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.”