title, wealth, and position, or with one’s character, honor, and integrity?”

“Surely those things are not exclusive to each other. One can be titled and wealthy and still possess honor and integrity.”

“Naturally. But if faced with choosing one or the other… an interesting dilemma. Personally, I think that if the fairy tale’s most beautiful princess in the world had seen the master in his ragged clothes and hadn’t been tricked into believing he was wealthy, she would never have given him a second glance.”

“One can hardly fault a princess for that.”

“I suppose not. But it was still the master’s outward appearance that she fell in love with-not the man himself. Therefore, the story makes a case for the theory that appearances do indeed play a role in matters of the heart.”

There was something in his tone that aroused Victoria’s curiosity, and she suddenly wondered if there was a woman who owned his heart. The thought unsettled her in a way she couldn’t define, then a frown burrowed between her brows. If he were committed to someone, that could wreak havoc with her plans.

“I gather that means that when you choose a wife you shall do so with a blindfold tied around your eyes,” she remarked lightly, watching him closely. “Or have you already chosen someone?”

He shook his head and grinned. “No blindfold-I might mistakenly choose a potted gardenia, thinking the lady smelled nice and was delightfully reserved. And no, I haven’t settled on a wife. I don’t even know if I shall marry at all. Since I’m not the heir nor in need of securing an heiress to pay off gambling debts or things of that sort, I’ve no reason to marry-except for love.”

In spite of her relief at his single status, Victoria’s brows shot up. “Love? I wouldn’t have thought spies were so… sentimental.”

“I don’t know where you’ve gotten these notions about spies, Lady Victoria. Torrid novels, perhaps? My reason has just as much to do with logic as sentiment. Since I do not need to produce an heir nor add to the family coffers, why would I consider pledging my life to one woman unless I loved her?”

“How very… unfashionable.”

“In the exalted circles in which you socialize, yes, I’m certain it is. However, ‘tis quite common once one steps away from the glitter of Society. Besides, I care nothing for what’s fashionable. Never have. I would never allow the capricious rules of Society to dictate with whom I spend the rest of my life.” He shook his head. “I actually pity Colin the marital responsibilities being the heir forces upon him. I have freedoms he will never know.”

Victoria digested his words with no small degree of surprise. She’d never before considered that a younger son wouldn’t envy the heir his title and position. Before she could give the matter full consideration, however, she noted that they were nearing the stables. Her gaze settled on the structure he’d built alongside the stables for his animals. And her eyes widened.

A pair of ducks flapped through the open door, then waddled quickly toward them. They were followed by a cow, an enormous pig, and a goat-a goat that had what appeared to be pigeon perched on its back. The entire group broke into a trot. Victoria halted and stared. Dr. Oliver kept walking, then looked over his shoulder and laughed.

“I wish you could see your face, Lady Victoria. Your expression is priceless.”

“It looks as if they’re about to attack you.”

“Not at all. They’re simply saying good morning-enthusiastically, as I am the one who feeds them.”

Victoria remained exactly where she was, preferring to observe from a distance and cuddle Boots. She watched in amazement as Dr. Oliver was “greeted” by the group of animals. The ducks quacked noisily and pecked at his boots, while the pig rubbed against his legs much like a cat. The cow let out a plaintive moooooo, then swiped Dr. Oliver’s hand with a huge tongue, causing Victoria to wrinkle her nose. The goat gently prodded Dr. Oliver’s backside toward the pen, while the bird seated on the goat’s back, which Victoria realized was indeed an enormously fat pigeon, cooed and ruffled its feathers.

Dr. Oliver patted them, chatting as if they were children rather than beasts-beasts, who by the ripe scent wafting toward her, were all in dire need of a bath.

“Come along,” he said to the group, leading them back toward Victoria. “Allow me to introduce you to Lady Victoria-”

“That isn’t necessary,” Victoria said hastily, backing up and warily eyeing the goat, who was showing a great deal of interest in the lace ruffles adorning her wrists.

Dr. Oliver halted and, damnation, she could see he was wholly amused at her expense. “After your impressive performance last evening, I hadn’t thought you a coward, Lady Victoria.”

She raised her chin and, due to the gamey odor in the air, breathed in through her mouth. “I am not a coward. I am simply not fond of animals that… outweigh me. And smell… peculiar.” She lifted Boots up a bit. “I’m simply more of a cat person than a goat person.”

“Are you fond of dogs?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Excellent, as you are about to meet B.C.”

“Who is-eeeeyiiiii!” Victoria stumbled forward when she was firmly nudged right in the center of her buttocks. After regaining her footing, she whirled around and found herself facing the most massive dog she had ever seen. Light brown, with darker markings and a black, jowly muzzle, the monster stood regally, observing her through wide-set, dark brown eyes that bore an alert but hopefully kind expression. The top of the giant’s head reached her chest. She forced herself to remain perfectly still while the beast raised his head to sniff the air, his nose quivering.

“Lady Victoria, may I introduce B.C.”

“Wh-What does B.C. stand for?” she asked, guessing that the B was for either “behemoth” or “buttocks.”

“Boot chewer. Consider yourself forewarned, although I must say it is his only bad habit.”

“D-Delighted,” she murmured, slowly backing up several steps, alarmed when B.C. kept pace with her. She hit something solid and stopped. Large hands clasped her upper arms from behind and she realized that the something solid she’d hit was Dr. Oliver.

“I thought you said you liked dogs,” came his amusement-laced voice directly next to her ear.

Warmth from his hands eased down her arms, a stunning contrast to the tingling sensation his rich, deep voice so close to her ear invoked. Her shoulder blades brushed against his chest and she had to lock her knees to keep from leaning back fully into him.

“I do like dogs,” she said, her gaze locked on the massive beast in front of her. “But that is not a dog. That is more like a small… bear.”

He chuckled, his warm breath brushing over her neck, awakening sensitive nerve endings on her bare skin. He released her, then moved to stand beside her. Although he no longer touched her, the heated imprint of his hands lingered, and she gave thanks that she still held Boots, lest she brush her fingers over the warm spot where he’d held her. B.C. immediately trotted to his master, his tail wagging.

After patting the dog’s massive head, Dr. Oliver said, “Let’s do this properly, shall we, boy? Sit.” B.C.‘s bottom instantly hit the grass. “Shake.” The dog raised a forepaw the size of a plate. “He wishes to formally make your acquaintance.”

Victoria eyed the dog suspiciously. “He’s gentle?”

“Like a lamb.”

“Sadly I, um, have no experience with lambs to know if they’re gentle or not. Oh, they sound gentle, but for all I know, they might be snarling, snapping beasts-”

“B.C. is extremely gentle.”

“He looks as if he could eat my torso for an hors d’oeuvre. Tell me, are all your animals so very large? Have you nothing smaller?”

His lips twitched. “Not in a dog I’m afraid.”

Determined to wipe the amusement from that grinning mouth, Victoria swallowed her trepidation, then extended her hand to shake the proffered paw. After she released the massive paw, B.C. lowered it to the ground, leaving her hand perfectly intact. In truth, he was a handsome animal and seemed friendly enough-a bit too friendly, based on the buttocks bump he’d treated her to-but his sheer size rendered him intimidating.

Another pungent whiff of barnyard beast roused her from her frozen position. Deciding she’d gained enough information for one morning, she slowly sidestepped toward the stables, her wary gaze fixed on Dr. Oliver’s herd. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go for my ride.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Lady Victoria?”

Good Lord, that goat was staring at her again. She quickened her pace. “Er, I don’t believe so.” To her dismay, Dr. Oliver, his handsome face creased with a wicked grin, started toward her. As if that weren’t alarming enough, his pungent herd promptly fell into step behind him.

“My Boots,” he said.

Her gaze flicked down to his scuffed footwear. “They’re… very fine. Need a bit of polish, but-”

“I meant my cat, Lady Victoria.” He continued moving toward her, his animals behind him-except the cow, who’d paused to munch on a bit of grass.

“Your ‘Boots’,” she said, coming to a reluctant halt and feeling foolish. She looked down at the sleeping kitten, curled so sweetly in the crook of her arm, and was swamped with a feeling of unreasonable, ridiculous possessiveness.

Dr. Oliver stopped directly in front of her. He shot her a look of complete understanding. “Wriggle their way right into your heart, do they not?”

“I’m afraid so.” He reached out and she carefully set the kitten in his hands. Her fingers brushed his, jolting her pulse in the most ridiculous way. Once assured that Boots was securely transferred, she snatched her hands away. He tucked the tiny animal against his chest then nodded toward the stables. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Go for a ride, of course. I need to feed the animals, but I can do that while Hopkins saddles our horses.”

“I don’t recall extending an invitation for you to join me, Dr. Oliver.”

“An accidental oversight, I’m sure.”

“Actually, no. I would prefer to ride alone.”

“How unfortunate, as I will be joining you.”

“I fear that is impossible, as I am without my chaperone.”

He waved her words aside. “It is not as if we will be in an enclosed carriage or confined area, Lady Victoria. We shall be outside, each riding our own horse, for all the world to see, should anyone care to-perfectly respectable behavior here in Cornwall. Now, tell me,” he continued in a conversational tone, “have you reconsidered returning my note to me?”

“I told you my terms last night. Those terms have not changed. Have you reached a decision regarding my proposition?”

“I gave you my decision last night, Lady Victoria.”

“And you’ll not reconsider?”

He shook his head then grinned. “I’d prefer to wait until you take off your clothes.”

Victoria pressed her lips together and willed away the heat prickling her face. “If you’ll excuse me…” She made to move around him, but he stepped to block her progress.

“Let us not argue,” he said. “It’s a lovely morning for a ride. I’ll play the charming host and show you a path that leads down to the beach.”

“Charming?” She uttered a sound dripping with disbelief. “No, thank you.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice, Lady Victoria. Your father instructed me to protect you. Since you won’t give me the note so as to determine precisely what his concerns are, you leave me with no option but to follow you about day and night. From sunup to sundown. Every minute of the day, from when you awake…” He moved a step closer to her and smiled. “… until you slip between the sheets at night.”