Love and the Single Heiress

When she entered the foyer, she was immediately greeted by Milton, who held out a silver salver bearing a sealed note.

“This just arrived from London, my lady.”

Catherine’s heart quickened as she recognized her father’s distinctive bold, cursive scrawl. Deciding the tea could wait, she took the note, nodded her thanks, then headed directly back to her bedchamber. The instant she closed the door behind her, she broke the seal and scanned the contents.

Dear Catherine,

I am happy to report that the scoundrel who fired the shot last night has been apprehended. The man, a ruffian by the name of Billy Robbins, is well-known to the magistrate for perpetrating robberies in Mayfair and elsewhere. Thanks to the information provided by Mr. Carmichael, Robbins was identified and captured near the docks. As we suspected, you were the victim of a robbery gone awry. Robbins, of course, insists he is innocent, but as we all know, Newgate is filled with “innocent” men.

While this news cannot erase the harrowing ordeal you suffered, you at least now have the satisfaction of knowing that the culprit responsible can no longer hurt anyone. Please extend my regards to Spencer and Mr. Stanton, and I look forward to seeing you all again soon.

With love,

Your father

Catherine closed her eyes and blew out a sigh of heartfelt relief. It had been an accident. Thank God. She was not in danger. Nor was Spencer. Nor Genevieve. Charles Brightmore’s identity was safe. Yes, there was still that investigator Lord Markingworth and his friends had hired, but since the publisher of A Ladies’ Guide would never reveal her and Genevieve’s secret, the man would eventually have to admit defeat. The chances of his investigation leading him to Little Longstone were so minute as to be nonexistent.

She opened her eyes, smiled, and drew in what felt like her first easy breath since she’d secreted herself behind her father’s Oriental screen. Now her life could resume its tranquil course, without threat of danger. Without need of protection-

Without need of Mr. Stanton.

Her smile froze. She no longer required the protection and security his presence afforded. He could leave Little Longstone. Right away-although she supposed it would be insupportably rude to suggest he depart sooner than tomorrow morning. And since she rarely traveled to London, she need not worry about seeing him again in the near future.

Mr. Stanton’s imminent departure was good. Very good. No more necessity for avoid-and-ignore tactics. The man was a blight on her peaceful existence, and the sooner he departed for London, the better. She was happy. Ecstatically so.

Her inner voice coughed to life to inform her she’d somehow managed to confuse “ecstatically happy” with “utterly miserable.”

Botheration, she needed to find a way to somehow muzzle that damnable voice.

“May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew paused at the top of the staircase. He gripped the mahogany banister and suppressed a sigh at the way his heart skipped a beat at the mere sound of her voice.

He’d spent the entire morning-not to mention a number of the predawn hours when sleep had eluded him- replaying the wonder of last evening in his mind. Sharing a meal and silly stories with her and Spencer, laughing together, enjoying after-dinner games-it was a cozy, domestic scenario he’d played out in his dreams more times than he could count. And the reality had exceeded all his imaginary expectations. By God, he couldn’t wait to repeat the experience tonight.

And every night, for the rest of their lives.

Had she noticed how well the three of them fit together? How very right last night had been? Well, if it had somehow escaped her notice, he certainly intended to remedy that tonight.

Turning, he watched her approach. An artful array of chestnut curls framed her face in a becoming style that made her golden brown eyes appear luminous. Her pale peach muslin gown highlighted her creamy skin. The gown and its neckline were properly modest, yet rather than inspiring propriety, Andrew’s imagination ran wild with what delights her demure clothing covered.

As she neared him, the subtle scent of flowers invaded his senses, and he tightened his grip on the banister to keep from reaching out to touch her.

“You may have as many moments as you wish, Lady Catherine.”

“Thank you. In the library?”

“Wherever you wish.” Whenever you wish. However you wish. Whatever you wish. He clenched his jaw to contain the words that threatened to break free of his heart. This was hardly the time or place to blurt out that he was madly in love with her, desired her to the point of pain, and wanted nothing more than to grant her every wish.

He followed her down the stairs and through the corridor, admiring the subtle hints of feminine curves revealed when she walked. His gaze wandered upward and fastened on her vulnerable, smooth nape, left bare by her upswept coiffure-bare except for a single curl that bisected her pale skin with a shiny chestnut spiral.

His fingers flexed, and he locked his elbows to keep from reaching out to glide his fingertip over that beguiling solitary curl. So intent was he on looking at the tendril, he didn’t notice that she’d paused in front of a closed door. Didn’t notice until he walked right into her.

She gasped and reached out, pressing her palms against the oak panel to maintain her balance and keep from plunging headlong into the door. His hands came forward and slipped around her waist.

For several stunning seconds neither moved. Andrew’s mind shouted at him to release her, to step back, but his hands and feet refused to obey the command. Instead, his eyes slid closed, and he absorbed the intense pleasure of her body pressing against his from chest to thigh. Her scent, that alluring essence of flowers, surrounded him like a seductive cloud. He had only to turn his head slightly to press his lips to her fragrant skin that was so close… so tantalizingly close.

Before he could think, before any reason why he shouldn’t invaded his mind, he gave in to the overwhelming longing. His lips touched the ivory skin just behind her ear, gentle as a breathless whisper, so softly he wondered if she even realized what he’d done-and that it was done deliberately.

But he knew, and the effect upon him, the assault on his senses, was anything but soft. Desire-fierce, hot, and so long denied-slammed into him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in a vain attempt to curb the needs clawing at him.

Her utter stillness, the rigid set of her spine, roused his common sense. Summoning all his strength, he forced himself to slip his hands from her waist and step back. “I beg your pardon,” he said in an unsteady voice that sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel. “I was not watching where I was going.”

She said nothing for several seconds, then cleared her throat and lowered her hands from the door. “Apology accepted.”

He stilled at the slight quaver in her voice. Was the unsteadiness of her words the result of embarrassment or anger? Or was it possible that she’d been as affected by those few seconds as he? He silently willed her to turn around, so he could look at her face, read her eyes, to see if any hint of desire existed, but she did not oblige him. Instead, she opened the door and quickly headed toward the marble fireplace lining the far wall.

Andrew crossed the threshold, then closed the door behind him. The click reverberated in the heavy silence, a silence he was sorely tempted to break by pointing out that his begging her pardon had not been an apology. He certainly wasn’t sorry he’d had the unexpected opportunity to touch her- although perhaps he should be. The exquisite feel of her was now embedded in his mind, and his body, his lips, still tingled from the impact.

He grimaced and shifted. Although it irked him that she continued to stare into the low-burning flames and ignore him, it was for the best. If she turned around right now, she would surely notice just how much their brief encounter had affected him.