Love and the Single Heiress

Chapter 8

Today’s Modern Woman must not fear acting upon the attraction she feels fir a man, yet she should recognize that it is possible to be bold and discrete at the same time. An “accidental” brushing against his body a whisper only he is meant to hear, will thoroughly capture his attention.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

“It’s your turn, Mum.”

Catherine’s chin jerked up, and she met her son’s smile across the dining room table. Heavens, how long had she been lost in her own thoughts, staring at her dinner of peas and poached turbot?

She blinked away her preoccupation and forced a smile. “My turn?”

“To share an ‘I wish I had not done that’ story.” His grin widened. “Tell Mr. Stanton about the time you were stuck in the tree.”

In spite of her best effort to remain focused on Spencer, her errant gaze shifted to Mr. Stanton. Why could she not keep from looking at the man? All through dinner she’d surreptitiously peeked at him from beneath her lashes, unable to forget her conversation about him with Genevieve. All evening she’d hoped in vain that a note would arrive from her father relating the news that the culprit was caught, thus relieving her mind that she faced any danger. Then there would be no further need for Mr. Stanton to remain in Little Longstone. His increasingly disturbing presence could return to London, thus ending this unwanted… whatever it was. Yes, the moment he was gone from her home, she would forget him.

In the meanwhile, it was damned difficult to contemplate forgetting him when he sat not ten feet away from her, looking large and masculine and incredibly attractive in a Devonshire brown jacket and snowy linen shirt. His dark eyes studied her with an arresting combination of warmth, interest, amusement, and something else that she couldn’t define. But whatever that something else was, it tingled heat down to her toes.

One dark eyebrow quirked upward. “Stuck in a tree?” Mr. Stanton repeated. “My curiosity is aroused, Lady Catherine. Please, you must share this tale. How did such an unfortunate predicament occur?”

“I was rescuing a kitten.”

“Don’t tell me you climbed a tree to do so.”

“Very well. I won’t tell you that. However, by not doing so, it shall be very difficult to continue my story.”

There was no mistaking his surprise, but rather than feeling abashed at his stunned expression, she barely suppressed a laugh of delight at shocking him.

“In that case, tell me what you must to continue.”

She inclined her head in acquiescence. “Several years ago, Fritzborne brought home a cat he’d found wandering in the woods. In a remarkably short time, we found ourselves the proud owners of a litter of kittens. They were adorable, but the most mischievous little beasts ever born. The one we named Angelica was, ironically, the most devilish of the group. One day, while Spencer and I were returning from the springs, we heard a pitiful sound. We looked up and saw Angelica perched on a high limb of an elm. She required rescuing, so I did the job.” She cleared her throat and stabbed a pea onto her fork. “The end.”

“But Mum, you left out the best part,” Spencer protested. “The part where you became stuck.” His eyes alight with animation, he turned toward Mr. Stanton. “Mum’s gown became tangled in the branches. When she couldn’t free herself, I went to the stables to fetch Fritzborne. We returned to the tree with a sturdy rope and a basket. Fritzborne tossed the rope to Mum, affixed the basket, then with a bit of ingenuity, Angelica was lowered to the ground in the basket.”

“Leaving your mother still stuck in the tree,” Mr. Stanton said.

“Yes,”Catherine interjected with an exaggerated sniff. “While that dastardly kitten ambled off as if nothing had occurred.”

“How did you get down?”

“Fritzborne returned to the house to fetch scissors, which he sent up in the basket,” Catherine said. “Of course, Milton, Cook, and Timothy the footman, had returned with him. While I sat upon the branch, hacking away with the scissors to free my gown, the group of them stood below, arguing how best to get me down. Spencer, bless him, came up with the winning suggestion. I tied the rope around the branch I sat upon, then simply slid down. The end.”

Spencer sent her a long-suffering look. “Mum…?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, very well. I was so proud of myself for successfully sliding down the rope, I decided to let go a few feet from the ground and give my audience a graceful curtsy. Unfortunately I landed in a slippery patch of mud. My feet went up, and my bottom went down.” She gave them both a rueful smile. “Luckily the mud was quite soft, as were my petticoats, and nothing save my pride was hurt. However, no stretch of the imagination could call the outing dignified. And my dress was beyond ruined. Most assuredly an episode I call ‘I should not have done that. ’”

She sipped her wine, then said, “Once I’d assured everyone I was unharmed, they all burst out laughing over my horribly disheveled appearance.”

“You should have seen her, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer said, his eyes filled with humor. “Leaves in her hair, dirt on her nose, gown muddy and chopped off.”

“Yet I’m certain you still managed to look enchanting,” said Mr. Stanton.

An unladylike snort escaped her even while warmth at his compliment flowed through her. “I’m afraid I looked the exact opposite of ‘enchanting.' However, some good did come out of the debacle as the ‘I should not have done that’ tradition was born that day. Since then, Spencer and I often relate such tales to each other in an attempt to spare each other embarrassment.” She shot Spencer a mock fierce frown and shook her finger at him. “Learn from my folly, son.”

Spencer adopted an equally serious expression. “Rest assured, should I ever slide down a rope from a tree, I will make certain not to land in a slippery mud hole.”

She gave Mr. Stanton a conspiratorial smile. “You see how marvelously it works?”

“I’m duly impressed,” Mr. Stanton said, his returning smile filled with a warmth that suddenly made her feel a bit breathless. “Except for your gown, a happy ending all around. What ever became of Angelica?”

“Oh, she’s still here, prowling the grounds and the stables, along with several of her siblings and some children of her own.”

“An impressive tale of courage, Lady Catherine,” Mr. Stanton said, “but I’m amazed that you even thought to climb the tree in the first place.”

“Oh, Mum used to climb trees all the time when she was my age,” Spencer said, a note of pride in his voice.

Mr. Stanton’s gaze never left hers. “Indeed? Your brother never told me that, Lady Catherine.”

“Most likely because my brother doesn’t know about my youthful predilection for scrambling up trees.” A chuckle she couldn’t contain escaped her. “Although he should, seeing as he was the victim of it-but he never solved that particular mystery.”

Unmistakable interest flared in his eyes. “What’s this? Something Philip doesn’t know? You must tell me.”

She adopted her most prim expression. “My lips are sealed.”

“That’s wretched, Mum,” Spencer declared. “You mentioned it, so now you must tell.”

Mr. Stanton’s brows rose, and he looked at Spencer. “You don’t know what she’s talking about?”

“I’ve no idea. But unless she wants us to expire from curiosity, she’ll tell us.”

She tapped her pursed lips with her fingertips. “I suppose I can’t have that weighing upon my conscience. But you must promise never to tell.”

“Promise,”both Spencer and Mr. Stanton said dutifully.

“Very well. When I was about Spencer’s age, I would climb the tree outside Philip’s bedchamber at night and toss pebbles at his window.”

“Why did you do that?” Spencer asked, his eyes wide.

“He was my older brother, darling. It was my responsibility to annoy him. He was convinced the noise was some horrid bird pecking at his window. He’d open the French windows and charge onto his balcony, flapping his arms and saying the naughtiest words, promising all manner of retribution when he caught the guilty bird.”

“That’s horrible, Mum,” Spencer said, but ruined the scolding by laughing.

“He never discovered it was you and not a bird?” Mr. Stanton asked, his amusement evident.

“Never. In fact, I’ve never told anyone, until now.”

“I am honored to be taken into your confidence.” He chuckled. “Although I would dearly love to tell Philip that I know something he does not.” At her frown, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “But I’ll keep my promise not to tell. I’m a man of my word.”

“When did you finally stop tossing the pebbles, Mum? Did Grandfather discover you?”

“Heavens, no. Your grandfather would be properly shocked if he knew I’d even thought about climbing a tree. I’d tied a small basket to one of the tree’s branches, and in it I kept my supply of pebbles. One night I reached my hand into the basket and was horrified to discover that it had become infested with worms.” A shudder ran through her at the memory. “I do not like worms. That episode quite cured me of my tree-climbing tendencies.”

“And rather served you right,” Mr. Stanton said, his grin teasing.

“Yes,”Catherine agreed with a laugh. “I fear I well deserved the sobriquet of ‘Imp’ that Philip bestowed upon me. Surely he’s told you what a devil I was.”

“Oh, he did.” The amusement slowly drained from Mr. Stanton’s expression. “But he also said that he was an awkward, clumsy, serious, pudgy youth who you coaxed from shyness by teaching him how to laugh and smile. How to take time for fun. That your exuberance, loyalty, and love saved him from what would otherwise have been a very lonely childhood.”

A swift jolt of emotion caught Catherine by surprise, swelling her throat, while images of her and Philip as children blinked through her mind. She swallowed hard to find her voice. “His peers often treated him unkindly, which never failed to infuriate me. I only wanted to make him as happy as they’d made him sad. Philip was, and still is, the very finest of brothers. And of men.”

“I agree,” Mr. Stanton said. “Actually, Lady Catherine, I would not be surprised if Philip suspected it was you outside his window and climbed that tree, whereupon he’d have discovered your little basket of pebbles. I assume he was aware of your aversion to worms?”

Catherine blinked, nonplussed, then shook her head and chuckled at her own folly. “Yes, he was. I’ll make a point of asking him about the incident when I see him next. That devil. As neither of you gentlemen has any siblings, I would not expect you fully to appreciate the need for brothers and sisters to irritate each other. Although it was all done in fun.”

“Mum still does impish things, you know,” Spencer announced.

Mr. Stanton looked immediately interested. “Oh? Like what?”

“She slides down the banister.”

Amusement-filled dark eyes assessed her. “Why, Lady Catherine, is this shocking statement true?”

“Sometimes I’m simply in a bit of a hurry to get downstairs,” she said as primly as she could.

“And sometimes she wakes me after Cook’s gone to bed so we can steal to the kitchens and find ourselves a grand snack.”

“Spencer is a growing boy who requires a great deal of nutrition,” she said even more primly, although the effect was ruined when she felt her lips twitching.

“She sings songs with naughty lyrics while she works in the garden.”

“Spencer!” Catherine’s face heated. Good heavens, she hadn’t realized he had heard. “I’m certain you, ah, misunderstood.”

“Not a bit. You tend to sing rather loudly. And off-key.” Spencer grinned at Mr. Stanton. “Mum couldn’t carry a tune in basket.”

“Will you regale us with a selection, Lady Catherine?” Mr. Stanton teased.

A bubble of horrified laughter escaped her, and she coughed to cover the sound. “Perhaps some other time. And now that everyone knows far more about me than they should, it is your turn, Mr. Stanton, to share an ‘I should not have done that’ tale.”

He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against his chin. After several seconds of consideration, he said, “The day I arrived in Egypt, after being on board a ship for weeks, I wanted two things: a hot, decent meal, and a hot, decent bath. After I’d eaten, I found a bathhouse on the outskirts of Cairo. Feeling well fed and clean, I departed, only to discover that I’d inadvertently ventured into an area known for cutthroats and thieves. Fortunately, I managed to get out alive. Unfortunately, I was robbed before I managed to escape.”

“Why did you not defeat the brigand with your fists?” Spencer asked, his eyes wide.

“Brigands. There were four of them. And as they all had knives and pistols, I’m afraid I would not have fared very well.”

“What did they steal from you?”

“My money. And my… clothes.”

Spencer’s jaw dropped. “Never say so! All your clothes?”

“All my clothes. Right down to my boots, which quite irked me as they were my favorites.”

“So you were…?” Spencer’s voice trailed off in disbelief.

“Naked as the day I was born,” Mr. Stanton confirmed.

“What did you do?”

“I briefly debated fighting them to get my clothes back, but decided my life was not worth the risk. Fortunately, they seemed disinclined to do away with me. Indeed, I think they were highly amused at leaving me to find my way home in broad daylight, naked as a babe.”

Heat whooshed through Catherine, and her throat went dry at the thought of Mr. Stanton, freshly bathed, standing in a column of golden sunlight. Naked.

She instantly recalled the chapter in the Guide dedicated to instructing Today’s Modern Woman on some of the many things she could do to, and with, a naked man. Her recollection did nothing toward cooling the inferno that seemed to have engulfed her.

“Did anyone see you?” Spencer asked, his eyes agog. Catherine prayed she did not wear a similarly rapt expression and barely resisted the urge to fan herself with her linen napkin.

“Oh, yes, but I just kept running as fast as I could. I finally filched a sheet from someone’s laundry, which afforded me a small measure of my lost dignity. Not one of my more stellar episodes, and while I can laugh about it now, it was not at all humorous at the time. Yes, wandering about Cairo on my own was just one of many ‘I should not have done that’ moments.” He grinned. “Would you like another?”

“Yes!” said Spencer.

“No!” said Catherine at the same time. Mr. Stanton naked, wandering about in a sheet, robbed by armed ruffians, naked… Lord only knew what else he’d done, and she was quite certain she did not want to know. Yes, quite certain.

A nervous laugh escaped her, and she rose, signaling the end to their meal. “Perhaps another time. For now, I suggest we retire to the drawing room. Do you play cards, Mr. Stanton? Chess? Backgammon?”

“I enjoy all three, Lady Catherine. What would be your pleasure?”

To see you naked. Catherine barely suppressed the horrified squeak that rose in her throat. Good God, where had that ridiculous thought come from? Of course she did not want to see him naked. The absurd, inappropriate notion was clearly just a consequence of his absurd, inappropriate story. Yes, that’s all it was.

Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Why don’t you and Spencer play while I enjoy my needlework by the fire?”

“Very well.” He turned to Spencer. “Backgammon?”

“My favorite,” Spencer said.

She led the way toward the drawing room and mentally congratulated herself on her excellent plan. She’d now have her needlework to concentrate on rather than her unsettlingly attractive guest.

An hour later, however, she realized that her plan was not so excellent after all. It was nearly impossible to focus her attention on the intricate flower pattern of her hated embroidery when her gaze continually strayed in the most annoying manner across the room to the French windows, where Mr. Stanton and Spencer sat, the backgammon board resting on a cherrywood table between them. Damnation, when had she lost control over her own eyeballs? Even when she managed to stare at her work, she accomplished little, for her entire being was focused upon trying to hear snippets of their conversation-a conversation Spencer was clearly enjoying.

The deep rumble of Mr. Stanton’s laugh mingled with Spencer’s chuckle, and for the hundredth time, Catherine’s hands stilled, and she peeked at the pair from beneath her lashes. Spencer’s mouth was stretched in a boyish, ear-to-ear grin. Pure delight emanated from him, and the fact that no shadows lurked in his eyes squeezed her heart with maternal love.

Spencer laughed again, and she gave up all pretense of needlework. Setting her project aside, she leaned back against the soft brocade of her wing chair, and just indulged in watching her son enjoy himself. She loved to see him smile and laugh, and he did so far too seldom in her opinion. During the last year he’d taken to solitary walks, wandering the estate’s gardens and trails that led to the warm springs. While he basked in the freedom afforded by the vast grounds, she worried that he spent too much time alone in sad reflection. She gave him the privacy he needed, but made certain that they still spent time together every day-talking, reading, sharing stories, eating their favorite foods, enjoying the gardens and each other’s company.

Now, sitting across from Mr. Stanton, Spencer looked happy, carefree, and relaxed in a way she rarely witnessed when he was in the company of anyone besides his familiar, immediate circle. Normally he was wary and withdrawn with strangers, fearing they would jeer at him or pity his condition. But clearly he harbored no such fear with Mr. Stanton.

Catherine’s gaze shifted to the man who’d invaded her thoughts far too often since last evening. His chin was propped upon his palm as he studied the backgammon board, while Spencer hooted with mock-diabolical laughter, predicting his defeat. It suddenly struck her how cozy and domestic this scene-indeed this entire evening- was, and acute yearning washed over her.

How many times during her marriage had she hopelessly wished to experience a pleasurable home-and-hearth scenario such as this? How many hours had she foolishly wasted inventing scenes in her mind, of her, Bertrand, and Spencer enjoying a meal, then father and son laughing over a game board, while she looked fondly on? More than she could count.

The fact that that vivid, longed-for image she’d held so dear to her heart had come to life before her eyes, prominently featuring Mr. Stanton, filled her with an aching sensation she could not name. He had not figured in the tableau she’d imagined. Yet even though his presence should have been all wrong, it somehow felt most disturbingly right.

She gave herself a mental shake. Good Lord, she was long past hoping for and wanting such a domestic scene. She and Spencer did not need anyone else in their lives. Still, looking at Spencer’s joyful expression, the animation with which he spoke to Mr. Stanton, filled her with a rush of gratitude toward her guest for the kindness he was extending toward her son. While Mr. Stanton possessed many qualities she found irksome, clearly Spencer enjoyed his company.

At that instant, Mr. Stanton turned, and their eyes met.

Heat sizzled through her, skittering jitters to her stomach, and her toes involuntarily curled inside her satin slippers. How did he manage to throw her so off-balance with a mere look? How was it that his presence in her home simultaneously comforted yet agitated her? And why, oh why, was she so intensely aware of him?

His lips curved upward in a slow smile, then he returned his attention to the backgammon board. She snapped her lips together, horrified to discover that they’d been slightly parted as she’d gawked at him. With grim determination she snatched up her embroidery and jabbed the needle into the material.

“He is annoying and presumptuous and really, not even all that attractive,” she muttered under her breath. “Why, I’ve known dozens of men far more handsome.”

Perhaps. But none of them weakened your limbs the way this man does, her inner voice taunted.

She pressed her lips more firmly together. Fustian. If her limbs were weak, it was merely due to fatigue. She’d suffered an exhausting ordeal. ‘Twas merely weariness playing with her body and emotions. After a good night’s sleep, everything would fall back into its proper place.

Stiffening her spine, she jabbed the needle through the linen once again. Very well, she found the man attractive. But only slightly, and in a strictly physical way. She certainly had no intention of acting upon these unsettling feelings. Therefore, her best recourse was to avoid him as much as possible-a challenge, as the entire purpose for him being there was to protect her should the need arise-but nothing said they had to be in the same room. And even if she found herself in the same room with him, nothing said she had to converse with him. Or stand near him. She could simply ignore him.

Relief swept through her. Avoid and ignore would be her strategy-surely easy enough tasks to accomplish.

Her inner voice chimed out something that sounded suspiciously like in a pig’s eye, but she managed, with a great deal of effort, to ignore it.