Love and the Single Heiress

that touches me in a way no one else ever has. Here.” He laid his hand across his chest. “She fills spaces that have been empty for years. With her, there is no more loneliness.”

Catherine’s breath seemed trapped in her lungs. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it hadn’t been… that. Empty? Lonely? And it wasn’t simply what he said, but the way he said it, with that tinge of desolation resonating in his deep voice that stunned her. God knew she’d experienced such isolating feelings more times than she cared to remember, but Mr. Stanton?

Before she could even think of a reply, he seemed to shake off his serious mood, and a crooked smile hitched up one corner of his mouth. “And, of course, if she happened to worship the ground I tread upon, that would be an added plus.”

She firmly tamped down the curiosity-and the feeling of pity-his intriguing words piqued. He’d never struck her as a man who’d suffer from loneliness, a man who would find any part of his life empty. “I do not wish to discourage you, but I feel it only fair to warn you, from my own experience, that marriage is not necessarily a cure for loneliness. However, I wish you luck in locating this paragon you’ve described, Mr. Stanton. I hope she exists.”

“I know she exists, Lady Catherine.”

Some imp made her ask, “Do you suppose she’s read A Ladies’ Guide?”

He shot her an odd look. “Given that it seems nearly every woman in London has read the book, it is definitely a possibility.”

“If she has read it, I’m sure you’ll be very pleased when you meet her.”

“Pleased?” There was no missing his skepticism. “What do you mean by that?”

She smiled sweetly. “I wager if you’d read the book, you’d know.”

“Ah, yes, that intriguing challenge. And if I were to take you up on it? What would I win?”

Arrogant man. Assuming he’d merit a reward for reading a book. Still, this could actually work in her favor…

“I hadn’t had a wager in mind at all, but why not?” Especially since I am almost guaranteed a victory. “Whoever is victorious shall owe the other a boon-within reason-of the victor’s choice.” She couldn’t contain her grin. “Ah, yes, I can see you now, beating the rugs and weeding the roses. Or perhaps polishing the silver. Setting the stones for the new garden pathway, fixing the stable’s roof-”

“Win or lose, I’d be happy to assist with those chores. But why have they not been seen to?”

She shrugged. “It is difficult to find proper help in the country.”

“I see,” he murmured. “And what determines who is the winner?”

“If you read the book-the entire book, mind you- thus enabling you to engage in a well-informed discussion of the contents, you win. If you fail to do so, then I win.”

When he remained silent, she murmured, “Of course, if you are afraid…”

“Of a simple wager? Hardly.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“In truth, because I seriously doubt whether, in spite of my high tolerance for pain, I will actually be able to suffer through Brightmore’s drivel. However, since the worst outcome is that I’d simply owe you a boon, I suppose there is no harm in accepting your wager. What period of time do you suggest?”

“Shall we say three weeks?”

He nodded. “Very well. I accept.”

Catherine could barely suppress her glee. There were many chores a strong, strapping man like Mr. Stanton could do around the estate-all she needed to do was figure out which one would help her-and as an added bonus, irk him-the most. Most likely it should appall her to experience such a thrill at the thought of besting him and erasing a portion of his arrogance. It should-but it didn’t.

“Of course,” Mr. Stanton said, “within three weeks’ time, no doubt the gossip surrounding the actual contents of the Guide will be supplanted by the stir that will ensue by the unmasking of Charles Brightmore.”

Catherine’s heart stumbled over itself. He clearly was referring to the investigator who’d been hired. Hopefully the man would not find his way to Little Longstone. But if he did, well, forewarned was forearmed. He’d certainly glean no information from her. Forcing a calm she was far from feeling, she laughed lightly. “Unmasking? Heavens, you make Mr. Brightmore sound like a brigand.”

“There are many in London who believe he is just that.”

“Including yourself.”

“Yes.”

“You may change your mind after you read his work- assuming you read it.”

His shrug indicated he had no real intention of reading “that drivel,” and even if he did, his mind would not be changed. Annoyance tickled down her spine. Aggravating man. Had she once thought him gallant? Likable? Clearly she’d been erroneously predisposed to a favorable opinion based on her brother’s glowing reports of Mr. Stanton’s character. The easy camaraderie they’d shared in the past must have been due to the topics they’d discussed- namely Philip and Meredith. Their wedding, and most recently the imminent birth of their child. The museum was also a common subject for discourse. A frown pulled down her brows. Casting her mind back, she realized that all of their conversations had been of a very impersonal nature. She actually knew very little about Mr. Stanton. She’d accepted him without question as a friend, as a good man, because Philip said he was. According to Philip, Mr. Stanton had saved him from several scrapes while they were abroad. He categorized his American friend as loyal, steadfast, brave, and excellent with both his fists and a rapier. Well, she had no reason to doubt he was all those things. Philip, however, had neglected to add, nor had she discerned on any of their previous meetings, that Mr. Stanton was also opinionated, stubborn, and irritating.

She glanced at him. He was staring out the window, a muscle pulsing in his smoothly shaven cheek, verifying the tight set of his jaw. His stubborn jaw. Although, she couldn’t deny that it was a strong stubborn jaw. With an intriguing hint of a cleft in the center. Philip hadn’t mentioned that. Nor had he mentioned Mr. Stanton’s profile… the slight bump on the bridge of his nose. Most likely a souvenir from one of his pugilistic bouts. It should have detracted from his appearance. Instead, it lent him a rugged air, mixed with just a whiff of danger, reminding her that in spite of his elegant clothes, he was not of her class. Rough around the edges.

And undeniably attractive.

“You’ve a most intriguing expression, Lady Catherine. Would you care to share your thoughts?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Good Lord, how long had she been staring? And why was he looking at her in that… speculative way? As if he’d already divined her thoughts? Humph. Just another aspect of him to term irritating.

Adopting what she hoped passed for a casual air, she said, “I was thinking that in spite of the time we’ve spent together over the past fourteen months, we really do not know each other very well.” She lifted her brows. “What were you thinking?”

“Actually something quite similar-that I do not know you as well as I believed.”

She wrinkled her nose and pointedly sniffed the air. “Somehow that did not smell like a compliment.”

“It was not meant as an insult, I assure you.” Mischief flickered in his eyes. “Would you like a compliment? I’m certain I could think of one, if it would please you.”

“I beg you, do not strain yourself on my account,” she said in a dust-dry voice.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “ ‘Tis no strain, I assure you.” His gaze flickered over her forest green traveling ensemble. “You look lovely.”

Three simple words. Yet something about the quiet way he said “lovely,” combined with the unmistakable warmth in his eyes, quivered a fluttery thrill through her. He stole any reply she might have made by focusing his attention on her mouth. “And your lips…”his eyes appeared to darken, and he leaned forward. Everything inside Catherine stilled-except those inexplicable flutters, which suddenly became so much more… fluttery. Good heavens, was he going to kiss her? Surely not…

Her own gaze riveted on his lips, and for the first time she realized what an attractive mouth he possessed. It somehow managed to appear soft and firm at the same time. The sort of mouth that would know how to kiss a woman-

“Your lips,” he said softly, leaning farther still, until less than two feet separated their faces, until she had to fight the overwhelming urge to lean toward him and erase the small distance. “They look so… much less swollen and bruised than they did after last night’s incident. Almost back to their normal loveliness.”