Nathan showed her how to catch crabs, kissed her finger when one pinched her with its claws, then applauded when she caught a dozen of the feisty crustaceans on her own. They’d proudly delivered their catch to Cook, who prepared them for dinner that night, a meal they shared with Aunt Delia and Nathan’s father, who, it was plain to see, were getting on extremely well together. For the past seven days, it had been just the four of them sharing meals and retiring to the drawing room after dinner. Nathan’s brother had not returned from his excursion to Penzance, sending a note that business required him to stay away, and Lord Alwyck had not made a return visit.

One morning, to her delight, Nathan brought her to the kitchen and helped her realize her childhood dream by having Cook teach her to bake a pie. She’d burned part of the crust, but Nathan ate it anyway, declaring it delicious. That evening after dinner, while her aunt and Lord Rutledge played backgammon, Nathan brought her to the billiards room and taught her to play-or rather, he tried to, as she proved quite hopeless at it, a fact she blamed on the distracting nature of her instructor. They then retired to the music room, where she attempted to teach him a song on the pianoforte. For a man with such talented fingers, he possessed no aptitude for music-but an amazing skill for insinuating his talented fingers under her skirt.

Yet even though she reveled in the sensual delights and discoveries they shared, she enjoyed his company just as much while doing nothing more exciting than drinking tea. What struck Victoria the most was the way he talked to her. Listened to her. How he sought her opinion on a wide spectrum of topics. How he didn’t make her feel foolish if she didn’t know something, and how intently he paid attention when she did. The gentle way he teased her, challenged her, encouraged her to think about things to which she’d previously given little consideration, such as politics.

He fascinated her with his personal theories on medicine and healing, a number of which were in direct opposition to currently accepted methods. They spent hours debating the works of Shakespeare and Chaucer, Byron’s poetry and Homer’s Iliad. It seemed that they grew closer every day, and she realized that in addition to being her lover, he was also her friend. A friend who could set her blood on fire with a mere look.

And then there were the seven glorious nights she’d spent in Nathan’s arms. Making love, exploring each other’s body, enjoying the countless intimacies lovers share. Sometimes their mating was a soft, slow dance, other times a fast, furious race. He helped her discover what pleased her and urged her to discover what pleased him, although as far as she could tell, he was very easily pleased. And now, hurrying the last few steps to her bedchamber, where she knew he awaited her, her heart skipped in anticipation of the sensual delights tonight would hold.

Breathless from a combination of her quick pace and the thought of what awaited her, she opened her bedchamber door. And stilled on the threshold at the sight that met her eyes. As if in a trance, she slowly entered. After closing and locking the door, she leaned back against the oak panel and stared. The room was awash with roses. Dozens of blooms ranging from the purest white to the deepest scarlet spilled from a silver bowl set on her dresser. A trail of petals led from the door to the center of the room, where the path split into two directions. One ended near the fireplace, where a petal-strewn blanket and a picnic basket awaited. The other trail veered toward the bed, its ivory counterpane dotted with crimson blooms. Nathan stood at the juncture of the paths holding a single long stem rose.

The look in his eyes, that intoxicating concentration of heat, of want and need, stole her breath. She approached him slowly, stopping when less than two feet separated them. He reached out and traced her jaw with the flower’s velvety petals. “I offer you a choice, Victoria,” he said softly, his eyes serious, his gaze intent upon hers. “Which do you want?”

“I want them both,” she answered without hesitation.


The next morning, Victoria stood at the window of her bedchamber, looking down at the garden and lawns bathed in a diffused haze of early morning sunshine. It had rained most of the night, but the azure sky dotted with fluffy white clouds promised a day of fair weather. A day of adventure as their search for the jewels continued. Another glorious day to be spent with Nathan.

Her eyes slid closed and she recalled last night. How after she’d told him she wanted both paths, he’d instantly obliged her, swooping her up in his strong arms and carrying her to the bed, where their lovemaking had been wild and frantic, as if they hadn’t touched in months. Then later, after a light repast of bread, wine, and cheese, they’d made slow, luxurious love on the blanket in front of the fire.

The memory faded and she opened her eyes. Looking down at the sunlight sparkling on the dew-laden grass, she asked herself the question that invaded her mind with increasing frequency as each day passed: How was she going to say good-bye to him when it came time to leave and return to her normal life? And, as it did every time, the mere thought brought a lump to her throat and a strange, uncomfortable hollow to her chest. So, as she did every time, she roughly shoved the question away. When it came time to leave, she would simply… leave. And go on with her life. As he would go on with his.

Turning from the window, her gaze wandered to the bed and fell upon the single red rose he’d left on the pillow next to hers. To her dismay, moisture filled her eyes. A beautiful flower from a beautiful man who she greatly feared was coming to mean far too much to her. A man who, despite her best efforts to keep at an emotional arm’s length, was finding his way into her heart. When she awoke that morning, she’d been alone, all evidence of their sensual petal-strewn picnic gone, except for that solitary bloom.

She walked to the bed, picked up the rose and buried her nose in its soft center. Again vivid images of the previous night permeated her mind’s eye. Nathan looming over her, buried deep inside her body, then her astride him, his hands everywhere as they made love in the rose-scented haven he’d created for her. She would never be able to separate the scent of roses from those sensual images, which was problematic, as she couldn’t recall a day since she was a child that she hadn’t surrounded herself with the fragrance of her favorite flower.

But she wouldn’t worry about that now. She would have plenty of time to lock away her memories when this interlude ended. Until then, she would treat each day as a gift and enjoy her passionate adventure to the fullest.

With that in mind, she pulled the bell cord to summon Winifred, then walked to the wardrobe to choose a dress for the day. But before choosing, she pulled her copy of the Ladies’ Guide from the portmanteau and carefully pressed the rose Nathan had left her between the book’s pages.


After emptying a sack filled with kitchen scraps into the trough in the animal pen-much to the delight of Daisy, Reginald, and Petunia-Nathan collected his hens’ daily offering of eggs. He gave them to Hopkins, who, with a nod of thanks, headed across the lawns toward the kitchen with his prize. Then, with B.C. at his heels, Nathan walked the short distance to the copse of elms nearest the stables, a favorite boyhood spot. Sitting on the ground, he leaned back against the sturdy trunk’s rough bark, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. B.C. flopped down next to him, rested his massive head on Nathan’s boots, and breathed out a sigh of canine contentment.

“Don’t even think about making a snack out of these boots,” Nathan said, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “They’re my favorite pair.”

B.C. sent him a reproachful look, as if to say that he would never in a million years chew Nathan’s favorite pair of boots-but any other pair was fair game.

Resettling his back against the tree, Nathan absorbed the quiet serenity of the early morning and watched his animals enjoy their breakfast. If only his thoughts were as serene as his surroundings…

Reginald left the animal pen, and catching sight of Nathan sitting under the tree, the pig trotted toward him. B.C. lifted his head, and after the two animals, who were well used to each other, had exchanged a friendly smelling of each other’s breath, Reginald flopped down on Nathan’s other side and plopped his head on Nathan’s knee.

“Looks as if it’s just us boys this morning,” Nathan said. “No women.” He blew out a sigh. “Do yourselves a favor my good men, and do not fall in love. But at least if you’re going to fall in love, make certain that you fall in love with someone you can have.” B.C. licked his chops and shot Nathan a mournful gaze. Nathan nodded, grateful for the obvious canine show of sympathy. “Yes, that’s precisely how I feel. It would be as if you fell in love with a cat instead of a dog, B.C. Of course you could love the cat, but it would only lead to heartbreak. You’re too different, live in two different worlds, for it to ever work. Trust me when I say that falling in love is a tremendous pain in the arse. Not to mention the heart.”

“Good morning, Nathan,” came a familiar deep voice behind him.

Nathan turned and saw his father approaching from the direction of the house. “Good morning, Father.”

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Over the past week, some of the tension between them had dissipated. Of course, Nathan thought that could have been because they hadn’t been alone together. Having Lady Delia and Victoria join them for meals, after-dinner whist, and conversation, had unmistakably thawed a bit of the chill.