Love and the Single Heiress

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.

Of course, the part of her that demanded fairness had to admit that the Guide could be described as scandalous. While she firmly believed that the information provided in the Guide was necessary and valuable to women, part of her had been delighted at the brow-raising aspect of the book and had been the deciding element for her to embark on the endeavor. It gave her untold pleasure and a wickedly secret thrill to tweak the hypocritical members of Society whose ranks she’d turned her back on after their hurtful treatment of her son. That desire, that need for some bit of revenge, was clearly a flaw in her character, but there you had it. And she’d enjoyed every minute of the stir she’d created-until last night. Until she’d realized that the Guide had swelled into a scandal of gargantuan proportions. She shuddered to think of the horrific scandal that would ensue if Charles Brightmore’s identity were to be discovered. She’d be ruined. And she wouldn’t be the only one. There was Spencer to think about. And Genevieve… dear God, Genevieve stood to lose as much as, if not more than, Catherine if the truth came out.

Yet last evening’s events suggested that more than her reputation might be at stake. Her very life could be in danger. Of course it was possible that she’d been the victim of an accident-she prayed that was the case-but the timing seemed eerily coincidental. And she was not a firm believer in coincidence…

He cleared his throat, yanking her from her brown study. “What would you say if I told you that I was perhaps considering the possibility of accepting your challenge to read Brightmore’s book?”

Catherine stared at him for several seconds, then burst into laughter. A combination of annoyance and confusion flickered in his eyes.

“What on earth is so amusing?”

“You. You are perhaps considering the possibility… if you’d given committing to read the book any wider berth, you’d find yourself afloat in the middle of the Atlantic on your way back to America.” Some inner devil made her add, “Not that I’m surprised however. As Today’s Modern Woman knows, most men will go to great lengths to avoid committing to anything-unless it is for their own pleasure, of course. As for you perhaps considering reading the book, I certainly encourage you to do so, Mr. Stanton. Not for my benefit, but for your own. Now, before another argument ensues, I suggest we discuss something else, as it is clear we are in complete disagreement on the subject of the Guide!” She held out her gloved hand. “Truce?”

He studied her for several seconds, then reached out to clasp her hand. His hand was large and strong, and she felt the warmth of his palm even through her gloves.

“A truce,” he agreed softly. His lips twitched as his fingers gently squeezed hers. “Although I suspect you’re really angling for my unconditional surrender, in which case, I must warn you”-he leaned forward and flashed a smile-“I don’t surrender easily.”

Was it the deep, soft timbre of his voice, or the compelling yet somehow mischievous glitter in his dark eyes, or the warmth radiating up her arm from where his palm pressed against hers-or perhaps a combination of all three-that suddenly made it seem as if there was a dearth of oxygen in the carriage? She slowly extricated her hand from his. Was it just fancy that he seemed reluctant to let go?

“Your warning is duly noted.” Heavens, she sounded positively… breathless.

“It was not my intention to argue with you-not now, or last evening, Lady Catherine.”

“Indeed? What was your intention?”

“I’d intended to ask you to dance.”

An image instantly filled her mind, of swirling across the dance floor to the lilting sounds of a waltz, her hand once again clasped in his, his strong arm around her waist.

“I haven’t danced in over a year,” she murmured. “I very much miss it.”

“Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to enjoy a waltz in Little Longstone.”

“I’m afraid not. Elaborate soirees are not usual there.” Determined to erase the disturbing image of them dancing together from her mind, she asked, “Tell me more about how things are progressing at the museum.”

“We’ve fallen a bit behind schedule with Philip’s recent absence, but the building should be completed by year’s end.”

A frisson of guilt tickled her. “And your taking the time to accompany me to Little Longstone shall set you back even more.” She swallowed the remnants of her annoyance and smiled. After all, he couldn’t help but be irritating-he was a man. “You’re a true friend-to me and my entire family-and I’m grateful.” Pain throbbed in her shoulder, a physical reminder that someone might truly mean her harm. More grateful than you know.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

He fell silent, and she once again turned her attention to the hated embroidery. With her head lowered, she peeked at him through her lashes and, noting that his attention was focused out the window, she allowed her gaze to drift over him. Thick, midnight hair, with one unruly strand falling over his forehead. Dark lashes surrounding ebony eyes that somehow managed to be compelling and composed at the same time. She liked his eyes. They were calm. Patient and steady, although often vexingly unreadable. High cheekbones, strong jaw, and a well-shaped mouth given to teasing grins and blessed with twin dimples that creased his smooth-shaven cheeks when he smiled. While he wasn’t classically handsome, there was no denying Mr. Stanton was a very attractive man, and she suddenly wondered if there was a woman in his life.

“What are you thinking?”

At his softly spoken question, her head jerked upward. Their gazes met, and her heart skipped a beat at the intensity burning in those normally calm, steady dark eyes. The temperature in the carriage suddenly seemed far too warm, and she resisted the urge to snap open her fan. After a quick inner debate, she opted to tell him the unvarnished truth… almost.

“I was wondering if there was a special lady in London who would miss you during your stay in Little Longstone.”

He appeared so nonplussed by her question, she had to laugh. “I know Meredith has attempted to introduce you to some suitable young ladies, Mr. Stanton. She is the Matchmaker of Mayfair, you know.”

He shrugged. “She’s tried on several occasions, but I’ve thus far managed to avoid being snared in her net.”

“Ah. Studiously avoiding the altar. How very… manlike of you.”

“On the contrary, I would very much like to have a wife. And family.”

She raised her brows. “I see. You are aware that the chances of that happening would increase dramatically were you to cease avoiding being snared in Meredith’s matchmaking net.”

“Hmmmm. You make me sound like a fish.”

“A slippery fish,” she agreed with a laugh. “Well, as your friend, I feel it only fair to warn you that Meredith has told me that once she is fully recovered from childbirth, you are her next project.”

He inclined his head. “As your friend, I appreciate the warning, however I’m not overly concerned. I know exactly the sort of woman I want-I do not require any help.”

Curiosity pricked Catherine. “And what sort of woman do you want?”

“What sort of woman do you think I want?”

“Beautiful, young, amenable, nubile, soft-spoken, and demure. Worshiping the ground you tread upon would be an added plus.”

He threw back his head and laughed, the rich sound filling the coach. “Do I sense a bit of cynicism, Lady Catherine?”

“Are you saying I’m wrong?”

“ ‘Wrong’ is perhaps the incorrect term. The correct phrase would be ‘utterly, completely inaccurate.’ ”

She didn’t even attempt to hide her doubt. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe you long for a hideous, butter-toothed harpy?”

“Noooo. That doesn’t describe her either.”

“Pray, do not keep me in suspense.”

He leaned back against the squabs, his Devonshire brown coat in dark contrast to the pale gray velvet. His merriment faded, turning his expression into an unreadable mask.

“She is kind,” he said quietly, his eyes serious. “Loving. Loyal. And she possesses an inexplicable something that touches me in a way no one else ever has. Here.” He laid his hand across his chest. “She fills spaces that have been empty for years. With her, there is no more loneliness.”

Catherine’s breath seemed trapped in her lungs. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it hadn’t been… that. Empty? Lonely? And it wasn’t simply what he said, but the way he said it, with that tinge of desolation resonating in his deep voice that stunned her. God knew she’d experienced such isolating feelings more times than she cared to remember, but Mr. Stanton?

Before she could even think of a reply, he seemed to shake off his serious mood, and a crooked smile hitched up one corner of his mouth. “And, of course, if she happened to worship the ground I tread upon, that would be an added plus.”

She firmly tamped down the curiosity-and the feeling of pity-his intriguing words piqued. He’d never struck her as a man who’d suffer from loneliness, a man who would find any part of his life empty. “I do not wish to discourage you, but I feel it only fair to warn you, from my own experience, that marriage is not necessarily a cure for loneliness. However, I wish you luck in locating this paragon you’ve described, Mr. Stanton. I hope she exists.”

“I know she exists, Lady Catherine.”

Some imp made her ask, “Do you suppose she’s read A Ladies’ Guide?”

He shot her an odd look. “Given that it seems nearly every woman in London has read the book, it is definitely a possibility.”

“If she has read it, I’m sure you’ll be very pleased when you meet her.”

“Pleased?” There was no missing his skepticism. “What do you mean by that?”

She smiled sweetly. “I wager if you’d read the book, you’d know.”

“Ah, yes, that intriguing challenge. And if I were to take you up on it? What would I win?”

Arrogant man. Assuming he’d merit a reward for reading a book. Still, this could actually work in her favor…

“I hadn’t had a wager in mind at all, but why not?” Especially since I am almost guaranteed a victory. “Whoever is victorious shall owe the other a boon-within reason-of the victor’s choice.” She couldn’t contain her grin. “Ah, yes, I can see you now, beating the rugs and weeding the roses. Or perhaps polishing the silver. Setting the stones for the new garden pathway, fixing the stable’s roof-”

“Win or lose, I’d be happy to assist with those chores. But why have they not been seen to?”

She shrugged. “It is difficult to find proper help in the country.”

“I see,” he murmured. “And what determines who is the winner?”

“If you read the book-the entire book, mind you- thus enabling you to engage in a well-informed discussion of the contents, you win. If you fail to do so, then I win.”

When he remained silent, she murmured, “Of course, if you are afraid…”

“Of a simple wager? Hardly.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“In truth, because I seriously doubt whether, in spite of my high tolerance for pain, I will actually be able to suffer through Brightmore’s drivel. However, since the worst outcome is that I’d simply owe you a boon, I suppose there is no harm in accepting your wager. What period of time do you suggest?”

“Shall we say three weeks?”

He nodded. “Very well. I accept.”

Catherine could barely suppress her glee. There were many chores a strong, strapping man like Mr. Stanton could do around the estate-all she needed to do was figure out which one would help her-and as an added bonus, irk him-the most. Most likely it should appall her to experience such a thrill at the thought of besting him and erasing a portion of his arrogance. It should-but it didn’t.

“Of course,” Mr. Stanton said, “within three weeks’ time, no doubt the gossip surrounding the actual contents of the Guide will be supplanted by the stir that will ensue by the unmasking of Charles Brightmore.”

Catherine’s heart stumbled over itself. He clearly was referring to the investigator who’d been hired. Hopefully the man would not find his way to Little Longstone. But if he did, well, forewarned was forearmed. He’d certainly glean no information from her. Forcing a calm she was far from feeling, she laughed lightly. “Unmasking? Heavens, you make Mr. Brightmore sound like a brigand.”

“There are many in London who believe he is just that.”

“Including yourself.”

“Yes.”

“You may change your mind after you read his work- assuming you read it.”

His shrug indicated he had no real intention of reading “that drivel,” and even if he did, his mind would not be changed. Annoyance tickled down her spine. Aggravating man. Had she once thought him gallant? Likable? Clearly she’d been erroneously predisposed to a favorable opinion based on her brother’s glowing reports of Mr. Stanton’s character. The easy camaraderie they’d shared in the past must have been due to the topics they’d discussed- namely Philip and Meredith. Their wedding, and most recently the imminent birth of their child. The museum was also a common subject for discourse. A frown pulled down her brows. Casting her mind back, she realized that all of their conversations had been of a very impersonal nature. She actually knew very little about Mr. Stanton. She’d accepted him without question as a friend, as a good man, because Philip said he was. According to Philip, Mr. Stanton had saved him from several scrapes while they were abroad. He categorized his American friend as loyal, steadfast, brave, and excellent with both his fists and a rapier. Well, she had no reason to doubt he was all those things. Philip, however, had neglected to add, nor had she discerned on any of their previous meetings, that Mr. Stanton was also opinionated, stubborn, and irritating.

She glanced at him. He was staring out the window, a muscle pulsing in his smoothly shaven cheek, verifying the tight set of his jaw. His stubborn jaw. Although, she couldn’t deny that it was a strong stubborn jaw. With an intriguing hint of a cleft in the center. Philip hadn’t mentioned that. Nor had he mentioned Mr. Stanton’s profile… the slight bump on the bridge of his nose. Most likely a souvenir from one of his pugilistic bouts. It should have detracted from his appearance. Instead, it lent him a rugged air, mixed with just a whiff of danger, reminding her that in spite of his elegant clothes, he was not of her class. Rough around the edges.

And undeniably attractive.

“You’ve a most intriguing expression, Lady Catherine. Would you care to share your thoughts?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. Good Lord, how long had she been staring? And why was he looking at her in that… speculative way? As if he’d already divined her thoughts? Humph. Just another aspect of him to term irritating.

Adopting what she hoped passed for a casual air, she said, “I was thinking that in spite of the time we’ve spent together over the past fourteen months, we really do not know each other very well.” She lifted her brows. “What were you thinking?”

“Actually something quite similar-that I do not know you as well as I believed.”

She wrinkled her nose and pointedly sniffed the air. “Somehow that did not smell like a compliment.”

“It was not meant as an insult, I assure you.” Mischief flickered in his eyes. “Would you like a compliment? I’m certain I could think of one, if it would please you.”

“I beg you, do not strain yourself on my account,” she said in a dust-dry voice.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “ ‘Tis no strain, I assure you.” His gaze flickered over her forest green traveling ensemble. “You look lovely.”

Three simple words. Yet something about the quiet way he said “lovely,” combined with the unmistakable warmth in his eyes, quivered a fluttery thrill through her. He stole any reply she might have made by focusing his attention on her mouth. “And your lips…”his eyes appeared to darken, and he leaned forward. Everything inside Catherine stilled-except those inexplicable flutters, which suddenly became so much more… fluttery. Good heavens, was he going to kiss her? Surely not…

Her own gaze riveted on his lips, and for the first time she realized what an attractive mouth he possessed. It somehow managed to appear soft and firm at the same time. The sort of mouth that would know how to kiss a woman-

“Your lips,” he said softly, leaning farther still, until less than two feet separated their faces, until she had to fight the overwhelming urge to lean toward him and erase the small distance. “They look so… much less swollen and bruised than they did after last night’s incident. Almost back to their normal loveliness.”

He leaned back and shot her a grin. Whatever madness had enveloped her disintegrated like a puff of smoke, and she abruptly straightened, pressing her back against the cushion, appalled. Not so much at him, but at herself. Heat crept up her neck, and she prayed her face wasn’t turning red. Good heavens, for one insane instant she’d thought he meant to… that she wanted him to…

Kiss her. But even more humiliating was the fact that she felt deflated because he hadn’t. Egad, she was losing her mind.

“You see?” he said. “Contrary to your belief, I’m perfectly capable of bestowing compliments. And I’m greatly looking forward to my visit to your home, as it will give us the opportunity to discover how much more we don’t know about each other.”

Good Lord, the things he did not know about her, she intended to keep that way. “Wonderful. I cannot… wait.”

Instead of taking offense at her deflating tone, his grin broadened. “Please, do not strain yourself with enthusiasm on my behalf.”

Humph. How dare he have good humor when he was supposed to be abashed? Must be the American in him. Well, he might plan that they would get to know each other better during his stay, but as Today’s Modern Woman well knew, she did not have to fall in with any man’s plans if she did not want to.

And based on the secrets she had to keep, Catherine most definitely did not want to.