Jacquie D'Alessandro (13 page)

Catherine arranged her features into what she prayed passed for surprise. “Oh. Well, any ‘caring’ Mr. Stanton
might feel toward me is merely a politeness toward his best friend’s sister.”

“You are wrong, Catherine. I cannot fathom how you don’t see it. Are you not aware of the way he looks at you? Believe me when I tell you, there is nothing merely polite about it.”

Heat singed Catherine’s cheeks. “I fear you are in need of spectacles, my dear.”

“I most certainly am not. Has he not told you how he feels about you?”

“As a matter of fact, he has. He thinks I am opinionated and annoying.”
And beautiful
.

Genevieve laughed. “Oh, yes, he is well and truly caught. Darling, he may think you’re opinionated—which you are, and annoying—which everyone is on occasion, but he still desires you.”

“Pshaw,” she scoffed, attempting her best to ignore the sudden thumping of her heart. Heavens, could Genevieve be right? And if so, why did the notion of Mr. Stanton desiring her speed up her heart rate rather than appall her?

“You may ‘pshaw’ all you wish, but, as you know, I am most experienced in these matters, Catherine. The man is deeply attracted to you. And the fact that you refuse to see what is staring you in the face suggests to me that you care for him as well.”

“I most certainly do not! As I’ve already told you, the man is utterly irritating.”

“But very attractive.”

“Stubborn and opinionated.”

“Something you have in common,” Genevieve said, with a teasing grin.

“Argumentative.”

“But kind to your son.”

That stopped Catherine cold. “Yes,” she agreed softly, feeling decidedly off-balance.

“And I do not believe I have ever seen a more lovely mouth on a man.”

A statement that threw her even further off-balance. An image of Mr. Stanton’s lovely mouth flashed in her mind. His lovely mouth that had brushed so softly against her skin…hadn’t it? It had happened too quickly, occurred so softly. The feel of him pressed behind her had stalled her heart. Rendered her breathless. Shot spears of hot yearning through her that weakened her knees.

And it had all happened in the space of two heartbeats.

Good Lord, what would have happened if they’d had three heartbeats? Or half a dozen?

“Catherine? Are you all right? You look flushed.”

No doubt because she felt as if someone had lit fire to her skirts. Blinking away her errant thoughts, she said, “I’m fine. It’s merely warm standing here in the sun.”

“Then let us go inside and enjoy some tea. Baxter has just baked a fresh batch of scones.”

Hot tea was not at all what she was craving, but seeing that it was much safer than what she feared she
was
craving, she decided tea was a wise choice.

But while she had a reprieve from Mr. Stanton right now, she faced another cozy evening at home tonight. Sharing a meal and stories and games. Avoid and ignore. Yes, she needed to recall her watchwords. She simply had to avoid and ignore these insane yearnings Mr. Stanton’s presence caused.

But how?

“Tell me,” Genevieve said, as they entered the cottage, “do you and Mr. Stanton plan to attend the Duke of Kelby’s soiree this evening? According to the village gos
sip, a group of guests arrived this morning from London, so it promises to be an interesting diversion.”

Catherine recalled the invitation among the morning’s correspondence. She had not considered attending, as she did not wish to offer the duke even the slightest encouragement. “I don’t think…” Her voice trailed off as she realized that the soiree provided the perfect opportunity to avoid another cozy evening at home.

She smiled. “I don’t think I’d miss it for the world.”

A gloved hand fisted in the heavy, forest green velvet drapery and pushed the material aside. The village of Little Longstone beyond the window bustled with activity, but the only sound in the room was the ticking of the mantel clock and a slowly exhaled breath of frustration.

Look at those fools, walking about, talking, laughing, shopping, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. As if lives hadn’t been ruined.

But no more would be ruined.
I’ll see to it.

The curtain fell back into place.

You managed to survive last time. You won’t survive next time.

T
hat evening, Andrew sat across from Lady Catherine in her carriage en route to the Duke of Kelby’s soiree. While he would have preferred another cozy, laughter-filled evening like last night rather than a gathering where God only knew how many men would be vying for Lady Catherine’s attention, he intended to make the most of whatever courting opportunities the night might bring. And if one of those opportunities was the chance to discourage the competition, so much the better. With his impending departure from Little Longstone hanging over
his head like a dark cloud of doom, he refused to squander any time.

Just then Lady Catherine smiled at him and
bloop
went his heart. Dressed in a pale turquoise muslin gown, with matching ribbons woven through her shiny chestnut curls, she stole his breath. By God, he could not wait for the day when he could freely draw her into his arms and kiss her rather than gawk at her from a distance.

Returning her smile, he said, “The color of your gown reminds me of the beautiful, sparkling clear waters of the Mediterranean. You look”—his gaze drifted over her, resting for several seconds on her lips before meeting her eyes once more—“stunning.”

Catherine felt the heat of color bloom on her cheeks. “Thank you.” Her gaze flicked over his dark blue jacket, neatly tied cravat, and cream breeches, and she had to press her lips together to contain a sigh of feminine appreciation. Was it possible for a
man
to look stunning? One look at her companion told her that clearly it was. “One could say the same about you.”

“One
could
?” he teased. “Or one does?”

His smile nearly stole her breath. “Are you attempting to extract a compliment from me, Mr. Stanton?”

“Heaven forbid. I am merely trying to ascertain whether you inadvertently gave me one.”

She pursed her lips and pretended to give the matter grave thought. “My goodness. It appears I did.”

“Then I thank you, my lady. Indeed, I don’t believe I’ve ever been called ‘stunning’ before. Tell me, did Spencer tell you about our adventures in the village?”

“Yes, although apparently not
everything
, as he didn’t wish to ruin your surprise. It sounds as if you two had a jolly time.”

“We did.”

“He said that quite a few people looked at him rather oddly, but that ‘Mr. Stanton fixed everything.’ He said you introduced yourself and Spencer to everyone you met, and to all the shopkeepers whose stores you visited.”

Mr. Stanton nodded. “When people realized he was your son, they were very kind. Everyone we spoke to sent you their best regards. Some people did stare, but I assured Spencer they were most likely only curious, not unkind.”

“He told me that you said if anyone was unkind to him, you’d pound the, um, piss out of them.”

“My exact words,” Mr. Stanton agreed without hesitation.

She couldn’t contain the grin pulling at her lips. “Well, while the method might perhaps be a bit uncivilized, I’m grateful for the thought. I trust the good people of Little Longstone did not see fit to make you put your pugilistic talents to use?”

“They were all the personification of kindness. In fact, we even saw someone I know. One of the museum investors.”

“Oh? Who was that?”

“Mrs. Warrenfield. She suffers from numerous maladies and is visiting Little Longstone to take the waters. She mentioned the duke’s party this evening—I assume she’ll be attending.” He hesitated, then said, “You were surprised that Spencer wished to venture into the village.”

“In truth, I was stunned. Spencer loves to wander about the estate, walking to the springs and strolling in the gardens. The property is private, and I’m grateful he has such a place, where he can strike out on his own a bit as it builds his strength and allows me to not worry—which, I’m afraid, I tend to do. But he’s always been adamant about not wanting to venture off the grounds; some years ago I simply stopped asking if he wanted to join me.”

“I realize you were worried about him, worried for him, and I appreciate that you trusted me enough to allow him to accompany me. Spencer appreciated it as well.”

“I didn’t doubt he was in good hands. While I freely admit I was concerned that someone might hurt Spencer’s feelings, I was confident that you wouldn’t hesitate to—”

“Pound the piss out of them? It would have been my very great pleasure.”

She lowered her gaze, and she plucked at the satin strings on her reticule. “After Spencer told me about your afternoon in the village, I told him about the shooting.” Looking up, she met his gaze squarely. “I give you leave to say ‘I told you so.’”

“He was upset.”

“That is putting it mildly. He insisted I tell him every detail, questioning me in a manner I suspect a Bow Street Runner might use to interrogate a crime suspect. It required a great deal of reassuring on my part to convince him I was fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fit.”

“Did that argument convince Spencer?”

“Not exactly. He demanded to see my injury. After he saw for himself that it was barely more than a scratch, our conversation took a turn for the better.”

“He was hurt that you hadn’t confided in him.”

“Hurt, angry, worried. His expression was one I hope to never see again.”

“Spencer worries about you just as you worry about him. We cannot always protect the people we love from worry, as much as we might want to. Sometimes we just have to let them worry.”

“Spencer said something very similar—right after he reminded me that he is no longer a child. He then made
me promise never to hide something important from him.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “I, of course, extracted a similar promise from him.”

“So everything was well in the end.”

She nodded. “I believe in the back of my mind I had every intention of telling him, but I took umbrage at your telling me I should. I haven’t had a man underfoot telling me what to do in many years.”

“I’m certain you meant underfoot in the nicest way,” he said with a flash of his dimples. “And I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do. I was merely suggesting.”

“I realize that—now. However, at the time I reacted badly, and I’m sorry.” She shot him a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid that Today’s Modern Woman does not like being ordered about.”

He drew back in exaggerated surprise. “Indeed? I hadn’t noticed that at all.”

She laughed. “As for Spencer, he became very manly about wanting to take care of me.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid that that is what men like to do with women they love—take care of them.”

His softly spoken words set up a fluttering in her stomach. “Yet Today’s Modern Woman can take care of herself.”

“Still, it is nice to have someone to share both the good and bad things life offers.”

She considered his words for several seconds, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees and regarded her solemnly. Her breath caught with awareness at his sudden proximity, filling her head with his clean, masculine scent. Her heart thumped hard at the serious expression in his dark eyes.

Silence swelled for several seconds, then he said, “Do
you realize that we’ve been in this coach for nearly a
quarter hour
, and we’ve yet to argue? In fact, unless I am mistaken, we actually just
agreed
on something.”

She blinked. “By God, you’re right.”

“Again we agree!”

“And this in spite of the fact that the words ‘Today’s Modern Woman’ were spoken.”

“Three times,” he said.

“Twice.”

“Ah. I knew it was too good to last.”

She couldn’t help but smile at him, and she absorbed the warmth that suffused her when he smiled in return. The carriage jerked to a stop, and she forced her gaze away from him to look out the window. They’d arrived at Kelby Manor.

A house filled with people where she would not have to spend a cozy evening alone with Mr. Stanton. Which was precisely what she needed.

For, as their enjoyable carriage ride had just illustrated, Mr. Stanton was proving increasingly difficult to avoid and ignore.

Swirling a brandy in one of the duke’s fine crystal snifters, Andrew stood in a group of gentlemen who were discussing some nature of farming techniques. Or perhaps they were discussing sheep. Or was it finances? As his attention was firmly fixed across the room, he wasn’t quite certain.

Lady Catherine stood near the fireplace chatting with her friend Mrs. Ralston, and while he could have happily stared at Lady Catherine’s lovely profile all evening, he was currently more intent upon the men casting their gazes in her direction.

Based on the number of gentlemen attending whom
Andrew had met at Lord Ravensly’s birthday party in London, the duke had obviously made good on his promise to invite his friends to take the waters. Standing near the punch bowl, Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth were staring at Lady Catherine as if she were a sweet in the confectioner’s shop. Then there was Lord Kingsly, that married reprobate, eyeing her in a way that had Andrew tightening his grip on his snifter. And near the French windows stood Dr. Oliver, to whom Andrew had been introduced shortly after arriving, making what he assumed were his “mooning eyes” at Lady Catherine. It wouldn’t take much convincing for Andrew to blacken both of his damned mooning eyes—

“—Don’t you agree, Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew jerked his attention back. The duke, Lord Borthrasher, Mr. Sidney Carmichael, and Lord Nordnick all looked at him with expectant expressions. “Agree?”

“That women today are becoming far too bold in expressing their opinions,” said the duke.

“I have noticed, yes,” he said dryly. “Yet I prefer a lady to say what she thinks.”

“But often what they’re thinking is utter nonsense,” protested Lord Borthrasher.

“I suppose that depends on the lady,” Andrew said.

“Well, they’re just far too opinionated if you ask me,” the duke said. “My nieces, for instance.” He jerked his head toward the trio of pastel-clad young ladies twittering near the open doors leading to the terrace. “Haven’t an intelligent thought amongst the silly lot. Earlier today the youngest informed me that she had no intention of marrying for fortune—she would only marry for
love
. Ridiculous gel. ’Tis a father’s responsibility to arrange marriages based on the advantageous joining of fortunes and properties.”

“Extremely unfashionable to be in love with one’s wife,” Lord Borthrasher remarked. He turned to Lord Nordnick. “Hope you’re planning to choose wisely, Nordnick.”

A deep flush crept up the young man’s neck. “Surely it is possible to make an advantageous match with a woman one also loves.”

“Nonsense,” said the duke, with a wave of his hand. “Choose a wife based on her family and fortune, then count your blessings if she is someone you can live with without undue stress. Save your love for your mistress.”

Lord Nordnick looked at Andrew. “You’re an American, Mr. Stanton. As such, do you have a different opinion?”

“Yes. Rather than marrying a woman I could live with, I’d marry the woman I couldn’t live without.”

Lord Borthrasher harrumphed. “And you, Carmichael? What is your opinion?”

“It is a father’s right and duty to have his daughter marry as he sees fit,” said Mr. Carmichael.

Andrew tensed. Before he could stop himself, he asked softly, “And if the daughter disagrees with her father’s choice of groom?”

Mr. Carmichael turned toward him with a measuring look. He raised his hand to stroke his chin, and the diamond on his ring flashed. “She would be wise not to. Interfering with such arrangements is begging for disaster.”

“Well, I’m hopeful my brother-in-law will be able to marry off those three silly chits of his,” the duke said. “The sooner the better, I say.”

A movement across the room caught Andrew’s attention, and he turned. Dr. Oliver was heading toward Lady Catherine. “If you gentlemen will excuse me?” With a nod, he stepped out of their circle. Before he crossed the room, however, he leaned behind Lord Nordnick and said
quietly, “I have it on the best authority that Lady Ophelia holds a fondness for tulips.”

Satisfied that he’d done what he could for Nordnick’s courting attempts, it was time to see to his own. As he made his way across the room, his gaze raked over Dr. Oliver in critical assessment. He’d hoped the doctor would prove old, decrepit, and frail. Bald. With a hideous paunch. And brown teeth. Or better yet, no teeth. With a countenance that resembled that of a hound. An ugly, no-tooth, paunchy, bald hound.

Unfortunately the doctor was tall, robust, and certainly not much over thirty, if he were that old. Andrew watched grimly as Dr. Oliver’s face—his damned good-looking face—lit up like a bloody candle as he approached Lady Catherine. His grin displayed a set of perfectly even white teeth. Andrew felt a strong urge to uneven those teeth.

“A word with you Oliver?” he asked, strategically waylaying the man before he reached the fireplace.

Dr. Oliver halted and nodded at Andrew. “Of course. Didn’t have much of a chance to speak with you when we were introduced earlier. Pleasure to meet the explorer fellow who’s starting the museum with Lady Catherine’s brother. Tales of your exploits with Lord Greybourne have provided many hours of entertaining conversation between Lady Catherine and myself.”

“Have they indeed?” Andrew said silkily. “Did she tell you the legend of the unfortunate suitor?”

Dr. Oliver frowned, then shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

“Very sad tale. A misguided young man—who oddly enough was a physician—set his sights on the object of another man’s affections. As the lady was extremely lovely, the man—who was a very reasonable gentleman—
understood the physician’s fascination with her and decided he would give the physician fair warning. He looked the physician straight in the eye, and said, ‘The lady regards you as nothing more than a friend, and you’d be wise to remember that. If you make any further advances toward my woman, I’ll be forced to hurt you.’” Andrew shook his head sadly. “Frightfully barbaric lot, those ancient Egyptians.”