Love and the Single Heiress

Andrew’s mind, suggesting-unfortunately a few words too late-that he’d committed a grave tactical error. She lifted her chin and shot him a look that somehow managed to appear as if she were looking down her nose at him, quite a feat, considering he stood a good six inches taller than she.

“I must say that I’m surprised, not to mention disappointed, to discover that you hold such narrow views, Mr. Stanton. I would have thought that a man of your vast traveling experience would be more open to new, modern ideas. And that at the very least, you were a man who would take the time to examine all the facts and form your own opinions on a topic, rather than relying on hearsay from others-especially others who most likely also have not read the book.”

Andrew’s brows rose at her tone. “I do not hold narrow ideas at all, Lady Catherine. However, I don’t believe it is necessary to experience something to know it is not to my liking or does not mesh with my beliefs,” he said mildly, wondering how their conversation had veered onto this out-of-the-way path. “If someone tells me that rotten fish smells bad, I am perfectly content to take their word for it-I do not feel the need to stick my nose in the barrel to sniff for myself.” He chuckled. “It almost sounds as if you’ve read this Guide-and found favor with its farfetched ideals.”

“If it only almost sounds as if I’ve read the Guide, then I don’t believe you are listening closely enough, Mr. Stanton, an affliction I fear you share with most men.”

Certain his hearing had indeed become afflicted, Andrew said slowly, “Don’t tell me you’ve read that book.”

“Very well, I won’t tell you that.”

“But you… have?” His words sounded more like an accusation man a question.

“Yes.” She shot him an unmistakably challenging glare. “Numerous times, in fact. And I did not find the ideals it put forth the least bit far-fetched. Quite the opposite in fact.”

Andrew could only stare. Lady Catherine had read that scandalous rag? Numerous times? Had embraced its precepts? Impossible. Lady Catherine was a paragon. The epitome of a perfect, gently bred, sedate lady. But clearly she had read it, for there was no mistaking her words or obstinate expression.

“You appear quite stunned, Mr. Stanton.”

“In truth, I am.”

“Why? By your own admission, nearly every woman in London has read the Guide. Why should it surprise you so that I would read it?”

Because you are not every woman. Because I don‘t want you to be “independent” and “modern.” I want you to need me. Want me. Love me. As I need and want and love you. Good God, if that bastard Brightmore’s drivel had turned Lady Catherine into some sort of upstart bluestocking, the man would pay dearly. All this bloody nonsense about “today’s modern woman” certainly wouldn’t help Andrew in his quest to court her. Based on what she’d said about Lord Nordnick, he already ran the risk of distancing Lady Catherine by the simple act of fetching her a glass of punch.

“The book just doesn’t seem like the sort of thing a lady such as you would read.”

“And precisely what sort of lady am I, Mr. Stanton? The sort who is unable to read?”

“Of course not-”

“The sort who is not intelligent enough to understand words containing more than one syllable?”

“Certainly not-”

“The sort who is incapable of forming her own opinions?”

“No.” He raked a hand through his hair. “ ‘Tis abundantly clear that you’re fully capable of that.” How had this conversation gone so wrong so quickly? “I meant that it did not seem the sort of reading material for a proper lady.”

“I see.” She gave him a cool, detached look that tightened his jaw. Definitely not the way he’d hoped to have her looking at him by the end of this evening. “Well, perhaps the Guide is not as scandalous as you’ve been led to believe, Mr. Stanton. Perhaps the Guide could be better described as scintillating. Provocative. Intelligent. But of course, you wouldn’t know as you haven’t read it. Perhaps you should read it.”

He raised his brows at the unmistakable challenge shining in her eyes. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not. In fact, I’d be happy to lend you my copy.”

“Why on earth would I want to read a ladies’ guide?”

She offered him a smile that appeared just a bit too sweet. “Why, so that you could offer an informed, intelligent opinion when next you discussed the work. And besides, you might actually learn something.”

Good God, the woman was daft. Perhaps the victim of too much wine. He took a discreet sniff, but smelled only alluring flowers. “What on earth could I possibly learn from a ladies’ guide?”

“What women like, for one thing. And do not like. And why Lord Nordnick’s wooing attempts directed at Lady Ophelia are bound for failure. Just to name a few.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened. He knew what women liked… didn’t he? He couldn’t recall hearing any complaints in the past. But his inner voice was warning him that maybe he didn’t know quite as much about what Lady Catherine liked as he’d thought. Actually, maybe he didn’t know Lady Catherine as well as he’d thought-a notion that simultaneously unsettled and intrigued him. God knows she’d revealed an unexpected side of herself this evening. He recalled Philip’s warning about her newfound headstrong, blunt behavior. He’d put no stock in Philip’s comment at the time, but it appeared his friend was correct. And it further appeared that the blame for this change rested on the Ladies’ Guide’s shoulders.

Damn you, Charles Brightmore. You and your foolish book have made courting the woman I want-an already Herculean task-even more difficult. I’ll relish exposing you and putting an end to your writing career.

Yes, more difficult indeed, for not only had the Guide clearly filled Lady Catherine’s head with ideas of independence, but this discussion, which was supposed to lead to him asking her to dance and the start of his courting campaign, had turned contentious-a turn of events he needed to correct immediately. No, this meeting was not going at all the way he’d envisioned. According to his plans, Lady Catherine should be in his arms, gazing up at him with warmth and affection. Instead, she’d backed away from him and was glaring at him with annoyance, a feeling he shared, as he was more than a little irritated himself.

He pressed his lips together to keep from arguing further. Indeed, arguing was the last thing he wished to do, especially tonight, when they had so little time together. His wooing campaign was off to a disastrous start. Retreat and regroup was definitely his best alternative.

Raising his hands in a show of acquiescence, he smiled. “As much as I appreciate the offer to read your copy, I believe I’ll decline. As for the likes and dislikes of Today’s Modern Woman, I bow to your superior knowledge on the subject, madam.”

She did not return his smile; rather, she lifted a single brow. “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Stanton.”

A humorless laugh escaped him. “I continue to surprise you? In what way?”

“I hadn’t taken you for a coward.”

Her words stilled him. Damn it, this had gone far enough. “Most likely because I am not one. And I hadn’t taken you for an instigator, yet you appear to be deliberately baiting me, Lady Catherine. I wonder why?”

Another layer of crimson deepened her flushed cheeks. She drew a deep breath, then emitted a nervous- sounding laugh. “Yes, it seems I am. Forgive me. I’m afraid I’ve had a rather difficult evening and-”

Her words were cut off by a loud cracking sound and the crash of breaking glass. Gasps and cries of stunned fright rose from the party guests. Andrew turned swiftly, sickening dread oozing down his spine as he recognized the first sound as being that of a pistol report. Shards of glass sprayed across the floor beneath the now-broken windowpanes. In the space of a heartbeat, a myriad of tormenting images he’d believed buried flashed through his mind with a streak of vivid anguish. A ringing commenced in his ears, drowning out the sounds around him, and he bludgeoned back the unwanted reminders of the past.

“Dear God, she’s hurt!”

The frightened cry from directly behind him jerked his head around, and everything inside him froze.

Lady Catherine, a trickle of blood oozing from between her lips, lay sprawled on the floor at his feet.