As he walked in the long, cool shadow of Creston Manor cast by the waning late afternoon sun, he heard the indistinct sound of a feminine voice. As he neared, he was able to make out the words.
“The roads were simply frightful due to the rains.”
Nathan paused near the corner of the house. Leaning his back against the brick facade, he swallowed a groan. Even though it had been three years since he’d heard it, there was no mistaking that voice.
Lady Victoria had arrived.
His heart performed the most ridiculous leap, and his brows snapped down in a frown. What the hell was wrong with him? Something, obviously. Perhaps a lack of sleep. Yes, that must be it. For there was no other explanation for such an idiotic reaction. He closed his eyes and thumped the back of his head twice against the stone-lightly, for as tempting as it was to render himself unconscious, there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. The sooner he found out what he needed to know from her, the sooner he could send her back to London.
He looked down and a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Lady Victoria would no doubt swoon at the sight of his dirt-streaked breeches, damp, untucked shirt, and scuffed boots. He cheered considerably. All the better to encourage her to depart Cornwall as soon as possible. He supposed he should nip around to the back of the house and change clothes, but with Colin off and Father visiting the village, the duty of greeting the guests fell to him.
He pushed off from the wall and strode around the corner. A well-appointed coach painted glossy black and bearing the Earl of Wexhall’s family crest stood in the curved drive. A pair of wilted-looking female servants who were clearly the ladies’ maids waited beside a second carriage bearing more luggage. The heavily mud-splattered exteriors and wheels gave testament to the foul road conditions. Two sets of matching grays stood patiently while Langston and Mrs. Henshaw, Creston Manor’s butler and housekeeper, directed servants on the unloading of the trunks. As he approached, Nathan scanned the group.
A woman he recognized as Lord Wexhall’s sister Lady Delia was talking to Mrs. Henshaw. Dressed in a dark blue spencer over a cream muslin gown creased with travel wrinkles, and wearing a lace-trimmed bonnet, Lady Delia appeared exactly as Nathan remembered her from their last meeting three years earlier. Twenty years ago she would have been described as beautiful. Today the word still could apply, although her maturity lent itself more to “handsome.”
He continued forward, craning his neck, and caught sight of the back of a frilly, ivory bonnet, its wearer nearly hidden amongst the throng of hovering servants. At that moment Lady Delia stepped aside and Lady Victoria’s profile came into view. His footsteps slowed and he studied her.
Dressed in a pale pink muslin gown and a deep rose spencer, she stood in a swatch of bright golden sunlight, looking like a delicate spring flower. A brisk, sea-scented breeze courtesy of Mount’s Bay threatened to dislodge her bonnet. She reached up a cream lace-gloved hand to hold in place the ridiculous bit of frippery, which he supposed was the latest French fashion. In spite of her efforts, several dark curls escaped and blew across her cheek. He had the ridiculous thought that she resembled a Gainsborough portrait, captured in the breeze and sunshine, her features partially cast in shadow from her upraised arm and bonnet. All she needed to complete the image was a field of wildflowers. And perhaps a gamboling puppy. At that moment she turned and their eyes met.
His footsteps faltered, then stopped completely as he was hit by the same punched-in-the-gut sensation he’d experienced the first time he laid eyes on her three years ago. The breeze pressed her gown against her in a way that suggested the curvaceous, feminine form that had fit so perfectly against him would do so still. A golden shaft of sunlight highlighted her in a halo of brilliance that made her look like an angel, but he vividly recalled the deviltry that had danced in her smile.
Unmistakable recognition flashed in her eyes, followed by a flash of something else that he couldn’t fully decipher, but that erased any doubt that she recalled the passionate kiss they’d shared. Then her features wiped clean of all expression and her eyes filled with a cool indifference that crept his brows upward. Clearly he’d not made a favorable impression on Lady Victoria. He wasn’t certain if he found that more annoying or amusing.
Her gaze flicked over his clothing. Her lips pressed together and one of her brows inched upward with an eloquence that indicated she found his appearance about as appealing as something she would scrape off the bottom of her dainty shoe. Excellent. She’d been here less than two minutes and he’d already ruffled her feathers. He hated to be the only one thrown off balance.
Suppressing a smile, he moved forward. “Greetings, ladies,” he said as he joined the group. “Delighted to see you’ve arrived safely. Your journey was pleasant, I hope?”
Lady Delia raised an ornate quizzing glass and peered at him. “Dr. Oliver, a pleasure to see you again after all these years.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Delia,” he said, offering her a smile and a formal bow.
Her sharp-eyed gaze took in his disheveled appearance. “It appears some manner of catastrophe has befallen you.”
“Not at all. Merely the result of a project by the stables which proved rather dirty work. I was just returning to the house to make myself presentable for your arrival, but I fear it is too late.”
“By the stables?” Lady Delia’s eyes widened. “Were you there a quarter hour ago? Hammering something?”
“I was. If I’d known your arrival was so imminent-”
“Nonsense, dear boy. Wouldn’t want you abandoning your project on our account.” Lady Delia graced him with a dazzling smile, then said, “I’m not sure if you recall meeting my niece, Lady Victoria-”
“Of course I remember Lady Victoria. I pride myself on never forgetting a face.” Or a passionate kiss. He turned toward her and found himself the subject of Lady Victoria’s bland regard. Certainly not the warm reception he’d received the last time they met. Probably upon reflection she’d relegated him a cad for stealing that kiss and regretted not slapping his face. Well, fine. That would make their interactions even briefer.
He made her a formal bow, then rose to his full height. He recalled she was slightly taller than average, although the top of her head still only reached his shoulder. Now that he was closer, he noted her flawless complexion, which was stained with a becoming rosy hue. Indeed, she looked rather flushed. Probably very warm in the carriage. In spite of what he knew had to have been an arduous journey, she surprisingly showed no outward signs of fatigue. No, she appeared fresh and lovely. Prim, proper, coolly elegant, and altogether ladylike. Still, he didn’t doubt she’d suffer from the vapors like most ladies of her station and swoon about on every chaise Creston Manor had to offer at her first opportunity.
His gaze took in her eyes, noting their vivid blue shade, made all the more outstanding by the crescent of dark lashes surrounding them. The last time he’d seen those eyes they’d been drooped at half-mast and glazed with arousal. And then there was her mouth… so lush and full. Everything about her demeanor and dress was perfectly prim and proper, but there was nothing proper about those lips. He instantly recalled how delicious they’d tasted, how plush they’d felt beneath his. She’d grown even lovelier in the last three years. Except he no longer detected that glitter of mischief in her eyes, that impish curve to her lips, and he idly wondered what had brought about the change. Probably had wisely decided that kissing strangers in the gallery was not a good idea. Not that he cared. No indeed. He had his own problems to worry about. She’d all but knocked him on his arse once before-he wouldn’t give her opportunity to do it again. Give him a warm, sweet-natured, plain woman over a cool, nose-in-the-air hothouse beauty any day.