Love and the Single Heiress

“The instant he opens his mouth ‘tis obvious he’s from the bloody colonies,” Lord Kingsly said with a loud guffaw, which drew laughs from the group. “Not that he says a lot. Man of few words, eh, Stanton?”

Ignoring Kingsly, he said, “Yes, I’m American.”

“Spent some time in your country during my travels,” Carmichael said. “Mostly in the Boston area. Where are you from?”

Andrew hesitated only half a beat. He didn’t care for answering questions about himself. “Philadelphia.”

“Never visited there,” Carmichael said with a regretful air. “I’m a lover of antiquities. Avenbury, Ferrymouth, and Borthrasher have been singing the praises of your and Lord Greybourne’s museum. I’d like to discuss an investment with you.” He pulled a card from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Andrew. “My direction. I hope you’ll call upon me soon.”

Andrew slipped the card into his pocket and nodded. “I will.”

“I’d like to discuss investing with you as well, Stanton,” chimed in the duke. “Always looking for a good opportunity.”

“Always looking for investors,” Andrew said, hoping his smile was not as tight as it felt. “If you gentlemen will excuse me…” He nodded and made his way around them.

As he passed Lord Avenbury, the young lord said to the group, “Ferrymouth and I are off to the gaming tables. I’d wanted an opportunity to dance with Lady Catherine, but I suppose there’s always next time.”

Andrew froze and glared at the young man’s profile.

“Delectable tidbit, she is,” Lord Avenbury said. He licked his lips, and the group laughed. Andrew had to clench his hands to keep from discovering how Avenbury would look without any lips at all.

“Her estate is close to mine, you know,” the duke said, lifting his quizzing glass, jeweled ring flashing. “Very convenient.”

“Really?” Lord Kingsly said, a distinctly lecherous gleam in his beady eyes. “I might need to pry an invitation from you, Kelby. Yes, I believe I feel a sudden urge to visit your place and take the waters.”

“Excellent notion,” seconded Lord Ferrymouth. “Borthrasher, don’t you suffer the occasional bout of the gout? The waters would do you wonders, I’m certain.” Borthrasher nodded, and Ferrymouth beamed at the duke. “I believe a gathering at your home is in order, Kelby.” His sweeping hand encompassed the group. “We’d all love to come. A few days of hunting, soaking in the springs”-he waggled his brows-“visiting the neighbors.”

“Might provide an enjoyable break from the usual boring rounds of fetes,” the duke agreed. “Let us take to the gaming tables and discuss it.”

They moved down the walkway, laughing, pulling out cheroots and snuffboxes. His jaw tightened to the point of pain, Andrew turned and strode into the house. Damn it to hell, this evening was not going at all the way he’d envisioned it. But at least with that group now departed, things could not get worse.

Standing in the shadows of the far corner of the drawing room, Catherine drew in a long breath, relieved finally to find herself alone for a moment to calm her turbulent thoughts. Knowing this haven would offer only a short respite from the crowd, she cast her gaze about the room in search of another sanctuary.

“For whom are you looking so intently, Lady Catherine?” asked a deep voice from directly behind her.

Her breath caught, and she turned swiftly to find herself staring into Mr. Stanton’s familiar dark eyes. Steady eyes. Friendly eyes. Relief rippled through her. Here, at last, was a friend she could talk to. An ally who meant her no harm. A gentleman not intent upon courting her.

“Mr. Stanton. You startled me.”

“Forgive me. I noticed you standing here, and I wanted to say hello.” He made her a formal bow, then smiled. “Hello.”

She forcibly pushed aside her worries and smiled in return, knowing that he would notice any discomfiture on her part. “And hello to you, too. I haven’t seen you since I last ventured to London two months ago. I trust you’ve been well-and busy with the museum?”

“Yes, on both accounts. And I can see that you’ve been well.” His gaze dipped briefly to her gown. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” She was tempted to admit to him her relief at finally packing away her mourning clothes, but wisely held her tongue. To do so might lead to another discussion of Bertrand-as her appearance this evening already had with other guests-and she had no desire to speak of her deceased husband.

“May I help you locate someone, Lady Catherine?”

“As a matter of fact, I was looking for you.” Not strictly the truth, but he did represent what she’d been searching for-a safe cove amongst the choppy waters.

Unmistakable pleasure flashed in his eyes. “How convenient, as here I am.”

“Yes. Here you… are.” Looking strong and solid, familiar yet imposing-the perfect candidate to distract her attention from her worries and discourage the bothersome gentlemen who had buzzed around her all evening like hovering insects.

His lips twitched. “Do you plan to tell me why you were searching for me, or are we to play charades?”

“Charades?”

“ ‘Tis an amusing game where one person acts out words, in a pantomime fashion, while others guess what he is trying to say.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips and made an exaggerated show of studying him. “Hmmm. Your clearly tugged-upon cravat, combined with that hint of furrow between your brows indicates you are trying to say that you wish Philip had remained to chat with all these potential museum investors.”

“A very astute observation, Lady Catherine. Philip is much more adept at navigating these waters than I. I can only hope I do not frighten off any of our financial backing before Meredith gives birth and Philip returns to London.”

“I saw you speaking with several people this evening, and none appeared overly frightened. As for Philip, I was pleased he came to the party, albeit for a short time.”

“He told me Meredith insisted he come to the party, in spite of his objections.”

“I’m certain she did.”

“Rather odd, considering her delicate condition, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.” Catherine grinned. “I received a letter yesterday from Meredith in which she wrote that my normally calm and collected brother has taken to alternating between frantic pacing and croaking, ‘is it time yet?’ After a fortnight of such behavior, she was ready to cosh him. Rather than risk injuring the father of her child, she instead grasped upon the excuse of this party to push him literally out the door.”

Mr. Stanton chuckled. “Ah, now I understand. Yes, I can picture Philip, hovering over Meredith, his hair standing up on end, cravat undone-”

“-cravat missing altogether,” Catherine corrected with a laugh.

“Spectacles askew.”

“Shirt horribly wrinkled-”

“-with his sleeves rolled up.” Andrew shook his head. “I can only sympathize with poor Meredith. Makes me wish I was at the Greybourne country estate to enjoy the show.”

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Pshaw. You simply wish you were anywhere but here, attempting to entice investors.”

Something flashed in his eyes, then an engaging grin spread over his face-a grin that coaxed twin dimples to crease his cheeks. A grin she found impossible not to respond to in kind. He leaned toward her, and she caught a pleasing whiff of sandalwood. An inexplicable tingle shivered down her spine, surprising her, as it was quite warm in the room.

“I must admit that soliciting funds is not my favorite pastime, Lady Catherine. I owe you a boon for affording me this moment of sanctuary.”

She was tempted to tell him that she owed him a boon for a similar reason, but refrained. “I noticed you speaking to Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly, and also Mrs. Warrenfield,” she said. “Were your efforts successful?”

“I believe so, especially in Mrs. Warrenfield’s case. Her husband left her a sizable fortune, and she possesses a