Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04] (5 page)

He shot a scowl at the offending vial, then, after slipping his handkerchief away, resolutely turned toward the wardrobe to begin his search for the note Lord Wexhall had indicated he’d concealed in Lady Victoria’s luggage. He eyed the two trunks stacked in the corner, but didn’t change course. Wexhall had indicated in the coded letter that he would utilize Lady Victoria’s portmanteau to secrete his note.

As he passed the bedside table, he paused to look at the books, unable to resist learning what sort of reading material Lady Victoria preferred. Lifting the two top volumes, he perused the titles.
Letter to the Women of England on the Injustice of Mental Subordination
by Mary Robinson and
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
by Mary Wollstonecraft. His brows shot upward. He’d expected nothing more strenuous than Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. It appeared Lady Victoria harbored some bluestocking tendencies. He picked up the remaining three books and noted with an inward smile that two of them were indeed novels by Mrs. Radcliffe, and the third Shakespeare’s
Taming of the Shrew
. Nathan’s lips twitched. How apt.

He replaced the books, intrigued in spite of himself by Lady Victoria’s eclectic choices in reading materials. He had assumed she thought of nothing more profound than
which gown to wear to her next social engagement. Shaking off the thought, he resumed crossing to the wardrobe.

Grasping the brass handles, he pulled open the oak doors. Instantly his senses were wrapped in the delicate scent of roses that clung to her garments. Gritting his teeth, he firmly told himself that he detested roses and knelt down. He pushed aside the colorful array of gowns. In the back left corner he spied a portmanteau. He pulled the soft-sided leather case toward him and quickly opened it, scanning the upper edge. He immediately saw where clumsy stitches had repaired the lining, and a frown yanked down his brows. Wexhall must be losing his touch to leave such sloppy work behind. Not bothering to take care, as a rip could always be easily explained away, he tore the brown satin lining and slid his hand into the opening. A thorough examination of the space yielded nothing.

Damnation, where was the bloody note? He felt around again, but nothing. Frustrated, he slid his hand out then thrust it into the interior of the bag. His fingers encountered what felt like a book, and he quickly pulled it from the bag. Tilting the slim volume toward the light cast by the fire burning in the grate, he read the title:
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore.

Again his brows rose. Even living in the small, secluded village of Little Longstone, he was aware of the scandal this explicit treatise on women’s behavior was currently causing. He found it fascinating to discover such a book hidden in Lady Victoria’s luggage. Fascinating, and titillating.

He flipped through the pages to ascertain that Lord Wexhall’s note wasn’t tucked between the pages, and wasn’t surprised to discover it was not. He flipped through
the book again, then paused when the word “lovemaking” caught his eye. Opening to the page, he scanned the paragraph.

Heat engulfed Nathan, and before he could control his runaway thoughts, his mind filled with an erotic fantasy of her, naked, standing in front of a mirror, slowly running her hands down her supple body. Watching her reflection, he stepped up behind her, slid his hands around her waist, then up, to cup her full breasts. Her eyelid drooped and she laid her hands on top of his. Leaning back against him, she whispered,
Let me show you what pleases me
….

Bloody hell. He shook his head to rid himself of the image, but the effects lingered. His body ached and he felt as if someone had set his breeches on fire. With a disgusted exclamation, he yanked at his cravat, which felt as if it were strangling him. But that was a mere discomfort compared to the strangulation occurring in his breeches. He shoved the book back into the bag, refusing to consider that she’d read those words. Refusing to wonder what af
fect they’d had upon her. It mattered not. All that mattered was finding Wexhall’s damn note—and since it wasn’t in this portmanteau, there must be another portmanteau. He again shoved aside the yards of material comprising her gowns and reached into the far recesses of the wardrobe. It had to be here—

“I cannot wait to hear the explanation as to why you are searching through my luggage.”

V
ictoria planted her hands on her hips and stared down at Dr. Oliver, who appeared frozen in place, his expression unreadable—although she did not detect even a hint of the guilt that any decent person would have felt being caught in such a manner.

Hiking a disdainful brow, she said, “I cannot deny that on more than one occasion I’ve wished you on your knees, but in my thoughts you always knelt before
me
—not my portmanteau.”

Without taking his gaze from hers, he slowly rose. In
stead of appearing in the least bit abashed, he had the audacity to wink at her. “Ah. So you have thought of me.”

“Not fondly, I assure you.”

He winced. “You wound me, madam.”

“No, not yet.” Her gaze flicked with unmistakable significance to the fire poker. “But that could be arranged.”

He shook his head and made a
tsking
sound. “I’d no idea you harbored such violent tendencies, my lady. As for kneeling before you? I fear that is a sight you shall never see.”

“Never say never, Dr. Oliver.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’m certain that’s no huge loss, as you’re undoubtedly quite accustomed to men playing your adoring slave.”

Victoria heard a muffled sound and realized it was her shoe tapping against the carpet. She forced her foot to remain still, then fixed her most glacial stare upon him. “My admirers are none of your concern, and do not think for a moment that your transparent ploy to divert my attention from your outrageous behavior has worked. Why were you rifling through my things?”

“I was not rifling.”

“Oh? And what would you call it?”

“I was merely looking.”

“For what?”

For an answer, the insufferable scoundrel cast a meaningful glance down at her portmanteau, which rested near his feet. “Interesting reading material you conceal in your luggage, Lady Victoria.”

Heat suffused Victoria’s face until she was certain she emitted a glow. Before she could recover herself to issue him the set-down he so richly deserved, he said in a silky voice, “I thought girls like you only read torrid novels and simpering poetry.”

Again Victoria forced her foot to remain still—but this time so that she did not give him a swift kick. “Girls like me? My my, a thief
and
so charming. And in case you’ve failed to notice—not surprising since your powers of observation are clearly not all they should be—I am no longer a girl. I am a woman.”

Something flashed in his eyes. His gaze dropped to her feet, then roamed upward in a slow, assessing perusal no decent gentleman would ever bestow upon a lady. A tingly warmth that surely was outrage began in her toes then worked its way upward in tandem with his gaze until even the roots of her hair felt hot. When he finished, their gazes met. The heated glimmer in his eyes hitched her breath.

“There is nothing wrong with my powers of observation, Lady Victoria. However, I am finished with these games.” His eyes narrowed. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“Stop being coy. You know what I am talking about. The note that was secreted in the lining of your portmanteau. The correspondence belongs to me. Hand it over. Now.” He extended his hand in an imperious manner, and she fisted her fingers in the soft material of her gown to keep from slapping it away.

“Of all the unmitigated gall. Breaking into my bedchamber—”

“The door was unlocked.”

“—touching my personal items—”

“Only very briefly.”

“—then accusing
me
of stealing something from
you!
Why didn’t you retrieve this note you claim is your property the first time you searched my chamber?”

His gaze instantly sharpened and he lowered his hand. “The first time? What are you talking about?”

She glanced heavenward. “I thought you’d said you were finished with games. Is my meaning not obvious?”

He erased the distance between them in one long stride then clasped her upper arms. “This is no game. Are you saying that your room was searched earlier today?”

The heat from his hands seemed to burn her through the thin material of her gown. Victoria jerked herself free from his grasp then took a step back. “Yes, that is what I am saying, as if you didn’t know.” Her anger almost made her forget the heated sensation of his hands on her. Almost. “Tell me, do you impose upon all your guests in this unseemly manner, or am I the only fortunate one?”

“How do you know your room was searched?” he asked, ignoring her sarcasm as well as her question.

“It is my habit to be very precise about how and where I place my possessions. ’Twas obvious my things had been disturbed, and my abigail Winifred was not responsible. I’d assumed a Creston Manor maid was to blame—until I caught you red-handed.”

“If you suspected a Creston Manor maid, why did you not report the incident?”

“Because nothing was missing. I saw no reason to instigate an inquiry that would most certainly end in disciplinary action against someone who was merely curious.”

Although his expression didn’t change, she sensed his surprise at her words. Determined to make the most of that small advantage, she lifted her chin. “I’ve answered your questions and I demand the same courtesy of you—although I suspect that the word ‘courtesy’ is lost upon you.”

“You haven’t begun to answer my questions.” He jerked his head toward the wardrobe. “That portmanteau—is it the only one you own?”

“Certainly not. I’ve half a dozen.”

“Where are they?”

Pretending to give the matter serious consideration, she tapped her chin and frowned. “Two are at the London town house, and three at Wexhall Manor. Or are there three in London and only two in the country—”

He made a low noise that sounded like a growl. “
Here
. Do you have any others with you
here
in Cornwall?”

Victoria barely suppressed a smile at his frustration and made her eyes go round with innocence. “Oh. No. That is the only one I brought to Cornwall.”

Without shifting his gaze from her, he reached down and behind him. Holding the open case against his chest, he pointed to the ripped lining. “How did this happen?”

“Surely you should be the one explaining that to me.”

He advanced a step and Victoria had to fight the urge to back up. His eyes glittered in the firelight and a muscle jerked in his cheek.

“Lady Victoria,” he said in a deceptively soft, silky voice, “you are severely testing my patience.”

“Excellent. I would hate to think I was alone in being irritated.”

He pressed his lips together and she could almost hear him counting to ten. “When I arrived, this lining had already been ripped, then very sloppily repaired.” He said the words slowly, pronouncing each syllable very precisely, as if he were speaking to a child—a fact that raised her hackles even further. “Do you know anything about how that came about?”

“As a matter of fact I do.”

Nathan stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate, his patience, normally so even and reliable, straining dangerously close to the end of its tenuous tether. She stood be
fore him, chin raised, brows hoisted up, lips pursed, looking as impatient as he felt, which of course was impossible, as he would have laid odds that at this moment he was the most impatient individual in the entire bloody country. Which further served to annoy him, as he was not an impatient man, in any facet of his life. But something about this woman brought out the worst in him.

After taking a slow, deep breath, Nathan said in a perfectly calm voice, “Tell me what you know.”

“I’m afraid I do not respond well to imperious orders, Dr. Oliver,” she replied in a haughty tone. “Perhaps if you couched your request more politely…”

Her words trailed off, and Nathan swore his teeth would be reduced to nubs before this interview was over. “Please,” he forced out between his clenched lips.

“Much better,” she said in a prim tone. “Although I’m not certain you deserve an explanation after insulting my sewing abilities.”

“
You
sewed the lining?”

“I did.”

“When?”

“Earlier this evening.” She paused again, but clearly whatever she read in his gaze wisely compelled her to continue without further prodding. “After freshening up from our journey, my aunt and I took a turn around the gardens—which are lovely, by the way.”

“Thank you. Go on.”

“Hmmm. Some politeness, although rather brusque. As I was saying, we walked the gardens. When I returned to my bedchamber to prepare for dinner, I realized someone had been in my room. The disturbances were subtle—a wrinkle on the counterpane, my perfume bottle not precisely where I’d left it, the wardrobe door closed rather
than open several inches to aid in the airing of my gowns, the latch of my trunk open. If only one thing or one part of the room had showed signs of being tampered with, I would have simply attributed it to a servant, but it was all about the room. My things had been unpacked and put away before I left for the gardens, so there wouldn’t have been any reason for anyone to touch the wardrobe or my trunk.”

“So you conducted a search of your own to see what, if anything, was missing.”

“Yes. And nothing was missing. Not even from my jewel case. But during my search, I discovered a faulty seam in my portmanteau, which very much distressed me, as the bag had belonged to my mother and is a favorite of mine. Upon closer examination, it was clear that the stitches were extremely amateurish. Certainly not the work of any reputable tailor or my mother, who was very accomplished with a needle and thread. My curiosity was aroused and I pulled out the stitches. When I finished, I felt around in the space behind the lining.”

“You discovered a letter.” It wasn’t a question.

“I did.”

Bloody hell
. “Did you read it?” Not that it would matter, as naturally Wexhall would have written it in code.

“Really, Dr. Oliver, I think the pertinent question here is: How did you know a letter was secreted in the lining of my luggage?”

Nathan studied her for several long seconds. Damn it to hell, this was a complication he didn’t need. Or want. Indeed, he hadn’t wanted or needed any of this. He should be in Little Longstone, tending to his patients, caring for his animals, enjoying the peaceful existence he’d worked so hard to achieve. Instead he stood facing a veritable ter
magant who had his note and by the stubborn look of her wouldn’t give it up easily.

A half-dozen lies rose to his lips, but a sudden overwhelming weariness washed over him. God, he was sick of lying. And why should he? His service to the Crown was completed. He was no longer sworn to secrecy. How easy and refreshing it would be to simply tell the truth.

Watching her carefully, he said, “I knew the letter was there because it was meant for me.”

“And why would a letter meant for
you
be hidden in
my
portmanteau?”

“Because as you were traveling to Cornwall, it was the most expeditious way to get the note to me.”

“If that is so, then why was it hidden? Why couldn’t I have simply been given the note with instructions to hand it over to you when I arrived?”

“Because it contains top secret information that is meant for my eyes only.”

“Top secret? You make this sound like some sort of spy adventure.”

When he did nothing to deny or confirm her statement, her eyes narrowed and she studied him. Finally she said, “Are you implying that you’re some sort of…spy?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating it outright.”

She blinked. “That you’re a spy.”

“
Was
a spy,” he corrected, in keeping with his new policy of honesty. “I retired from my service as an operative three years ago, but have been temporarily reactivated.”

She stared at him for a full ten seconds. Then her lips twitched. “You must be joking,” she said, unsuccessfully trying to disguise her laughter.

“I assure you I am not,” Nathan said stiffly.

She laughed outright. “Surely you don’t think I would fall for such a Banbury tale.”

“Actually, I can’t fathom why you wouldn’t believe me.”

“For starters, you’re clearly hard of hearing. Whoever heard of a spy with afflicted hearing?”

“My hearing is perfectly sound.”

She uttered a distinctly snortlike sound. “I entered the room and walked right up to you, yet you still didn’t know I was there until I spoke.”

Bloody hell. Because of that damn
Guide
and the erotic images it had inspired. “I was, er, distracted.” Before she could launch into more reasons, he said, “I was involved in a mission three years ago that failed and resulted in my resignation. That note contains information that could afford me the opportunity to reverse the mission’s failure.”
And to retrieve what I lost
.

Clearly still amused, she nodded encouragingly and made a rolling motion with her hand. “Oh, please do continue. This is more entertaining than any torrid novel a girl like me might read.”

Nathan took a second to wonder if he’d ever met a more aggravating woman and knew without a doubt that he had not. Narrowing his gaze, he dropped her bag to the floor then took a step toward her, taking perverse delight in the sudden flicker of uncertainty that flashed in her eyes.

“You want the torrid tale?” he asked in a silky tone. “I’d be delighted to tell you. From both a military and smuggling perspective, this estate is located in a very advantageous location. During the war, I was recruited by the Crown to perform various tasks, which included spying on the French and retrieving goods being smuggled in and out of England. Three years ago I was assigned to recover a cache of jewels, but the mission did not…go as
planned and the jewels went missing. I left the Crown’s service shortly thereafter. Recently, new information regarding the jewel’s possible whereabouts came to light. Since I was most familiar with the case, I was asked to return to Cornwall to help recover them. The new information regarding the jewels is in the note you found—a note which, as I’m sure you now understand, belongs to me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, gratified to see that she no longer looked amused. She did not, however, look entirely convinced. “As I trust I’ve satisfied your curiosity, I would appreciate it if you would now return the note to me.”