Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (16 page)

His breeches were indeed fawn. And they did indeed fit him very nicely.

Nathan sat on a wooden stool in the massive kitchen, munching on a still warm biscuit, and watched Cook pack items into the worn brown leather saddlebag he’d retrieved from his bedchamber. Memories of other times he’d sat in this exact spot, eating a treat fresh from the oven, stole over him. Growing up, the kitchen had been one of his favorite places in which to escape, not only because of the delicious treats he procured, but because of the thrill of the forbidden—neither he nor Colin were supposed to ever visit the kitchen. Most improper, his father had decreed. But as this was where all the treats were, neither he nor Colin had paid the slightest bit of attention to that dictate.

“Just like old times, eh, Dr. Nathan?” Cook said, a wide grin splitting her jolly features, her round cheeks rosy from the heat of the stove.

He smiled back. Her name was Gertrude, but for the twenty-five years she’d been in charge of Creston Manor’s kitchen, she’d simply been Cook.

“I was just thinking that very thing.” He inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. I believe this is the best smelling spot in all of England.”

There was no mistaking Cook’s pleasure at his remark.
“’Course it is. And it’s ashamed ye should be for stayin’ away for so long. But now yer back and it’s a veritable feast I’ve prepared for you and your young lady.”

“She is not my young lady,” he said, ignoring the odd tingle those words induced. “She is merely a guest. Who likes to eat. A lot.”

“Oh, but that’s the best kind of lady, Dr. Nathan. The sort wot don’t mind eatin’ in front of others and don’t put on no airs. Can’t abide by these ladies who peck at their food in the dining room then stuff themselves in their bedchamber.” She waved her hands and wrinkled her nose. “Bah. False is wot they are. Ye can always tell wot sort of woman yer dealin’ with by how she eats. This Lady Victoria has a hearty appetite ye say? Then she’s one to keep, ye mark my words.”

“She’d be a difficult woman to ‘keep.’”

Cook nodded in immediate understanding. “Strong-willed is she?”

“Very. And opinionated.”

“Both blessings, to be sure. Ye’d quickly tire of a chit who agreed with you all the time.”

“Perhaps. But agreeing with me
once
would certainly be welcome,” he muttered.

Cook laughed. “Oh, she’s got you right disgruntled, she does.”

“Because she is so very irritating.”
And lovely. And amusing. And charming. And desirable
.

Cook chuckled and shook her head. “That’s exactly what me and my William thought of each other at first. Couldn’t decide if we wanted to cosh each other or kiss each other. Can honestly say that in three and twenty years together neither of us have ever been bored.”

“And I’m happy for you,” Nathan said, reaching for a towel to wipe his fingers. “But as I said, Lady Victoria
isn’t
my
lady. In fact, the sooner she leaves Cornwall, the better I’ll like it.”

Cook shrugged, but there was no missing the speculation in her shrewd dark eyes. “’Course you know wot’s best for ye.” She secured the saddlebag’s flap, then pushed the parcel toward Nathan. “There ye go. And I expect it to be empty when ye return.”

Nathan lifted the bag then pretended to stagger under its weight. “Empty? That could take a week.”

“I doubt it. Ridin’ somehow seems to give folks an appetite.”

Her voice and expression were all innocence, but Nathan knew her well enough to realize they were anything but. He shot her a mock frown, which she blithely ignored.

“Thank you for arranging the meal,” he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder and heading toward the door.

“Yer welcome. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

“Doubtful,” Nathan grumbled under his breath as he stepped outside. “But at least I won’t go hungry.”

He strode across the lawn toward the stables, a frown tugging down his brows. Damn it, he felt completely out of sorts, and he didn’t like it one bit. His life in Little Longstone was peaceful. His life since he’d arrived in Cornwall was…the exact opposite of peaceful. He felt as if he were being pulled in half a dozen directions. His better judgment questioned the wisdom of spending the day with Victoria, but still his heart quickened at the prospect. He knew he should want nothing more to do with her, yet he wanted her with a growing desperation that threatened to overwhelm his common sense. In spite of the fact that his chances of finding the jewels and clearing his name were slim, he still felt compelled to try. And
even though part of him longed to return to Little Longstone, he couldn’t deny that he’d missed Creston Manor. He hadn’t realized how strong the impact of being near the sea and cliffs and caves would hit him. The ache of nostalgia they would invoke.

Shaking off his pensive mood, he looked ahead toward the stables. To his surprise, he saw Victoria standing next to the animal pen, her back turned toward him. When he’d suggested they meet at the stables in thirty minutes, it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d not only be on time, but early. His heart quickened in that ridiculous way it did whenever he saw her, as did his footsteps.

She turned then and his steps faltered when he noted she wasn’t alone. No, she was with Petunia. And Victoria and his goat appeared to be engaged in a tug of war over what looked like a piece of white material. Undoubtedly Victoria’s handkerchief. Having had several such altercations with Petunia, he well knew who would emerge victorious, and it wouldn’t be the woman attempting to yank that bit of material from a clearly determined goat.

He broke into a run, watching both Victoria and Petunia dig in. As he neared, he heard Victoria huffing and puffing with effort. “Not again,” she said through gritted teeth, straining backward. “You stole the note but you’ll not have my favorite handkerchief. Why can’t you eat shrubs like normal goats?”

Nathan set down the saddlebag and started forward. Petunia caught sight of him and instantly abandoned her grip on the material and trotted toward him, clearly expecting an even better treat. Fortunately, that freed Victoria’s handkerchief. Unfortunately, it also freed Victoria. With a surprised cry, she stumbled backward and landed with a resounding plop on her bottom.

Nathan raced forward and dropped to one knee beside her. “Are you all right?”

She turned to him. Crimson stained her cheeks and her skin glistened from her exertions. Her bonnet was askew and one long brunette curl bisected her forehead, resting on the bridge of her nose. Ragged breaths puffed from between her parted lips. Triumph gleamed in her eyes.

“I won.” She raised her gloved hand, in which she clutched a wrinkled, non-too-clean linen handkerchief that was missing a piece of lace around one edge.

Relieved that she obviously wasn’t hurt, he said, “I’m not certain that the one with the mussed hair and disheveled bonnet and who’s sitting on her bottom in the dirt can be declared the winner, but I’ll bow to your assessment.”

She blew a puff of breath upward to dislodge the curl resting on her nose, but the silky skein resettled itself in the exact same position. “It matters not who is on the ground. She who holds the spoils of war is the victor.” She shook her fist gripping the handkerchief for emphasis.

“Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride.” She cast a woeful glance at her clenched fist. “But I fear my handkerchief is grievously injured.”

“What on earth were you doing?”

She turned back toward him and hoisted a brow. “Was it not obvious? I was attempting to rescue my property from that four-legged handkerchief thief.”

“How did she manage to get it in the first place?”

“She sneaked up on me. I was feeding bits of bread to your ducks when I felt something nudge me. When I turned, your goat was chewing my handkerchief.”

“An animal that weighs at least
ten stone
sneaked up on you?”

She raised her chin and shot him a haughty look. “She’s shockingly quiet for one her size.”

“Why were you feeding the ducks? I thought you didn’t like…what did you call my animals? Oh yes, farm beasts.”

“I never said I didn’t like
ducks
. I said I didn’t care for animals that outweigh me. Both your ducks, you’ll notice, are considerably smaller than me.”

“Where did you get the bread?”

“From the dining room.”

“I see. So you pilfered food from my family home then attempted to bribe my ducks with stolen goods.”

An unmistakably guilty flush stained her cheeks, and something inside him shifted at the realization that she’d attempted to befriend his ducks. But rather than appear abashed, she hiked up her chin another notch and met his gaze without a flinch. “I could certainly find a more delicate way to describe the events, but in a nutshell, yes, that is what happened. And I’ll have you know that the ducks and I were getting on swimmingly until
you-know-who
sneaked up on me.”

The sight of her, so disheveled and indignant, had him pressing his lips together to stifle a grin. Her eyes instantly narrowed. “You’re not
laughing
, are you?”

He coughed to cover a chuckle. “Certainly not.”

“Because if you
were
laughing, I fear it would bode very poorly for you. Very poorly indeed.”

“Oh? What would you do? Toss me onto
my
bottom? Swat me with your laceless handkerchief?”

“Both tempting scenarios. However, one should never reveal one’s plan for revenge, especially to the person upon whom the revenge shall be wrought. Surely a spy would know that.”

“Ah, yes. I believe it is mentioned in the Official Spy Handbook.”

After muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “aggravating man,” she shot him a glare, one rendered considerably less potent by the curl bisecting her nose, then struggled to stand. Nathan rose and offered his hand, but she pushed it aside. Once she stood, she planted her fisted hand on her hip and raised her other arm to point an imperious finger at Petunia, who sat, perfectly relaxed, under the nearby copse of elms.

“That goat is a menace.”

“She’s actually very sweet. Her only fault is being insatiably curious.”

“And sadly lacking in discernment when it comes to snacks.”

“Yes, that, too.”

She eyed his clothing. “How is it that your attire doesn’t seem to be missing buttons or have any teeth marks upon it?”

“I learned very quickly, right after I lost not one but two waistcoat buttons, that while Petunia
likes
clothing-oriented snacks, she
loves
carrots and apples. It clearly states in the Official Spy Handbook that one tends to fare much better against one’s foes when the foes are offered what they want.”

“So you saved your clothing with—”

“Carrots and apples. Yes.”

She brushed at a streak of dust marring her skirt. “You might have mentioned that helpful hint prior to now.”

“You didn’t ask. Besides, it hadn’t occurred to me that you would arrive at the stables before me.”

“I wanted to make certain you didn’t try to sneak off without me.”

Her words had the effect of a splash of cold water and his shoulders stiffened. “We struck a bargain. I’m a man of my word,” he said in a cool voice.

Silence stretched between them. Reaching up, she tucked the stray curl into her bonnet and studied him. “Then I suppose I owe you an apology.”

He merely inclined his head and waited.

Another silence followed. Finally she said, “I’m not happy about the condition of my handkerchief.”

He stared at her, nonplussed, then shook his head. “Well,
that
was the worst apology I’ve ever received.”

“What do you mean? I admitted I owed you an apology.”

“Actually, you said you ‘supposed’ you did.”

“Exactly. What more do you want?”

“It’s not an apology without the actual words, Victoria.” He folded his arms across his chest and raised his brows.

Again she studied him for several long seconds, a strange expression on her face. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Nathan. We struck a deal and you’ve given me no reason to doubt that you’re a man of your word.” She pressed her lips together, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It killed you not to add the words ‘so far,’ didn’t it.”

“It required an effort, yes.”

“Well, I accept your apology. And in the spirit of fairness, I offer one of my own. I am sorry that my goat wreaked havoc upon your handkerchief. I realize that this is a poor substitute, but…” He reached into his waistcoat, withdrew a folded square of linen and presented it to her with a flourish. “Please accept mine as a replacement.”

“That isn’t necessary—”

“But I insist,” he said, pressing the cloth into her hand. “And let us be grateful that Petunia didn’t nibble upon
your shoes instead, as I fear mine would be much too large to offer as a replacement.”

Her lips twitched. “Hmmm. Yes. Especially as you already have one pet who is named for munching upon footwear.” She tucked both his handkerchief and her ruined one in the pocket of her riding habit, then extended her hand. “Truce?”

He shook her hand, but after doing so, some inner devil made him raise her hand to his lips. But suddenly touching his lips to her gloved fingers wasn’t enough, so he turned her hand to expose the thin band of bare inner wrist visible between her glove and the sleeve of her riding habit. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he touched his lips to that soft bit of pale skin. And immediately regretted it.

An elusive whiff of roses teased his senses, instantly filling him with the urge to bury his face against her soft skin so as to breathe her in. But it was her reaction that had him swallowing a groan of pure want. A quick intake of breath, followed by a long, slow, exhalation. Eyes that widened slightly then drooped to half mast. The tip of her tongue moistening lips that remained parted. She looked flushed and aroused and…bloody hell, the effect this woman had on him was absurd. She’d all but brought him to his knees by doing
nothing
save look at him. God help him should she ever deliberately attempt to entice him.