“Not if the gentleman he wished you to meet was in Cornwall, my dear.” Her aunt pursed her lips. “I wonder which of the Oliver men your father is leaning toward-the widowed earl or his heir Colin, Viscount Sutton? Or perhaps even the younger son, Dr. Nathan Oliver?”

Victoria forced her features to remain impassive at the mention of his name. “Surely none of them. I’ve only briefly met Lord Sutton-once, three years ago-and as for the earl, surely Father wouldn’t encourage me to marry someone so old as Lord Rutledge.”

“I believe old Earl Rutledge is a year younger than me,” Aunt Delia said in a dust dry tone. Before Victoria could apologize for her faux pas, her aunt continued, “But you forgot Dr. Oliver.”

If only I had… if only I could… but I shall. After this visit he will be exorcised from my mind. “I didn’t forget him, I just didn’t think it necessary to comment, as neither Father nor I would ever consider such a lowly match. Especially when two earls have expressed interest.”

“I don’t recall you mentioning a tendre for either Branripple or Dravensby, my dear.”

Victoria shrugged. “Both are highly sought-after, fine gentlemen from well-respected families. Either would make an excellent match.”

“It is well known they both seek to wed an heiress.”

“As do many peers with lofty titles and depleted purses. I’ve always known I would be sought for my fortune. Just as I’ve always known I would have to marry well to secure my future. I certainly cannot count on Edward being generous once Father is gone.” Victoria suppressed a sigh at the mention of her older brother. As much as it pained her, there was no denying that Edward-currently on the Continent doing heaven knows what-was an irresponsible, unreliable, gambling, drinking womanizer who would most likely cast her out after Father passed away. Naturally, Father would provide financially for her, but she wanted a family. Children. And a firm place in Society.

“You’ve no preference between Branripple or Dravensby?”

“Not particularly. They are of similar age and temperament. I’d planned to spend more time with them in London during the Little Season to help me decide.”

“So you’re certain that you will marry one of them?”

“Yes.” Why didn’t her heart soar with joy at the prospect? Marriage to either man would provide her with a life of luxury at the pinnacle of Society. Clearly her mind was preoccupied with the task she’d set for herself in Cornwall. Surely her enthusiasm for her suitors would manifest itself once she’d completed her objective.

Aunt Delia sighed. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“That you haven’t fallen in love.”

“Love?” Victoria laughed. But even as she did so, an inner twinge pinched her. She used to harbor such silly fantasies, as most girls did. But then she’d matured and wisely put such foolishness aside. “You know as well as I that love is a poor basis for a marriage. Especially when family names, titles, fortunes, and estates are involved. Mother and Father’s marriage was not based on love.” An image of her mother’s face rose in Victoria’s mind’s eye, the image she carried in her heart, of her mother smiling and beautiful, before the illness had stolen her vitality and then her life.

“Perhaps not, but their affection for each other eventually blossomed into love,” Aunt Delia said. “Not every couple is so fortunate. I was not so fortunate.”

Victoria gently squeezed her aunt’s hand in a show of sympathy. Her widowed aunt’s decade-long marriage hadn’t been a happy one.

“As I understand it,” Aunt Delia continued, “the reason your father insisted you come to Cornwall was to expand your horizons. See more of the country other than your usual haunts of London, Kent, and Bath. Open your mind, and heart, to new experiences, new people.”

“I suppose. But surely Father cannot be expecting a match in Cornwall. He would have told me so.”

“Would he? I think not, my dear. As you will learn, men are often annoyingly secretive creatures.”

She couldn’t argue that, especially where her father was concerned. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Yet even as the question passed her lips, Victoria realized the answer. “He wouldn’t tell me because he knows I would never consent to living so far from Town. So far from…” She waved her hand to encompass all the green nothingness. “… civilization. How could I not live in the city during the Season? And for summer, certainly nowhere more than several hours from London-just far enough away for proper rusticating, yet close enough to enjoy the social swirl of Town, the shops, and keep abreast of the latest fashions and on dits.”

She sat up straighter. Could Aunt Delia be correct? If so, Father was to be sorely disappointed, for no matter how charming the earl and viscount might prove to be, she would never consent to entering into a marriage that would bind her, by law, to a man who could-and most likely would-relegate her to the desolate wilds of Cornwall. A shudder ran through her at the mere thought.

“I recall that we met Viscount Sutton in London several years ago,” Aunt Delia said. “Handsome young man.”

“Yes.” Exceptionally handsome. Yet it was Lord Sutton’s younger brother who had so thoroughly unsettled her. “But it wouldn’t matter if he were the most comely man on the planet. I am not interested.”

“We met his younger brother on that occasion as well,” Aunt Delia said, her brow creasing. “Dr. Oliver. Bit of the devil in that one, you could tell at a glance.”

The image she’d tried so hard to banish from her memory instantly materialized in Victoria’s mind. A tall, broad-shouldered young man with thick, wavy sun-streaked brown hair, intriguing, flirtatious hazel eyes, and a wicked smile that had inexplicably-yet undeniably-fascinated her the instant they’d met in London three years ago at the Wexhall town house. Even now her heart seemed to skip a beat-no doubt a result of the severe irritation the mere thought of Dr. Oliver brought.

With the image of him now firmly in her mind, the haunting memories of that night three years ago assailed her. She’d recently celebrated her eighteenth birthday and had been flush with feminine confidence from her fabulously successful first Season, confidence that had soared even higher at the unmistakable interest that flared in the eyes of her father’s sinfully attractive guest. Her imagination had immediately cast Dr. Oliver as a swashbuckling, rakish pirate who absconded with her and brought her back to his ship to kiss her and… well, she wasn’t quite sure what else, but certainly whatever it was that brought a fierce blush to her maid Winifred’s cheeks whenever she mentioned Paul, the handsome new footman.

Victoria’s instantaneous attraction to Dr. Oliver had been heady, and breathtaking, unlike anything she’d previously experienced, although it had frankly confused her for she’d certainly seen handsome gentlemen before-handsomer gentlemen. His own brother, Lord Sutton, who’d stood not ten feet away from her, was by far the handsomer of the two, and appeared much more gentlemanly and proper.

Yet while she was at a loss to explain her reaction to Dr. Oliver, there was no denying it. There’d been something about him… perhaps his hair was a bit too long, his cravat just a bit mussed, the hints of mischief lurking in his gaze and the corners of his lovely mouth that had captured her fancy. Made her want to touch his hair, smooth his cravat, and ask what he found so amusing.

But mostly it was the way he’d looked at her that had set her heart fluttering and arrowed heated tingles of pleasure to her toes. He’d gazed upon her with a combination of warm amusement and an unabashed flirtation that skimmed the borders of propriety. She should have been appalled, but instead was entranced. He was unlike anything or anyone she’d ever before experienced, and when he suggested that she give him a tour of the portrait gallery, she’d instantly consented, rationalizing that it wasn’t really improper. Her aunt and Lord Sutton would be in the next room. The adjoining door would be ajar…

Once alone with him, however, Victoria’s normal aplomb deserted her. To her horror, her efforts to impress Dr. Oliver with her maturity, new gown, and conversation went completely awry. She found herself chatting in a breathless, nonstop manner she couldn’t control. Everything she’d ever learned about deportment seemed to flee her head and she babbled like a river overflowing its banks, unable to stop the nervous torrent of words bubbling from her. Her mind told her mouth to cease, to raise her chin and gift him with nothing more than a long, cool stare, but for reasons she couldn’t understand, her lips continued to move and the words to spill out. Until he’d silenced her with a kiss.

Heat coursed through her at the memory of that kiss… that incredible, heart-stopping, breath-stealing, wits-robbing, knee-weakening kiss that had ended far, far too soon. She’d opened her eyes and found him looking at her with a crooked smile. “That did the trick,” he’d murmured in a husky rasp. When she’d remained mute, he cocked a brow and said, “Nothing more to say?” To which she’d managed to whisper one word: “Again.”

Something dark and delicious had flared in his eyes, and he’d obliged her with a different sort of kiss. A slow, deep, lush melding of mouths and breath, a stunningly intimate mating of tongues that awakened every nerve ending in her body. She’d clung to him, filled with a desperation and longing she didn’t understand, other than to know that she wanted more, wanted him to never stop. But stop he did, and with a groan he’d untangled her arms from around his neck and set her firmly away from him.

They’d stared at each other for several long seconds. Victoria had tried to interpret his intense expression, but it was impossible, as she was so very dazed. Then his lips had tilted in a devilish smile and he reached out. With a flick of his long, strong fingers, he adjusted her bodice, which she hadn’t even noticed was shockingly askew, then brushed the pad of his thumb over her still tingling lips. He looked as if he were about to say something when his brother had called from the adjoining room. Dr. Oliver had raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her fingers. “A most unexpected, pleasurable, interlude, my lady,” he’d whispered, then, after a rakish wink, had swiftly left the room.

Afraid to face her aunt before she’d gathered her wits, Victoria raced to her bedchamber. Standing in front of her cheval glass, she’d been stunned by her own reflection. Her perfect coif was wildly mussed, her gown wrinkled, her skin flushed, her lips red and puffy. But even without those outward manifestations of her passionate exchange with Dr. Oliver, the look of wonder and discovery shining in her eyes would have given her away in a thrice.

Her common sense demanded that she be appalled at her shocking behavior, at the liberties she’d allowed him, but her heart was having none of it. How could she be expected to think clearly when, for the first time in her life, all she wanted to do was feel? She hadn’t allowed any of the numerous gentlemen who’d sought her favor during the Season to kiss her. She’d dreamed of her first kiss-indeed had carefully planned the entire scenario, as she did with everything in her life-it was to take place in the formal gardens, after the gentleman had asked for and been granted her permission. But in an instant all her plans evaporated into a wisp of steam. Never in her wildest imaginings had she conjured up anything like the incredible, magical moments she’d shared with Dr. Oliver. She couldn’t wait to see him again, and after what they’d shared, she knew he would contact her.

She had never been more wrong in her life. She’d never seen nor heard from him again.

Now, looking out the carriage window at the endless verdant hills dotted with thatched roof cottages marking yet another small village, Victoria closed her eyes and inwardly cringed at how foolish she’d been, at the idiotic expectant hope that had ruled her for weeks afterward. She had searched for him at every soiree, waited impatiently for the daily delivery of letters, jumped every time the brass door knocker sounded, announcing a caller. The truth she’d been too blind to see didn’t finally hit her until one morning at breakfast, six weeks after Dr. Oliver had stolen that kiss, when she casually brought up his name to her father. In a single sentence Father had squashed all her hopes. Dr. Oliver had returned to Cornwall the morning after visiting the town house and had no intention of returning to London.

She still vividly recalled the fever of humiliation that had scorched her. What a fool she’d been! Here she’d hinged all these romantic, heroic ideals on a man who was nothing more than a cad! A man who had kissed her senseless with no intention of ever even speaking to her again. A man who had stolen her first kiss, a kiss that to this day she’d never been able to erase from her mind, whereas he no doubt would not even recall the exchange. It was the first time in Victoria’s life she had ever been so summarily dismissed, treated so shabbily, and she had not liked it one bit. Rude, insufferable man. He may have been born a gentleman, but clearly his education and moral fiber were severely lacking, for he possessed no manners at all.