Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (18 page)

Setting her hands on her lower spine, Victoria arched her back to relieve the stiffness and winced. Nathan looked up from where he crouched beside the saddlebag.

“I should have suggested we stop earlier,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“And have you accuse me of being a wilting hothouse flower? No, thank you. Not only that, but we were getting along so well in our silence, I hated to disrupt our accord. Besides, I didn’t want to stop searching. We’ve a great deal of ground to cover.” She looked around her, taking in the tall trees and vast landscape. “I didn’t realize how much.”

“It’s a huge estate.” He pulled two apples from the saddlebag and tossed them lightly up to her. “Why don’t you give Midnight and Honey a snack while I set up our picnic?”

“All right.” Apples in hand, Victoria walked to the edge of the stream, where the two horses were still drinking the crystal clear water. While she waited for them to finish,
she removed her riding gloves and surveyed her surroundings. Sunlight glinted stripes of gold through the leaves, while fluffy clouds floated lazily against a dazzling blue backdrop. Lush greenery interspersed with patches of colorful wildflowers and uneven rocks lined both sides of the stream. The gentle gurgle of water running over time-smoothened rocks provided background music to the twittering of birds and the rustling of leaves from a breeze cool enough to offer relief from the sun’s warmth without providing a chill. Victoria drew a deep breath, enjoying the faint scent of the sea that lingered in the air even though they weren’t near the shore.

Honey lifted her head, and Victoria fed the mare her treat, while patting her neck and murmuring soothing words. Midnight nudged her, clearly wanting the same attention. With a laugh, Victoria awarded him his apple and bestowed an equal amount of pats and murmurs. Finished with her task, she rinsed her hands in the chilly water, then turned toward Nathan.

He stood in the shade of a soaring elm next to a colorful quilt upon which was spread a massive variety of food. He offered a low bow then grinned. “Your meal awaits, my lady.”

“Heavens,” she said, walking toward him, surveying the array of cheeses and tarts, meats and biscuits, fruits and bread. “How did all this fit in one saddlebag?”

“Cook is an expert at packing.”

Looking down at the blanket, she laughed. “There’s enough food here for half a dozen people. Are we expecting guests?”

“No. It’s just the two of us.”

Her head snapped up and their eyes met. Yes, it was indeed just the two of them. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Cook informed me that she doesn’t want any food left over. That we cannot return until it’s all gone.”

Good lord, that could take…hours. Another skipped heartbeat. Pulling in a calming breath, she smiled. “Then we’d best get started.”

She walked to the blanket, then sat in the place he indicated, arranging her skirts around her. He lowered himself next to her, folded his longs legs in front of him, and proceeded to prepare her a heaping plate. After preparing one for himself, he filled two pewter mugs with cider. Raising his mug, he pinned her with a look she couldn’t decipher but that rolled a wave of heat through her just the same. “Here’s to finding what we’re looking for.”

“Yes,” she murmured, touching her mug to his. She took a grateful sip, welcoming the coolness on her dry, parched throat. The food looked delicious, and since she was famished, she dug in with gusto. Nathan, she noted, did the same, and for several minutes they simply ate, surrounded by the sun-dappled shade and the sounds of the outdoors.

After helping himself to another thick slice of bread, Nathan pulled in a long, deep breath then exhaled. “God, I love the smell here. That bit of the sea that’s always in the air. Much as I love Little Longstone, it doesn’t smell like this. Neither does London.” He glanced at her and gave an exaggerated shudder. “How can you stand spending so much time there?”

“There’re the shops.”

He shook his head. “Crowds.”

“The fabulous parties.”

“Tedious conversation with tiresome strangers.”

“The opera.”

“People singing indecipherable songs in languages I don’t understand.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree. What about you? How can you stand to spend all your time buried in the country? Don’t you find it desolate?”

“No. It’s peaceful.”

“There’s no excitement.”

“Tranquil.”

“No Regent or Bond streets.”

“Thank God.”

“Lonely.”

He paused at that, a small frown burrowing between his brows. “Sometimes,” he said quietly. “But I have my books and my animals and my patients.”

“No woman anxiously awaiting your return?” She tossed out the question with a lightness that was in complete contrast to the hard thumping of her heart.

“No one.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “At least that I know of. Perhaps I have several secret admirers who are pining away for me even as we speak.” He popped a bit of cheese into his mouth. After he swallowed, he said, “I imagine Branripple and Dravensby eagerly anticipate your return to London.”

God help her, she almost asked
Who
? before her inner voice chimed in to remind her,
Your earls. One of whom you’re going to marry
.

Were they eagerly awaiting her return? Most likely they were busy attending the whirlwind of parties associated with the Little Season. Where, given their eligibility, they would be much sought after by a bevy of marriage-minded young women. Who would fawn over them. Flirt with them. Dance with them. Perhaps even share kisses with them. The thought of which…

Didn’t bother her at all.

A frown yanked down her brows. Surely that
should
bother her. Surely she should feel
something
at the thought of another woman capturing Branripple or Dravensby’s attention. Some fissure of concern. A twinge of annoyance. A pang of jealousy. Yet she felt…nothing.

But then she turned to Nathan, who was regarding her with heated intensity, and suddenly she did feel something. A sizzling
whoosh
of something that curled her toes inside her leather riding boots. And it hit her in a lightning flash of realization that the thought of another woman kissing
this
man made her stomach cramp. Made her want to break something. Made her want to slap the other woman so hard that the lips that had dared to kiss Nathan fell off. Onto the ground. Where she could then grind them into the dirt with the heel of her shoe.

“Are you all right, Victoria? Your expression looks quite…ferocious.”

Victoria blinked away the image of a slapped, lipless woman and beat back the claws of jealousy that were as undeniable as they were confusing. What on earth was wrong with her?

“I’m fine,” she said, taking a hasty sip of cider.

“Good.” He set aside his empty plate, then patted his stomach. “Delicious. But now comes the best part of a picnic.”

“Dessert?”

“Even better.” He slipped off his jacket, folded it—none too neatly—then lay back, using the bundle as a makeshift pillow. “Ahhhh…” The deep sigh of contentment pushed from between his lips, and his eyes slid closed.

Victoria sat perfectly still and stared. Well, perfectly
still except for her eyeballs, which performed a thorough downward ogle, er, survey. Skeins of sunlight illuminated burnished streaks in his mussed hair and cast his face into an intriguing pattern of golden light and smoky shadows. Snowy linen, marked with wrinkles from his jacket, stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. His hands rested on his abdomen, his long fingers loosely linked just above the waist of his fawn breeches. Ah, yes…those fawn breeches that hugged his muscular legs in that fascinating, speech-robbing way. The breeches disappeared just below his knees into well-worn black riding boots. The picture of utter relaxation was complete with his casually crossed ankles.

Good Lord, had she just claimed she was fine? She must be mad. The man was spread before her like a banquet feast. A feast from which she desperately wanted to partake.

When precisely had the male form become so fascinating? Clearly the blame rested on the explicit descriptions of a man’s anatomy in the
Ladies’ Guide
. While she’d always possessed a natural curiosity, she’d never felt anything like
this
. Neither Branripple nor Dravensby had ever inspired this desperate compulsion to touch. To explore. To remove their clothing.

With her eyes riveted on him, she had to swallow twice to locate her voice. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Enjoying the last phase of a picnic.”

“I don’t think taking a nap here is a very good idea, Nathan.” Heavens, she sounded prim. If only she felt prim, as opposed to feeling like an overly ripe peach about to burst from its too tight skin.

“I’m not napping. I’m relaxing. You should try it. It’s very good for the digestion.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you.” Yes. And if liars caught on fire, she’d be incinerated on the spot. Nervous words gathered in her throat, and she knew she was about to start babbling. “Tell me, what made you want to become a doctor?” The words came out in a breathless rush, but she heaved an inward sigh of relief that at least they made sense.

“I was always drawn to healing, even as a boy. Birds with broken wings, dogs with mangled legs, that sort of thing. That, combined with my love of science and my curiosity for the workings of the human body, and there was never any question in my mind what path I would follow.”

She’d watched, as if in a trance, his beautiful mouth form each word, and her fingertips tingled with the overpowering need to touch his lips. To prevent herself from succumbing to the temptation, she raised her knees, wrapped her arms tightly around her legs and gripped her hands together. There. Now she was saved from making a fool of herself. “And if you hadn’t become a doctor? What profession would you have chosen?”

“A fisherman.”

“You’re joking.”

“What is wrong with being a fisherman?”

“Nothing. ’Tis just not a very…” Her voice trailed off and suddenly she felt foolish.

“Not a very what?”

“Gentlemanly pursuit.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s honest work. Certainly more useful than the gentlemanly pursuits of gaming and running foxes to the ground. But then I’ve always made my own rules. I never understood why I should spend my life doing things I didn’t enjoy simply because it was what was expected of me. I think I’d have made a fine fisherman.
Mount’s Bay is good fishing ground and offers protection even when the seas turn rough, as they often do. I’ve always enjoyed fishing, any time of year, but summer was by far the best. Every July, I eagerly awaited the annual excitement of the great catch of the pilchard.”

“What is that?”

“The Cornish pilchard, a local fish. Men in boats launch massive nets that form an enormous circle around the entire group of fish, called a shoal. The procedure is comparable to the way sheep are herded into pens. Dozens of people, myself included, waited on the shore, where we hauled the tremendous nets filled with thousands of fish onto the beach. We then piled those thousands of fish into every available container, basket, and bucket. It was exhausting and exhilarating and the most anticipated event of the season.”

“What did you do during the rest of the summer?”

“Walked the beaches. Collected shells. Read. Raised mischief with Colin. Studied the stars. Enjoyed picnics. Caught crabs and lobster.”

“You caught them yourself?”

“Yes.” He peeked one eye open at her and grinned. “They hardly walked onto the dinner plates of their own volition, you know.”

Victoria smiled in return and an image materialized in her mind, of a handsome tousle-haired youth, tanned golden from the sun, scooping up crabs, walking along the sand, his hair blowing in the brisk sea breeze. The image was then replaced with one of her, as a young girl, and the contrast was jarring.

“While you were doing all those things, I was learning how to dance and embroider and speak French. You spent your time here, by the sea, while I was raised in London.
Even our country home is only a three-hour journey from Town. You enjoyed the company of your brother, while my brother would have rather been shot than spend time with me. You grew up knowing you wanted to be a doctor, I grew up knowing I would have to marry well to ensure my future. How different our lives have been.”

“Surely your father and brother will see to your future.”

“My father will ensure my financial security, but my brother, sadly, cannot be depended upon for anything. And even if he could, I want a family of my own. Children.”

He rolled onto his side, propped the weight of his upper body on his forearm and regarded her through serious eyes. “If you could have been something other than an earl’s daughter, what would you have been?”

“A man,” she answered without the slightest hesitation.

She’d expected him to smile, but his gaze remained steady and serious. “What sort of man? An earl? A duke? A king?”

“Just a…man. So I could have choices. So my destiny wasn’t determined by my gender. So I, too, could choose if I wanted to be a doctor or a fisherman or a spy. You have no idea how fortunate you are.”

His gaze turned thoughtful, then he nodded slowly. “I never thought of it quite like that. What was your childhood like?”

Victoria rested her chin on her upraised knees and considered. No one had ever asked her such a thing. “Lonely. Quiet. Especially after my mother died. If I hadn’t possessed such a deep love of reading, I might have gone mad. I envy you having a sibling you could talk to. Share things with. Edward is ten years my senior. For all the time we spent together, I might as well have been an only child.”

“I can’t imagine not having had Colin. But given our
different interests—Colin thinks science is synonymous with torture and he’d prefer to put his head on a chopping block rather than study Latin, and the fact that he had to learn the responsibilities that come with the title—I spent a great deal of my time alone as well.” He studied her for several long seconds, then said, “It seems we might actually have something in common.”