Love and the Single Heiress

over the years-telling him that there was more to her invitation than met the eye. But what? And did he really want to question her motives right now? No. He’d spent the better part of the last hour trying to figure out a plausible argument for going to Little Longstone with her and staying for an extended visit, and here she’d solved the problem.

“I realize you have responsibilities in London-”

“None that cannot wait,” he assured her. “It would be my honor to accompany you, then remain for a visit, Lady Catherine. You may rest assured that I will see to it no further harm befalls you.” Indeed, God help anyone who attempted to hurt her again.

“An excellent solution, my dear,” the earl said, with an approving nod. “You’ll have company and protection.”

“Yes. Protection…” Her voice trailed off. There was no mistaking her obvious relief. Clearly she didn’t feel safe in London, a sentiment he could well understand. But he suspected she’d asked him to remain in Little Longstone for an extended visit for the same reason-protection. Why? Did she not feel safe in own home?

He didn’t know, but he surely intended to find out.

Chapter 4

Men possess so little understanding of women because they seek out advice and information about women from other equally uninformed men. Winning his lady’s favor would proceed in a much smoother manner if the gentleman simply asked her, “What do you want?” Should Today’s Modern Woman ever be fortunate enough to be asked that question, it is hoped she will answer truthfully.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

“How are you feeling, Lady Catherine?”

Catherine looked up from her embroidery to peer across the seat at her traveling companion, whom she’d managed quite successfully under the guise of needlework to ignore for the past hour-or at least as much as one can ignore a man seated barely an arm’s length away. A man who seemed to take up so much space. She’d never realized how imposing Mr. Stanton’s presence was. It was one thing to share a drawing room or dining room with him, but, as she’d discovered, quite another to share the confines of a carriage.

Her gaze met his concern-filled dark eyes. “I’m a bit achy, but all right.”

“Would you like to stop for a short rest?”

In truth she would have liked nothing more than for the carriage to stop its lurching ride. Each thump and bump radiated discomfort through her aching shoulder and reminded her of the dull ache behind her eyes. But each bump brought her closer to Little Longstone and Spencer, and farther away from the nightmare of last night. Closer to the safety of her home, and farther away from whoever had fired that shot… that shot she was far from convinced was an accident. Closer to Genevieve, whom she needed to speak with as soon as possible. She needed to tell her dear friend about the shooting and the investigator who’d been hired to find Charles Brightmore. Warn her about the danger. Warn her she might be next.

“It is not necessary to stop,” she said.

“You look pale.”

“Why, thank you. Such flattery will surely swell my head-which is, thanks to last evening’s fall, quite swollen enough already.”

Her attempt at humor clearly sailed over his own head, for his brows bunched tighter. “You’re in pain-”

“I’m fine. Perfectly fit. Dr. Gibbens gave his permission for me to travel-”

“After you browbeat the poor man. I believe his exact words when he departed your father’s town house this morning were, ‘Never in my life have I met a more obstinate woman. ’ ”

“I’m certain you heard him incorrectly.”

“I’m certain I didn’t.”

“Yet, I recall that last evening we’d established that most men’s hearing is not all it should be.”

Several seconds of silence stretched between them, and she had to stifle the sudden urge to squirm under his steady regard. “I am not most men, Lady Catherine,” he finally said quietly. “You’re also very preoccupied.”

“I am merely anxious to get home.”

“I’m sure you are. But there’s something else. Something is worrying you.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, forcing a light note into her voice. Damnation, just her luck to be stuck in a carriage with the one perceptive man in all of England.

“Your uncharacteristic reticence. I’ve never known you to be so… untalkative.”

“Ah. Well, that is simply because I have been engrossed in my embroidery.”

“Which I find intriguing as you detest embroidery.” Clearly he read the guilty flush she felt searing her cheeks for he added, “You mentioned your aversion to needlework during your visit to London two months ago.”

Double damnation. The man was perceptive and recalled trivial details. How utterly irritating. “I’m, er, hoping to develop a fondness for the activity. And besides that, I simply have nothing to say.”

“I see. In general-or to me in particular?”

She debated trying to put him off with a polite fib, but as he obviously wasn’t easily dissuaded, she admitted the truth. “To you in particular.”

Instead of looking offended, he nodded solemnly. “I suspected as much. About our conversation last evening… it was not my intention to upset you.”

“You did not upset me, Mr. Stanton.”

Doubt flashed across his features, raising one dark brow. “Indeed? Then you normally resemble a teakettle on the verge of boiling over?”

“Again, I must beg you to cease your flattery. In truth, ‘upset’ is merely a poor choice of word. Disappointment is closer to what I felt.”

“In me?”

“Yes.”

“Simply because I did not agree with you? If so, that disappoints me.”

Feeling somehow chastised, she considered his words for several seconds, then shook her head. “No, not because we didn’t agree, but because you made some very strong statements without benefit of firsthand knowledge. That, to me, is unfair, which I find to be a disappointing, not to mention irksome, quality in a person.”

“I see. Tell me, had I ever in any of our past meetings impressed you as being unfair?”

“Not at all, which is why I found last evening’s discussion so-”

“Disappointing?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Not to mention irksome.”

“Indeed. We wouldn’t want not to mention that.”

Again silence swelled between them, uncomfortable in an inexplicable way that unsettled her. Before last evening, she’d always felt at ease in Mr. Stanton’s company. Indeed, she’d found her brother’s closest friend intelligent, witty, and charming, and had enjoyed the easy friendship and camaraderie that had developed between them during the half dozen or so times they’d met. His comments last evening about the Guide, however, had proved most disillusioning. Scandalous, appalling, trash-filled balderdash indeed. Humph. And his opinion of Charles Brightmore as a renegade who possesses little, if any, literary talent had quite set her teeth on edge. It had required all her strength not to jab her finger at his nose and inquire exactly how many books he’d written.