her regard was deeper than friendship, well, then, I think the other gentleman would have had a fight on his hands.”
Andrew kept his expression impassive, but he mentally applauded the doctor. If not for Lady Catherine, he might actually like this man. “I think we understand each other.”
“Yes, I believe we do. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stanton…”With a curt nod, the doctor left him and headed toward the punch bowl.
Excellent Another suitor taken care of. Andrew glanced around and when his gaze settled on Lord Kingsly, his eyes narrowed. Clearly Kingsly, as well as several other gentlemen, would do well to hear the tale of the unfortunate suitor.
Catherine stood alone at the fireplace, sipping her sherry, awaiting Genevieve’s return. When Genevieve had excused herself for a moment, Catherine had actually been relieved. For the first time in their long acquaintance, she’d had difficulty following her friend’s conversation. She’d been forced to say “pardon?” three times, and it was all
This evening was not going at all as she’d intended. Oh, the avoid portion of her plan was working splendidly- shortly after arriving she’d left Mr. Stanton in the company of the duke and several other gentlemen, then had joined Genevieve. It was the ignore portion of her plan that was failing miserably. She knew every time Mr. Stanton moved about the room. Every time he spoke to someone new. Every trip he made to the punch bowl. In desperation she’d finally maneuvered herself so that her back was to the room, but then she found herself straining her ears for the sound of his voice and stealing quick peeks over her shoulder to ascertain his whereabouts.
Never in her life had she been so excruciatingly aware of someone. Never in her life had she found it so completely impossible to ignore someone. It was an unsettling, confusing sensation, and she was quite sure she did not like it one bit.
Genevieve rejoined her, and said in an undertone, “Darling, I just overheard the most
“Oh? Between whom?”
“Your Mr. Stanton and Dr. Oliver.”
Warmth rushed into Catherine’s cheeks. “He is not
“Based on what I just heard, I rather think he is whether you want him or not. He’s just staked his claim to Dr. Oliver, very cleverly I must say, under the guise of a tale called ‘the legend of the unfortunate suitor. ’”
“Staked his claim? What do you mean?”
Catherine listened intently as Genevieve related the conversation she’d overheard. When she finished, Genevieve heaved a delighted sigh. “That man is simply
Heat scorched Catherine, and she tried to convince herself it was the heat of embarrassment. Of outrage at Mr. Stanton’s temerity. Yet as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny the almost primitive feminine thrill racing through her.
“Oh, to be desired like that again…”A slow, devilish smile curved Genevieve’s lips. “If not for my hands, I believe I would offer you some competition for Mr. Stanton.”
A swift, strong, and undeniable shot of jealousy pulsed through Catherine. “You are welcome to him,” she said stiffly.
Genevieve laughed. “Darling, if only you meant that, and my hands were not crippled, and the gentleman not so thoroughly enamored of you-” She cut off her words and leaned closer to Catherine to whisper, “Here he comes.”
Before Catherine had a chance to draw a deep breath, Mr. Stanton stood before her. “May I join you ladies?”
“Certainly, Mr. Stanton,” said Genevieve, with a beaming smile. “This is a delightful party, is it not?”
“Indeed it is. I’m enjoying myself immensely.”
“You’ve been very social, Mr. Stanton,” Catherine said, pleased her voice sounded so cool in contrast to the heat singeing her. “I believe you’ve spoken to everyone in the room.”
“Just trying to spread a little cheer.”
“We were just speaking about competition,” Genevieve said, her blue eyes filled with innocent warmth.
Catherine’s belief that her cheeks couldn’t grow any hotter was proven incorrect, and she shot her friend a repressive look-a look Genevieve blithely ignored.
“Competition?” Mr. Stanton repeated. “In regard to sporting events?”
Genevieve shook her head. “In regard to matters of the heart. Would you care to share your opinion?”
Mr. Stanton’s gaze shifted to Catherine, and the compelling look in his dark eyes stilled her. Then he turned his attention to include Genevieve in his answer. “Identify the competition,” he said, “then outmaneuver it.”
“Excellent advice,” Genevieve said, nodding in an approving manner. “Don’t you agree, Catherine?”
Catherine had to swallow twice to locate her voice. “Er, yes.”
“The music is about to begin,” said Genevieve. “Do you know how to do our country dances, Mr. Stanton?”
“Passably well.”
“Waltz?”
Mr. Stanton smiled. “Extremely well.”
“Excellent. I’m certain you won’t lack for partners.” Genevieve leaned forward and lowered her voice in a conspiratorially manner. “The duke’s nieces have taken a keen interest in you.”
“What?” Mr. Stanton and Catherine said at the same time.
“The duke’s nieces. They’re quite smitten.”
Catherine’s gaze shot over to the trio of young ladies. Three fascinated gazes were fastened on Mr. Stanton as if he were a new species of exotic animal. An unpleasant, unwelcome cramp Catherine was beginning to recognize all too well squeezed her.
The string quartet played a series of arpeggios, then launched into their first selection, a waltz.
Mr. Stanton turned toward Catherine and offered a formal bow. “As we were unable to share a dance at your father’s birthday party, may I request the honor now?”
Common sense indicated that dancing with him, being held in his arms, did not fit in at all with her avoid-and- ignore plan. But everything female in her longed to accept his offer. It had been so long since she’d danced. And she wanted so very much to dance with
“I’d be delighted,” she said.
Lightly resting her fingers on his proffered forearm, they made their way to the dance floor. He turned her to face him, and her breath caught at the expression in his eyes. Before she could decipher that look, however, her hand was engulfed in his, his palm settled firmly at the base of her spine, her hand rested on his broad shoulder, then… pure magic.
The room swirled by in a rainbow blur as he led her expertly around the gleaming floor. Warmth spread through her from where his hand touched her back, encompassing her in a heated glow as if she stood in a ray of summer sunshine. She could feel the supple strength of his shoulder beneath her fingertips, and pleasurable tingles radiated up her arm from between their clasped palms. His scent, that pleasing mixture of clean linen, sandalwood, and something else that belonged to him alone, filled her head, rendering her almost giddy.
She felt as if she were soaring, flying in his strong arms as everything, everyone, faded into the background except this man whose gaze never left hers, whose rapt expression somehow made her feel womanly and beautiful. Feminine and exciting. Young and carefree. Invigorated, her heart pounded with exhilaration, infusing her with a sense of freedom such as she’d never known, forcing her to call on all her breeding so as not to throw her head back in a most unladylike manner and simply laugh with pure and utter delight.
When Mr. Stanton led them to a stop, she hadn’t even noticed that the song had ended. For the space of several heartbeats, neither moved, standing as if locked in a motionless dance. Erratic breaths puffed from between her parted lips, although whether her labored breathing was due to the exertions of the dance or the man still touching her, she couldn’t tell. Gazing at him, it seemed as if his dark eyes held hundreds of secrets, thousands of thoughts, and she suddenly found herself desperate to know each and every one of them.
Applause for the musicians roused her from her stupor. He slowly released her, and she instantly mourned the loss of his warmth and strength. After forcibly gathering her wits, she clapped politely and smiled at him. “You do indeed waltz extremely well, Mr. Stanton.”
