He inhaled again and this time couldn’t suppress his groan. Luscious curves pressed against him… her slim fingers gliding through the hair at his nape… the delicious, seductive taste of her against his tongue-
Muttering an obscenity he rarely allowed to cross his lips, Nathan snapped his eyes opened and jabbed the stopper back into the vial. He set the glass back on the dresser as if it had burned him, then quickly withdrew his handkerchief to wipe away any remnants of her fragrance that might have clung to him. As the memory of her and their kiss clung to him.
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.
Today’s Modern Woman must realize that lovemaking is not something to be enjoyed only by men and simply endured by women. Be an active participant. Tell your partner what you want. What feels good. Do not doubt that he will be delighted to oblige you. And do not be afraid to touch him-most especially in the ways that you yourself would like to be touched. And the best way to ascertain how you like being touched is to touch yourself to discover what you find pleasurable. After doing so, Today’s Modern Woman would then certainly tell her gentleman what she‘d learn. Or better yet, show him.
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 affect 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.”
Five
Today’s Modern Woman knows there is often a great chasm between what she should do and what she wants to do. Naturally there are times when duty’s dictates must take precedence. However, there are other times, notably when an attractive gentleman is involved, when she should throw caution to the wind and do what she wants.
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Victoria 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. Instead 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.”