Love and the Single Heiress

Chapter 17

Matters concerning love and affairs of the heart are very much like military campaigns. Strategy is key with each move carefully planned so as not to fall victim to potential ambushes. If, however, in the pursuit of her intimate goals, Today’s Modern Woman finds herself in a situation that reeks of failure, she should not hesitate to do what many military men have done in the past: retreat with all possible haste.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

Catherine strode up the neatly swept walkway leading to the modest cottage nestled cozily in the shade cast by a copse of towering elms, driven by an overwhelming combination of anger, confusion, and desperation she barely understood. Muted sounds drifted toward her from the back of the fieldstone residence including a sheep’s plaintive baa and the quacking of several ducks.

As she raised her hand to knock, a deep voice hailed her. “Lady Catherine, hello.”

She turned. Dr. Oliver walked toward her, his face wreathed in a surprised smile. Tucked under one arm, he cradled a small, snorting pig.

“A new patient, Dr. Oliver?” she asked, hoping her return smile did not appear forced.

He laughed. “No, she’s payment from my last patient. I was just reassuring her not to worry-I‘m not overly fond of bacon.”

“I’m certain she’s much relieved.”

He held the baby pig at arm’s length, and asked, very seriously, “Are you much relieved?”

A series of snorts met his question, and he nodded. “Glad to hear it.” He nonchalantly tucked the pig back into the crook of his arm, then made Catherine a formal bow. “What brings you to my humble abode? No one is ill, I hope?”

“No, we’re all very well, thank you. I’m here to make a request.”

“And it will be my honor and pleasure to grant it. If you’ll wait here for just a moment while I settle my little friend in the pen in the back, we can go inside.”

Standing in the shade offered by one of the elms, Catherine watched him disappear behind the cottage. He reappeared less than a minute later, and she carefully observed him approach. There was no denying that Dr. Oliver was handsome. Very handsome. From a strictly aesthetic viewpoint, certainly far more handsome than Mr. Stanton, who, with his rugged features and crooked nose was better described as “attractive.”

For the first time, she noted the breadth of the doctor’s shoulders. The trimness of his waist. The length of his muscular legs outlined in his snug breeches. The smoothness of his gait. With his sun-streaked brown hair and hazel eyes, he was just the sort of man to set a female heart to flutter. The fact that her heart was not fluttering only added to her desperation and strengthened her resolve. It would flutter soon enough.

When they entered his small, but tastefully furnished drawing room, he asked, “Would you like some tea, Lady Catherine?”

“No, thank you.”

He indicated the pair of brocade wing chairs flanking the marble fireplace. “If you’d care to sit-”

“I prefer to stand.”

His brows shot upward in a questioning look, but he merely nodded. “Very well. How may I be of service to you?”

Now that the moment was upon her, Catherine’s courage sagged. Good Lord, surely she was mad to have embarked on this errand. But then she thought of the Guide, of all its liberating precepts, and she stiffened her spine. Today’s Modern Woman seizes the day. Is forthright in what she wants. And she knew what she wanted. She had a point to prove to herself, and by damn, she was determined, desperate, to prove it.

She raised her chin. “Kiss me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

He stared at her intently for what felt like an eternity, as if trying to see into her mind. When he finally moved, instead of drawing her into an embrace, he lightly clasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Why do you want me to kiss you?”

Catherine barely resisted the urge to tap out her impatience against the parquet floor with her shoe. Good heavens, nothing in the Guide had suggested a man might ask such a question.

“Because I…”want to know, need to know, must know if another man can make me feel the things he does…. “because I’m curious.” There. That was certainly true.

“Curious to see if you might feel something warmer toward me than merely friendship?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I could easily satisfy your curiosity without kissing you, but only a fool would turn down such an enticing offer. And I must admit, I’m curious myself…”

He drew her into his arms and settled his lips upon hers. She rested her hands upon his chest and rose on her toes, a willing participant. Obviously the good doctor was well versed in the art of kissing-but he did not set her heart to fluttering. Not even a tiny bit. His lips were warm and firm, but they did not generate the fiery sensations Andrew inspired with a mere look.

Oh dear.

He lifted his head, then slowly released her. After studying her for several seconds, he stepped back and regarded her with surprise. “Rather sparkless, wouldn’t you agree?”

She felt her cheeks blaze. “I’m afraid so.”

“So, has your curiosity been satisfied?”

Self-recriminations rained down on Catherine, filling her with shame at using him in such an unkindly manner. Good Lord, what sort of person had she become? She wasn’t certain-but she knew she didn’t like herself very well.

Heat born of mortification singed her. The fact that he’d found their kiss as lacking as she clearly indicated that he did not carry a tendre for her at all. And she’d just thrown herself at him. Like a common trollop. She would have laughed at her own conceit if she’d been able to do so. Instead she prayed for a gaping hole miraculously to appear in the floor to swallow her. Retreat, her mind screamed. Retreat!

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I-”

“There’s no need to apologize. I understand perfectly. I confess that I once kissed a woman in order to compare my reaction to another. Indeed, I believe it’s a very common practice. Rather like sampling both strawberry and blueberry jam to determine which you prefer.”

His good humor and understanding only served to make her feel worse. Again her mind commanded her to retreat, but before she could move, he said, “Do not look so distressed, Lady Catherine. From the moment I arrived in Little Longstone six months ago you offered me a friendship I value highly. You have invited me into your home to share meals and laughter, and except for this tiny aberration have never given me false hope that we could ever be anything more than friends-an aberration I appreciate as it satisfied my own curiosity. We are destined to be only friends.” He skimmed the pad of his thumb over his lips and winked. “Better friends than most, but still only friends.”

Eternally grateful that he was behaving so graciously, and that she had not humiliated herself further, she forced a smile, and said, “Thank you. I’m glad we’re friends.”

“As am I.” He lightly tapped his jaw. “I just hope he doesn’t try to break this.”

“Who? Break what?”

“Andrew Stanton. And my jaw. He would not be happy should he discover I kissed you.” He grinned. “But I’m confident I’d be able to talk him out of pounding me into dust. If not, well, he may be strong, but I’ve a few tricks of my own.”

If her cheeks burned any hotter, her skin would emit steam. She inched her way backward, toward the open doorway, everything in her straining for retreat. “I must go. Thank you for your kindness and understanding.”

“My pleasure.” He escorted her to the front door, and Catherine walked swiftly down the path leading toward Bickely cottage. The moment she was certain she was out of Dr. Oliver’s line of vision, she pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, praying she’d not suffer an illness anytime in the near future because it would be a long while before she could face the doctor again.

Before riding on to Bickley cottage, Andrew stopped briefly in the village of Little Longstone to make some purchases. Just as he was about to enter the smithy, an odd sensation prowled through him. He turned around, his gaze panning the area. Rows of shops, several dozen pedestrians, a curricle with a man and a young girl perched upon the seat, two young ladies chatting under a blue-and-white-striped awning. No one appeared to be paying him any particular attention, yet he strongly sensed that someone was watching him. And it was the second time today he’d experienced the same sensation.

About an hour ago, while still en route from London, he’d felt the same warning tingle. He’d reined in Aphrodite, but had not seen or heard anyone. Still, the eerie feeling persisted, and even stronger than before. But who would be watching him? And why? Was it possible he was imagining it? He couldn’t deny he was tired, and many thoughts occupied his mind. No doubt it was just his preoccupation run amuck. Still, he’d make certain to remain alert.

After finishing his business with the blacksmith, Andrew rode to Bickely cottage, where he spent a few minutes chatting with Fritzborne at the stables before striding quickly across the lawns toward the house, eager to see Catherine and Spencer. He’d keenly missed them, suffering a deep, echoing emptiness that had plagued him since departing Little Longstone yesterday. Returning felt like coming home-a warm feeling he hadn’t experienced in more than a decade.

Late-afternoon sunshine gilded the house, making it look as if a halo surrounded the dwelling, and he quickened his pace. He’d been away for a mere thirty-six hours, yet it had felt like years. No doubt because it was actually thirty-seven hours. And twenty-two minutes. Not that he was counting.

Milton opened the door with a forbidding frown, which immediately relaxed when he saw Andrew standing at the threshold. “Ah, it is you, sir.”

Andrew raised his brows and smiled. “Clearly you were expecting someone else.”

“Actually, I was hoping there would be no further callers this afternoon.” He cleared his throat. “Present company excluded, of course. Although, you are not a caller. You are a guest. Please come in, Mr. Stanton. Seeing you at the door is a welcome relief.”

“Thank you.” Andrew entered the foyer. His shoulders tensed as he noted the new tremendous flower arrangement. “Looks as if the Duke of Kelby has emptied his conservatory again.”

A ghost of a smile whispered across Milton’s thin lips. “Yes. How fortunate for us. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth blessedly sent smaller tributes.”

“Are Lady Catherine and Spencer about?”

“They’re strolling in the gardens.” He heaved a sigh. “I do so hate to disturb them.”

“No need to on my account.”

“Not you, sir.” He jerked his head toward the corridor and curled his upper Up. “Them.”

“Them?”

“The duke and Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth. The notes they sent with their flowers this morning indicated they wished to call, however none of them wrote that they planned to visit today.”

“And they’re all in the drawing room?”

“I’m afraid so. I kept them at bay, standing on the porch for a bit, but with all three of them, it became quite crowded. And loud. I suggested quite firmly they return another time, but they all flatly refused to go. A few moments ago they threatened to storm the gardens in search of Lady Catherine. To keep them from doing so, I reluctantly showed them into the drawing room, and I’ve since been plotting a way to get rid of them that does not involve coshing them all with a skillet.”

“I see.” Andrew thoughtfully tapped his chin. “I think I may be able to assist you, Milton.”

“I’d be most grateful, sir.”

“Consider it done.”

Still laughing over her son’s humorous imitation of a toad, Catherine and Spencer entered the house through the rear terrace doors, then made their way toward the foyer. The time spent with her son had helped Catherine settle her chaotic thoughts and form a new resolve. Her relationship with Andrew was a lovely, pleasant diversion she would enjoy for the remainder of the short time he’d remain in Little Longstone. When he returned to London, she would go on with her life, caring for Spencer, enjoying her independence, free from the encumbrances that had stifled her during her marriage. As Today’s Modern Woman should, she would look back on her affair with fond memories and wish Andrew a long, prosperous life. For, other than this brief interlude, there simply was no room for him in her life.

As she and Spencer approached the foyer, the sound of several masculine voices reached them.

“Who is that?” Catherine murmured.

They entered the foyer through the archway opposite the front door, and she halted as if she’d walked into a wall of glass. And stared.

The Duke of Kelby, Lord Avenbury, and Lord Ferrymouth stood in the foyer, each in turn shaking hands with Andrew, while Milton stood at the door with a suspiciously smug expression on his face. As if seeing this unexpected assortment of men in her foyer weren’t surprising enough, it was the condition of the men that stunned her. The duke’s right eye was nearly swollen shut and surrounded by an angry bruise. Lord Avenbury held a handkerchief that bore unmistakable streaks of blood pressed to his nose, while Lord Ferrymouth sported a bottom lip three times its normal size.

She turned to look at Spencer, who was gawking at the scene with a stunned expression she imagined mirrored her own. At that moment, Lord Avenbury turned and caught sight of her. Instead of a welcoming smile, he looked… frightened? He jabbed Lord Ferrymouth with his elbow, then jerked his head toward Catherine. Lord Ferrymouth’s eyes widened, and he in turn nudged the duke. All three stared at her for several seconds, their countenances bearing varying degrees of what looked like alarm. Then they mumbled a jumble of unintelligible words while stepping hastily toward the door, which Milton opened with a flourish. After the gentlemen hurried from the house, Milton closed the door with a resounding bang, then brushed his hands together as if ridding them of dirt. He and Andrew exchanged satisfied gins.

Catherine cleared her throat to find her voice. “What on earth happened to the duke and Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth?”

Both men turned toward her. Milton immediately rearranged his features into his usual inscrutable mask. Her gaze met Andrew’s, and warmth suffused her. Unmistakable pleasure, along with a healthy dose of heat, flared in his eyes, filling her mind with a wealth of sensual images and tingling a shiver down her spine.

Andrew bowed at the waist. “Lovely to see you again, Lady Catherine.” He shot Spencer a wink. “You, too, Spencer.”

Ignoring the flutterings Andrew’s presence set up in her stomach, she crossed the foyer, Spencer at her side. Before she could speak again, Spencer looked at Andrew, and asked, his voice an awed hush, “I say, did you plant those blokes facers?”

Andrew grasped his lapels, his expression turning very serious. “During the course of my duties, I’m afraid that I did.”

Catherine stared. “Do not tell me that you used your fists against those gentlemen.”

“Very well, I won’t tell you that.”

“Dear God. You punched them?”

“Well, it is impossible not to use one’s fists while engaged in pugilism. When the gentlemen learned of my”-he coughed modestly into his hand-“stellar reputation at Gentleman Jackson’s Emporium, they insisted upon a lesson. As they were your guests, I thought it would be rude to refuse them.”

“I see. And how did they hear of your stellar reputation?”

“I told them.”

A sound that could only be described as a giggle erupted from Spencer.

Catherine swallowed her own inappropriate desire to giggle. “And how, precisely, did all this come about?”

“When I arrived from London,” Andrew said, “I discovered the three gentlemen in the drawing room. Quite a sight they made, all perched on the settee like a flock of fat-breasted pigeons upon a branch, glaring at each other, elbowing, vying for more room. As you were nowhere about, I offered to entertain them in your stead. During the course of our pugilism lesson, they unfortunately sustained their injuries-which are quite minor by the way.” He shook his head. “Not the heartiest of fellows, I fear, although Lord Avenbury’s uppercut showed some promise. After our lesson, I informed the gentlemen that I’d been giving lessons to Spencer… and intended to give them to you as well, Lady Catherine.”

Catherine actually felt her jaw drop. “Me?”

“They were just as surprised, I assure you, but I told them that such lessons were necessary because of the rampant crime nowadays. After all, Today’s Modern Woman must be able to defend herself, do you not agree?”

She wasn’t certain if she were more amused or horrified. “I suppose, although I cannot imagine that a woman’s most effective weapon would be her fists.”

“Precisely why the element of surprise would work so well.”

“I can only surmise that the gentlemen were quite taken aback.”

“My dear Lady Catherine, the way you’re following this story, why it’s almost as if you were in the room. Yes, they were all quite stunned. I can only hope you were not overly desirous of their company because I don’t think any of them will be back.”

“Indeed? And why is that?”

“Because they’re all afraid of you.”

Laughter bubbled in her throat, and she pressed her lips together to contain it.

“Well, I for one am glad they won’t be back,” Spencer said. “Pests, that what they were, all trying to impress Mum.” He smiled at Andrew. “And I’m happy you’ve returned, Mr. Stanton.”

“As am I, Spencer.”

“You’re back earlier than we expected,” Catherine said, refusing to acknowledge how much that pleased her. “I hope that means all is well in London?”

“It means I’ve done everything I could for the moment.”

“How bad is the damage to the museum?”

“Extensive, but the repairs are under way.”

“And the investors?”

His jaw tightened, and sympathy pinched her at the sight of the weary lines surrounding his eyes. “Not pleased, as you might imagine, but I’m hopeful that their confidence will soon be restored. I’ve written to Philip, telling him everything. I tried to present the events in the best light possible, but obviously he’ll be very concerned, which in turn will worry Meredith. And there’s only one way to alleviate that.” A regretful look entered his eyes, and Catherine suddenly knew what was coming next. “As much as I hate to cut my visit here short, I’m afraid I must return to London tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Spencer repeated, his voice ripe with the same dismay that flooded Catherine.

“Yes. But I won’t depart until the afternoon, so we’ll have plenty of time for our morning lessons.”

“When will you come back?” Spencer asked.

Andrew’s gaze flicked to Catherine, then he smiled at Spencer-a smile, Catherine noted, that seemed somewhat forced. “Your mother and I will talk about that to see if we can agree upon a date.”

“But you’re welcome here anytime!” Spencer said. “Isn’t he, Mum?”

Catherine’s breath caught at the question, and her gaze flew to Andrew, who regarded her with an unfathomable expression. She desperately did not want to offer Spencer false hope that Mr. Stanton would return, yet she simply could not force herself to say he wasn’t welcome.

Heavy silence swelled for several seconds, then she said lightly, “Don’t worry. Mr. Stanton and I shall discuss the matter.”

“When?” Spencer persisted.

“This evening,” Catherine said. After Andrew and I make love at the springs. After we make love for the last time…

“Are you feeling up to a lesson today, Spencer?” Andrew asked.

Catherine pushed aside her disquieting thoughts and watched her son’s eyes light up. “Yes, I am.”

“Excellent. But first, I have a surprise for you.” He turned toward Catherine. “For you as well, Lady Catherine.”

Her pulse quickened. She used to dislike surprises. Now, however, it seemed she liked them very much. Too much. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “What is it?”

He shook his head sadly, then made a big show of patting down his jacket. “Now where did I place that dictionary?” He looked at Spencer, who was trying, without success, not to smile. “Can you fathom that your mother still does not know the meaning of the word surprise?”

“ ‘Tis shocking,” Spencer said.

“Indeed it is. Therefore, I suggest we go to the stables with all due haste so as to show your mother what a surprise means.”

Before they took a step, however, a knock sounded at the door. Milton’s eyes narrowed. “Not more suitors, I hope,” he muttered. He opened the door to reveal a young footman. “I’ve a note for Lady Catherine,” the footman announced importantly. “From Lord Greybourne.”

Catherine stepped forward, and the young man handed her the missive with a flourish. With her heart thumping, Catherine quickly broke the seal and scanned the brief contents. She looked up at the anxious faces surrounding her and smiled. “The Greybourne heir has arrived-a healthy baby boy they’ve name William. Both mother and son are doing splendidly, although Philip claims he may never be the same again. He swears the entire process was as much an ordeal for him as it was for Meredith.” Catherine looked at the ceiling. “Idiotic man.”

After congratulations were said all around, Catherine briefly excused herself to pen a hasty note to Philip to send back with the footman. Then the group headed off to the stables. When they arrived, Fritzborne greeted them, a grin stretching his mourn wide. “All’s well, Mr. Stanton.”

“Excellent.”Andrew led the way into the stables, pausing in front of the third stall, one Catherine knew was not normally used. “Before I returned to the house today, I visited the village to make several purchases. While I was there, I happened upon something that I simply could not resist.”

“I thought women were supposed to be the renowned shoppers, yet you seem to possess little self-control when faced with any sort of shop,” Catherine teased.

His gaze, avid and warm, rested on hers. “On the contrary, I possess an abundance of self-control.” He paused for several seconds… just enough time to rush fire into her cheeks by making her aware that he referred to far more than shopping, then continued, “Although I do agree that I enjoy buying things for people I… care about. In this instance, however, the purchase was for me, and purely selfish. What do you think?” He opened the stall door.

In the corner, curled up on a bed of fresh hay, lay a sleeping, black-haired puppy.

“It’s a dog,” Spencer said, his voice filled with quiet wonder.

“It is indeed,” Andrew agreed, entering the stall. He gently scooped up the small dog, and was rewarded with a contented doggie sigh. “I’ve wanted one ever since your uncle Philip acquired Prince, who is a very fine dog indeed. Would you like to hold him?”

Spencer, eyes wide, nodded. “Oh, yes. Please.”

Andrew carefully handed over the sleepy dog. Seconds later, the puppy lifted his head and let out a tremendous, pink-tongued yawn. When he caught sight of Spencer, he immediately turned into a wiggling mass of tail-wagging canine joy, licking every bit of Spencer’s chin he could reach, much to Spencer’s laughing delight.

Andrew stepped closer to Catherine and said out of the corner of his mouth, “I believe my dog likes your son.”

“Hmmm. And clearly my son likes your dog. But I have a sneaking suspicion you knew-”

“That they would fall in love with each other?” She felt him turn to look at her, and it required all her strength to keep her gaze fixed upon Spencer. “Yes, I admit I suspected as much.”

“He’s grand, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer said, accepting ecstatic puppy licks to his cheeks. “Where did you get him?”

“In the village, from the blacksmith. I’d stopped to make a purchase, and he introduced me to the entire litter his dog had birthed two months ago. Six adorable little devils. It was difficult to make a choice. This fellow sort of chose me, and the feeling was mutual.”

“I imagine so,” Spencer murmured, burying his face in the dog’s curly fur.

Unable to resist, Catherine reached out and scratched behind the adorable puppy’s ears. A look of utter devotion entered the pup’s black eyes. “Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you,” she said with a laugh.

“What is his name?” Spencer asked.

“The blacksmith called him Shadow, and it seems to suit as the little fellow followed me all about. What do you think?”

Spencer held the puppy at arm’s length and inclined his head first right, then left. Pink tongue panting, tiny ears perked, the puppy mimicked his actions, tilting his little head. They all laughed, and Catherine said, “It seems that Shadow is indeed the perfect name.”

“Then Shadow it is. Now, we’re heading outside, behind the stables. Spencer, would you mind carrying Shadow for me?”

Catherine couldn’t help but laugh. “That is like asking a mouse if it minds eating a bit more cheese.”

They walked outside together, and Andrew led them to a large blanket spread on the lawn under the shade of an elm. Catherine gazed curiously at the tarp to one side of the blanket. “What is under there?”

He smiled. “We’re going to make some magic. But it’s a two-man job, I’m afraid. I need someone strong to assist me.” He made a great show of looking around.

“I’ll help,” Spencer said eagerly.

“A volunteer. Excellent. Lady Catherine, would you be so kind as to mind Shadow, so Spencer and I can proceed?” Catherine agreed, taking the puppy from Spencer.

“Just make yourself comfortable on the blanket,” Andrew said, “and I’ll brief my helper on his duties.”

Catherine lowered herself onto the blanket and laughed at Shadow’s tail-chasing antics. From the corner of her eye, she watched Andrew and Spencer speaking in muted tones, and the pleased flush that stole over Spencer’s cheeks. They returned several minutes later, and with a flourish, Andrew pulled the tarp from his stash of supplies.

Catherine craned her neck and stared at the five buckets of varying sizes he’d uncovered. “What’s in those?”

“Ice, salt, cream, sugar, and strawberries,” he said, pointing to each one in turn. He then indicated a cloth bag with a nod of his chin. “Bowls and spoons.”

“We’re going to make strawberry-flavored ice, Mum!” Spencer said.

“Really?” She scooped up Shadow then walked over to have a better look. “How are we going to make that?”

“Just watch,” Andrew said. “You’ve never eaten anything like this, I promise you.”

“I had a flavored ice in London last year,” Catherine said. “It was delightful.”

“This will be extraordinarily delightful,” Andrew promised with a smile.

Nearly an hour later, after much strenuous shaking by Andrew of an outer bucket filled with chips of ice and salt while Spencer vigorously stirred an inner bucket filled with cream, sugar, and strawberries, Andrew finally announced, “It’s ready.”

Spencer, his face red from his exertions, blew out a loud breath. “Thank goodness. My arms are about to drop off.”

“As are mine,” Andrew agreed. “But trust me, once you taste this, the pain will instantly fade.”

“I feel horribly guilty,” Catherine said. “While you two shook and stirred, I merely sat here and enjoyed the lovely weather.”

“You were watching Shadow,” Andrew reminded her, scooping heaping spoonfuls of pink stuff into porcelain bowls.

“Not a difficult task, as the imp has been sleeping for the past three-quarters of an hour.” She looked down at the bundle of black fur sprawled across her lap and tried, without any success whatsoever, to stem the affection flooding her. “I believe I bored Shadow to sleep.”

“Well, she who bores the dog to sleep serves the cause just as much as those who stir and shake,” Andrew said, handing her a bowl and spoon. “Taste.”

Catherine dipped her spoon into the creamy concoction, then lifted it to her lips. Her eyes widened with pure delight as the smooth, sweet, strawberry-flavored chill slid down her throat. “Oh, my.”

Andrew laughed. After scooping out a generous portion for Spencer, then himself, they all sat upon the blanket and indulged in their treat.

“You’re right, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer said, “this is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Made all your arm aches disappear, I’ll wager.”

“Every one,” Spencer agreed.

“Where did you learn to make this?” Catherine asked, savoring another delectable spoonful.

“In America. The family who owned the stables where I worked was fond of serving this to their guests.” A phantom of some emotion she could not read flashed in his eyes. “Whenever they did so, their daughter would pilfer an extra bowl for me. Eventually I asked their cook how it was made.”

A spurt of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy shot through her at the thought of Andrew sitting on a blanket with his employer’s daughter, eating a frozen delight that she’d brought him.

“The girl who brought you the ice-what was her name?” Spencer asked, voicing the question Catherine hadn’t had the courage to speak.

“Emily,”Andrew said, softly, looking down into his bowl.

“Was she nice?”

“Very nice.” He looked up and gave Spencer a slight smile that looked more sad than happy to Catherine. “In fact, you rather remind me of her, Spencer.”

“I remind you of a girl?”

Andrew chuckled at his horrified expression. “Not the fact that she was a girl, but because she… struggled to find where she fit in. She did not feel very comfortable around people. Indeed, except for me, she had very few friends.”

Spencer’s brow puckered as he pondered this. Then he asked, “Are you still her friend? Do you correspond with her?”

There was no mistaking the pain that filled his eyes. “No. She died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

“When did she die?”

He swallowed, then said, “About eleven years ago. Just before I left America. I bet she would be pleased that we’re all enjoying this treat. And I especially wanted to make strawberry because I know it is a favorite of both of you. Who would like some more?”

“Me, please,” said Spencer, holding out his bowl.

The adroit subject change had not escaped Catherine, and she wondered if there was more behind it than simply not wanting to discuss a sad subject. Andrew’s pain when he’d discussed this Emily was palpable, filling her with sympathy for him. The conversation had also piqued her curiosity.

Amid many appreciative murmurs, they each enjoyed another bowl while laughing at Shadow-who’d awakened and showed a huge interest in the proceedings. “There’s just enough for one more serving,” Andrew said. “Since I know from experience that this is a favorite of stable masters, I wager Fritzborne would enjoy it.”

“I’ll bring it to him,” Spencer offered.

As Catherine watched her son walk toward the stables, his uneven gait forming the familiar lump of love in her throat, she was also acutely, painfully aware that she and Andrew were alone.

She turned to look at him and stilled at the compelling, serious look in his dark eyes.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

Three simple words. How did he cleave through all her hard-fought-for resolutions with three simple words? Her insides seemed to melt, and she was grateful she was sitting, for her knees felt oddly weak. As much as she hated to admit it, as much as she desperately wished she hadn’t, she’d missed him, too. More man she’d believed it possible to miss a person. Much more than she’d wanted to. And certainly much more than was wise. And now, with those three simple words, she feared that all her attempts to keep her heart unencumbered were doomed to failure.

He reached out and brushed his fingers slowly back and forth over the back of her hand, sending delicious tingles up her arm. “You said earlier that I lacked self-control, and I want you to know just how very wrong you are. I cannot even begin to describe the amount of control I am exercising right now not to kiss you. Touch you.”

“You are touching me,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Not in the way I want to, I assure you.”

Heat pooled low in her belly, and sensual images of all the seductive ways he’d touched her flashed through her mind.

“Do you still want to meet at the springs tonight, Catherine?”

“Yes.”Desperately. “Do you?”

“Do you truly need to ask?”

“No.”She could easily see the desire in his eyes. And if she didn’t change the subject, she stood in danger of saying or doing something she might well regret.

“This”-she spread her hand to indicate their picnic area and the collection of buckets-“was a delightful surprise. And very thoughtful of you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I confess I have a surprise for you as well.”

“Really? What is it?”

She shot him an aggrieved look. “What are you always saying about a dictionary?”

He laughed. “Touchй. When will my surprise be unveiled?”

“Are you always this impatient?”

His eyes darkened. “Sometimes.”

Heavens, she wished she’d brought her fan to dispel the heat this man inspired. “Actually, you may have it right now.” She slipped a small, flat tissue-paper-wrapped bundle secured with a bit of blue satin ribbon from the pocket of her gown and handed it to him.

Surprised pleasure flared in his eyes. “A gift?”

“It’s nothing really,” she said, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“On the contrary, it’s extraordinary.”

She laughed. “You haven’t opened it yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still extraordinary. How did you just happen to have this in your pocket?”

“I retrieved it from my bedchamber after I’d written my note to Philip-before I rejoined you in the foyer.”

He untied the ribbon, parted the tissue paper, then lifted the white linen square. “A handkerchief. With my initials embroidered on it.” Staring at the material, he gently rubbed his thumb over the dark blue, silk thread letters that had obviously been done by an inexpert hand.

“The night in the garden,” she said, her words coming out in a rush, “when you showed me the bleeding hearts, you didn’t have a handkerchief when you thought I was crying-not that I was crying, mind you-but since you didn’t have one, I thought perhaps you could use this.”

He said nothing for several seconds, just continued slowly to brush his thumb over the letters. Then, in a husky voice, he said, “You don’t care for needlework, yet you embroidered this for me.”

A self-conscious laugh escaped her. “I tried. As you can plainly see, embroidery is not my forte.”

He looked up and his gaze captured hers. There was no mistaking his pleasure at her gift. “It’s beautiful, Catherine. The finest gift I’ve ever received. Thank you.”

Warmth suffused her, then quickly turned to heat when his gaze dropped to her lips. Her breath caught, anticipating the brush of his lips against hers, his luscious taste, the silken sweep of his tongue.

Shadow chose that moment to flop himself down in front of her, belly up, paws dangling, in a shameless bid to be rubbed. With a start, Catherine recalled where they were, then pried her attention away from Andrew’s distracting gaze. She tickled her fingers over the pup’s soft belly, much to his canine delight, while Andrew tucked his new handkerchief into his pocket. “You realize that Spencer is now going to want a dog,” she said.

“Would that be so terrible?”

Catherine carefully considered before answering, then said, “As much as Spencer and I both like dogs, I’ve always feared having one.”

“Because you thought the dog might jump on him? Knock him over?”

“Yes.”She lifted her chin. “I was only trying to keep Spencer safe.”

“I wasn’t criticizing. Actually, when he was smaller, I think it was a prudent, wise decision. But Spencer is no longer a child.”

“And a man should have a dog?”

“Yes, I think he should.”

“He hasn’t brought up the subject in a number of years-although I suspect that is about to change.”

He clasped her hand, and she suppressed a sigh of pleasure at the feel of those callused fingers enclosing hers. “I saw the dogs who sired the litter, and neither one was large. Fritzborne mentioned that he’d be happy to have a dog stay in the stables if you didn’t want the beast in the house. Said a dog would keep all those cats in line.”

Catherine pondered a bit, then said, “There is no denying that Spencer is no longer a small boy. And he’s careful. Strong. Such a young man certainly deserves a puppy if he wants one.” She shook her head. “Everything seems to be changing, and so quickly. I swear it was only yesterday he was a babe in my arms.”

“Just because something seems to happen quickly, doesn’t mean it’s bad, Catherine. In my experience, it usually just means those things are… inevitable.” Before she could think up a reply, he said, “Here comes Spencer.” He withdrew his hand with clear reluctance, then reached into his waistcoat pocket and slipped out his watch. After consulting the timepiece, he looked at her with an expression that scorched her. “Seven hours and thirty-three minutes until midnight, Catherine. I pray I can last that long.”

He wasn’t the only one saying that particular prayer. Tonight their affair would reach its inevitable end. A bit sooner than she’d anticipated, but surely that was for the best.

Yes, surely it was.