Love and the Single Heiress

“I enjoy all three, Lady Catherine. What would be your pleasure?”

To see you naked. Catherine barely suppressed the horrified squeak that rose in her throat. Good God, where had that ridiculous thought come from? Of course she did not want to see him naked. The absurd, inappropriate notion was clearly just a consequence of his absurd, inappropriate story. Yes, that’s all it was.

Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Why don’t you and Spencer play while I enjoy my needlework by the fire?”

“Very well.” He turned to Spencer. “Backgammon?”

“My favorite,” Spencer said.

She led the way toward the drawing room and mentally congratulated herself on her excellent plan. She’d now have her needlework to concentrate on rather than her unsettlingly attractive guest.

An hour later, however, she realized that her plan was not so excellent after all. It was nearly impossible to focus her attention on the intricate flower pattern of her hated embroidery when her gaze continually strayed in the most annoying manner across the room to the French windows, where Mr. Stanton and Spencer sat, the backgammon board resting on a cherrywood table between them. Damnation, when had she lost control over her own eyeballs? Even when she managed to stare at her work, she accomplished little, for her entire being was focused upon trying to hear snippets of their conversation-a conversation Spencer was clearly enjoying.

The deep rumble of Mr. Stanton’s laugh mingled with Spencer’s chuckle, and for the hundredth time, Catherine’s hands stilled, and she peeked at the pair from beneath her lashes. Spencer’s mouth was stretched in a boyish, ear-to-ear grin. Pure delight emanated from him, and the fact that no shadows lurked in his eyes squeezed her heart with maternal love.

Spencer laughed again, and she gave up all pretense of needlework. Setting her project aside, she leaned back against the soft brocade of her wing chair, and just indulged in watching her son enjoy himself. She loved to see him smile and laugh, and he did so far too seldom in her opinion. During the last year he’d taken to solitary walks, wandering the estate’s gardens and trails that led to the warm springs. While he basked in the freedom afforded by the vast grounds, she worried that he spent too much time alone in sad reflection. She gave him the privacy he needed, but made certain that they still spent time together every day-talking, reading, sharing stories, eating their favorite foods, enjoying the gardens and each other’s company.

Now, sitting across from Mr. Stanton, Spencer looked happy, carefree, and relaxed in a way she rarely witnessed when he was in the company of anyone besides his familiar, immediate circle. Normally he was wary and withdrawn with strangers, fearing they would jeer at him or pity his condition. But clearly he harbored no such fear with Mr. Stanton.

Catherine’s gaze shifted to the man who’d invaded her thoughts far too often since last evening. His chin was propped upon his palm as he studied the backgammon board, while Spencer hooted with mock-diabolical laughter, predicting his defeat. It suddenly struck her how cozy and domestic this scene-indeed this entire evening- was, and acute yearning washed over her.

How many times during her marriage had she hopelessly wished to experience a pleasurable home-and-hearth scenario such as this? How many hours had she foolishly wasted inventing scenes in her mind, of her, Bertrand, and Spencer enjoying a meal, then father and son laughing over a game board, while she looked fondly on? More than she could count.

The fact that that vivid, longed-for image she’d held so dear to her heart had come to life before her eyes, prominently featuring Mr. Stanton, filled her with an aching sensation she could not name. He had not figured in the tableau she’d imagined. Yet even though his presence should have been all wrong, it somehow felt most disturbingly right.

She gave herself a mental shake. Good Lord, she was long past hoping for and wanting such a domestic scene. She and Spencer did not need anyone else in their lives. Still, looking at Spencer’s joyful expression, the animation with which he spoke to Mr. Stanton, filled her with a rush of gratitude toward her guest for the kindness he was extending toward her son. While Mr. Stanton possessed many qualities she found irksome, clearly Spencer enjoyed his company.

At that instant, Mr. Stanton turned, and their eyes met.

Heat sizzled through her, skittering jitters to her stomach, and her toes involuntarily curled inside her satin slippers. How did he manage to throw her so off-balance with a mere look? How was it that his presence in her home simultaneously comforted yet agitated her? And why, oh why, was she so intensely aware of him?

His lips curved upward in a slow smile, then he returned his attention to the backgammon board. She snapped her lips together, horrified to discover that they’d been slightly parted as she’d gawked at him. With grim determination she snatched up her embroidery and jabbed the needle into the material.

“He is annoying and presumptuous and really, not even all that attractive,” she muttered under her breath. “Why, I’ve known dozens of men far more handsome.”

Perhaps. But none of them weakened your limbs the way this man does, her inner voice taunted.

She pressed her lips more firmly together. Fustian. If her limbs were weak, it was merely due to fatigue. She’d suffered an exhausting ordeal. ‘Twas merely weariness playing with her body and emotions. After a good night’s sleep, everything would fall back into its proper place.

Stiffening her spine, she jabbed the needle through the linen once again. Very well, she found the man attractive. But only slightly, and in a strictly physical way. She certainly had no intention of acting upon these unsettling feelings. Therefore, her best recourse was to avoid him as much as possible-a challenge, as the entire purpose for him being there was to protect her should the need arise-but nothing said they had to be in the same room. And even if she found herself in the same room with him, nothing said she had to converse with him. Or stand near him. She could simply ignore him.

Relief swept through her. Avoid and ignore would be her strategy-surely easy enough tasks to accomplish.

Her inner voice chimed out something that sounded suspiciously like in a pig’s eye, but she managed, with a great deal of effort, to ignore it.

Chapter 9

If Today’s Modern Woman wishes for her gentleman to express more passion, she should boldly explain to him that while a kiss upon the hand can be employed to demonstrate fervent regard, it is not the most effective method as it can also symbolize nothing more than a sign of brotherly or sisterly fondness. It is nearly impossible, however, to misinterpret the meaning behind a kiss on the lips. Or the nape. Or the spine…

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

After a fitful night, which she firmly attributed to her worries about the shooting, Catherine put her avoid-and-ignore strategy into immediate effect by taking an early, solitary breakfast in her bedchamber. She knew Spencer would not be about so early, and she had no intention of risking a cozy breakfast with only Mr. Stanton for company. After her meal, Catherine spent the remainder of the morning sitting at her desk, catching up on her correspondence. When she finished, she dressed carefully, relieved that the ache in her arm had faded so as to be barely noticeable. She spent extra time on her appearance, and told herself it was because she wished to appear presentable when she visited Genevieve this afternoon.

Deciding it was well past the time to check on Spencer, who surely would have arisen by now, and perform polite hostess duties toward Mr. Stanton, she headed downstairs, looking forward to a cup of tea.