“Yes,” Victoria said quickly, before Aunt Delia could act upon the mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Nathan smiled. “And here I thought you talked about men.”
“Shakespeare was a man,” she said in an arid tone, valiantly trying to ignore the tingles of pleasure his touch invoked while he tilted up her chin to peer at her cut.
“I meant living, breathing men.”
“Oh, we talk about them, too,” Aunt Delia chimed in.
“Among other things,” Victoria said with a quelling look at her aunt.
“My father and I missed you ladies at dinner this evening,” Nathan said, lowering the counterpane then smoothing up her night rail just enough to look at her knees. His touch and demeanor were completely impersonal, but there was nothing impersonal about the heat the brush of his hands ignited on her skin.
“Your brother did not dine with you?” Victoria asked, appalled at how breathless she sounded.
“No. He traveled to Penzance earlier today and isn’t expected home until late.” He lowered her gown and covered her again with the sheet. Then he rose and smiled down at her. “Your bumps and cuts and scrapes are all looking fine. And you’re no longer pale.” His gaze touched her cheeks and a frown creased his brow. “In fact, you look rather flushed.” Reaching out, he laid his hand against her forehead. Good Lord, how to tell him that his touch would only serve to brighten her coloring?
“No fever,” he said with unmistakable relief, removing his hand.
“I feel fine. Truly. The ointment you used seemed to absorb the stinging.”
“Good. Still, you will experience some soreness tomorrow. But your warm bath will help that.” His gaze wandered across the room to the big brass tub that two footmen had set near the fireplace earlier. “I’ll arrange for the water to be sent up. And when you’re finished bathing, it’s into the bed for you. You need your rest.”
He turned toward Aunt Delia. “May I escort you downstairs, Lady Delia? My father is in the drawing room, hoping for a backgammon partner.” He leaned toward her and said in a stage whisper, “He does not like to play me because I always beat him.”
“I would be delighted to beat him as well,” Aunt Delia said with a laugh. She leaned over Victoria and pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Think about what I said, darling,” she whispered in her ear.
Nathan escorted her aunt across the room. Before closing the door behind them, he turned around and his gaze sought Victoria’s. A long look passed between them, and her heart pounded, wondering what he was thinking. Something flashed in his eyes, then he said softly, “Enjoy your bath.” And then he was gone.
But very much not forgotten.
Seventeen
If Today’s Modern Woman should ever decide to grab hold of her destiny and tell the object of her affections “I want you” (and she is certainly encouraged to do such grabbing), she’d best be very certain because it is extremely unlikely the gentleman will turn down her invitation.
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
With the catlike grace that had served him well during his service to the Crown, Nathan let go of the windowsill of the unused room on the floor above Victoria’s bedchamber. He landed lightly on her balcony, then moving quickly into the shadows where the moonlight didn’t reach, peered through the French windows. And stilled at the sight he beheld.
Victoria reclined in the brass tub, her silhouette glazed by the golden glow of the crackling fire. Her dark, shiny hair was piled on her head in artful disarray, several long tendrils trailing along her neck and cheeks. Curls of steam spiraled around her, glossing her cheekbones with dewy heat.
She held a book in front of her and appeared deeply engrossed in her reading, nibbling on her bottom lip. As he watched, an intriguing smile that seemed filled with secrets tilted her lips, and he found himself hoping it was thoughts of him that inspired such a look.
She slowly closed the book, setting it on the small round table that had been placed next to the bathtub to hold a pair of thick snowy towels. Then her eyes slid closed.
With an ease born of much practice, he soundlessly opened the French windows and made his way on silent feet across the room, carrying a single, long stem red rose. When he stood next to the tub, he looked down. Her head rested on the polished brass lip, exposing her elegant, damp neck. His gaze riveted on the red mark where the knife had nicked her and his jaw tightened. Forcing his attention away from the cut, he continued his perusal. Steamy water lapped at her shoulders, forming tiny pools in the delicate indents of her collarbone. Beneath the surface that shimmered gently with her breathing, full breasts topped with rosy nipples glistened. His gaze drifted over her stomach, the triangle of dark curls at the apex of her thighs, then along the line of her shapely legs. The tub was shorter than Victoria, and to compensate, she’d rested her crossed trim ankles on the other edge, leaving her calves and feet exposed to the air. Her feet were small, her instep a high curve his fingers itched to trace.
“Are you enjoying your bath, Victoria?”
Her eyes snapped open and she gasped. Water sloshed over the side of the tub as her feet slapped below the surface and she simultaneously crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. “Wh-What are you doing here?”
“I came to see if you were enjoying your bath.” He held out the rose. “For you.”
Her startled gaze skipped between him and the proffered flower. Then she reached up and took the stem, bringing the bloom to her face and burying her nose in its velvety petals. Looking at him over the top of the rose, she took in his attire, then asked, “Why are you dressed all in black?”
“So as to avoid detection from anyone who might be lurking outdoors while I swung down onto your balcony.”
She looked quickly toward the French windows, then back at him. Although she still appeared stunned, there was no mistaking the flare of interest in her eyes. “You came in through the balcony? How?”
“Jumped down from the window on the floor above.”
Her eyes widened. “You did not.”
“I did.”
“Are you mad? If you’d fallen, you could have been seriously injured.”
“Dead, most likely,” he corrected with a grave nod. “How fortunate I am sure-footed.”
“Have you never heard of a door?”
“Too predictable, especially given that I wanted the element of surprise in my favor. Besides, I ran a far greater risk of discovery entering your bedchamber from the corridor. And what if the door had been locked? While I could have picked the lock, I risked discovery doing so. Nor did I have any wish to knock, for if I did, you might have been compelled to exit the tub and don a robe to open the door. Then I would have missed seeing you in the bath, and my darling Victoria, allow me to assure you, it is not a sight to be missed.”
Crimson to rival the rose he’d given her stained her cheeks. “So you jumped out of a window and landed on my balcony.”
He shrugged. “It is the way of us spies. Although I admit I’m relieved I didn’t injure any pertinent body parts. I’m a bit out of practice with the maneuver, I’m afraid.”
“And you’re here to examine my scrapes?”
“Not exactly,” he said, crossing the room. When he reached the door, he turned the key in the lock. The soft click seemed to reverberate in the air. While walking slowly back to her, he rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows, noting how carefully she watched him, the alertness and awareness simmering in her eyes. When he reached the tub, he lowered himself to his knees and rested his forearms on the edge. The tips of his fingers gently stirred the water.