Love and the Single Heiress

slipped from his fingers, landing on the wooden floor with a thud. Andrew grabbed him by his cravat, and had just brought back his fist to deliver another blow when Carmichael’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp in Andrew’s grip. Andrew let go, and the man fell to the floor in a heap to reveal Catherine, chest heaving, eyes glittering with a combination of fury and triumph, holding a heavy feed pail, which bore a large dent.

“Take that, you bastard,” she said to the fallen man.

There were a dozen things Andrew wanted to say, yet when he opened his mouth, what spilled out was, “You floored him.”

“I owed him one. Are you all right?”

Andrew blinked. “Yes. You?”

“Fine. Only sorry I didn’t have the opportunity to floor him twice.”

Holding that dented bucket, her eyes blazing, color high, she looked magnificent-like an avenging Fury, prepared to fell any brigand who dared to cross her.

“It certainly appears you have no need for those pugilism lessons we discussed.”

Spencer hurried toward them, his complexion pale, his eyes wide. “Is he dead?” he asked.

“No,”Andrew said, “but thanks to your mother, he’ll have a devil of a headache when he comes around.”

Catherine dropped the bucket with a clang, then closed the distance between her and Spencer with two jerky steps. Hugging him fiercely, she asked, “Are you all right, darling?”

Spencer nodded. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Mum.” He looked at Andrew over Catherine’s shoulder. “You, too, Mr. Stanton.”

After Catherine released her son, Andrew placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and smiled. “I’m fine, thanks to you. You saved my life. Your mother’s as well.”

Crimson stained Spencer’s pale cheeks. “He meant to kill you. And my mum.”

“Yes, he did. You were extraordinarily brave, keeping your head and remaining quiet, then acting at precisely the right moment. I’m incredibly proud of you. I’m in your debt.”

Spencer’s blush deepened. “I only did what you told me to do.”

“And you did it brilliantly.”

A smile curled Spencer’s lips. “It appears we made a good team.”

“Indeed we did.”

Andrew jerked his head toward Carmichael. “We need to tie him up, then search for Fritzborne.”

After Carmichael was securely bound and gagged, they located Fritzborne behind the stables, struggling mightily against the ropes binding him. Andrew cut through the ropes with his knife, quickly explaining what happened. Once Fritzborne was free, Andrew helped him to his feet. “Do you feel well enough to ride to summon the magistrate?”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Fritzborne assured him.

After he’d seen Fritzborne on his way, Andrew turned to Catherine. He folded his hands across his chest to keep from reaching for her. “Now perhaps you’d tell me why you left the house, Lady Catherine?”

“I looked out the window and saw you entering the stables. I wanted to talk to you before you… left.” She lifted her chin. “I did not leave the house unarmed. Unfortunately, Carmichael saw my attempt to retrieve the pistol from my pocket.”

“Pistol?”

“Yes. And I was prepared to use it if necessary.”

“I… see. What did you want to talk to me about?” He searched her gaze, hoping for an indication that she’d perhaps changed her mind, but her expression gave nothing away.

“Would you mind terribly if we spoke back at the house?” Her gaze flicked to the trussed Carmichael, and a visible shudder racked her.

“Of course not. But I need to remain here until Fritzborne arrives with the magistrate. I’m certain he’ll wish to talk to you and Spencer as well.”

“All right.” Turning to Spencer, she said, “Would you come with me, darling? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Spencer nodded. Catherine tucked his arm beneath hers, and Andrew watched them depart, bludgeoning back the pain of knowing that after today, he’d no longer be part of their lives.

Catherine started when the knock sounded on the drawing room door. After running her hands down her peach muslin gown, then pinching her cheeks to ensure she didn’t look too pale, she said, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Andrew stepped over the threshold. Andrew, looking tall, solid, masculine, and darkly attractive, his ebony hair mussed as if he’d combed his fingers through the strands. Her breath hitched, and she pressed her hands to her midsection in an attempt to calm her stomach’s jitterings.

“The magistrate has gone?” she asked.

“Yes. Between everything you, Spencer, Fritzborne, and I told him, Carmichael will never see the outside of a prison cell again.” He slowly crossed the room, stopping with the length of the Axminster throw rug between them. “You said you wished to speak to me.”

“Yes. Before Spencer and I returned to the house, we visited the gardens and shared a long talk.” She turned and walked to the small cherrywood table near the window and picked up a bouquet of flowers, the stems wrapped with a red satin ribbon. When she returned, she held out the bundle, praying she did not look as nervous as she felt. “I picked these. For you.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes as he took the flowers. “Dicentra spectabilis, ” he said, his voice rough.

“You remembered the Latin name.”

He stared at the red-and-white flowers, and a humorless sound passed his lips. “For bleeding heart? I’m not apt to forget something so… descriptive.” His gaze seemed to burn into her. “I remember everything, Catherine. Every look. Every word. Every smile. I remember the first time I touched you. The last time I touched you. And every touch in between.”

She clenched her hands to keep them from fidgeting with her gown. “I found your note. The ring. And the letters. I… I’d had no idea that your feelings for me were of such a long standing.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? The fact that I’ve loved you for years rather than months?”

“Yes. No.” She shook her head. “What I mean is that I want to speak to you about my feelings.”

His gaze sharpened. “I’m listening.”

“After you left my bedchamber, I spent the rest of the night thinking, and I finally arrived at what I believed was a logical decision. I went to tell you, but you were gone. Then I read your note, saw those letters I’d written, and all my fine decisions disintegrated. I was left with only an undeniable, irrefutable realization-that I’d already made one terrible, dreadful mistake by refusing you and had been on the verge of making another. I do not wish to make any more such errors.” She drew a bracing bream. “Andrew, will you marry me?”

Never in her life had she heard such a deafening silence. Her heart seemed to stall and race at the same time as he regarded her with a cautious expression. Finally, he spoke. “I beg your pardon?”

She cocked a brow in her best imitation of him. “Do you not know what marry means? Must I fetch a dictionary?”

“Perhaps you should, because I’d like to be certain we’re speaking of the same word.”

“A very wise person recently told me that marriage means caring for one another. Loving together. Sharing laughter and helping through pain. Always knowing that there is another person standing beside you. For you.” She took one step closer to him, then another. “It means I want you to be my husband. I’ve spoken to Spencer, and he wants you to be his father. I want to be your wife. Now do you understand?”

His throat worked, and he jerked his head in a nod. “You’ve left very little room for misinterpretation, although I’m not certain I understand how my note precipitated this change of heart.”

“The thought of you loving me for all those years… it touched my heart. Opened my heart. I realized with painful clarity that if you’d been my husband, my feelings toward marriage would be vastly different. I realized I wished you had been my husband. My fears made me deny my feelings for you, but I cannot deny them any longer. I love you, Andrew.”

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Catherine’s breath caught at the raw emotion