Regency Historical - Love And The Single Heiress Part 4

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 cla.s.sically 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 tointroduce you to some suitable young ladies, Mr. Stanton. She is the Matchmaker of Mayfair, youknow."

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 increasedramatically 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 thatMeredith 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 p.r.i.c.ked 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. Wors.h.i.+ping 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, b.u.t.ter-toothed harpy?" "Noooo. That doesn't describe her either." "Pray, do not keep me in suspense."

He leaned back against the squabs, his Devons.h.i.+re 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 s.p.a.ces 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. G.o.d 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 wors.h.i.+p 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. a.s.suming 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 polis.h.i.+ng the silver. Setting the stones for the new garden pathway, fixing the stable's roof-"

"Win or lose, I'd be happy to a.s.sist with those ch.o.r.es. 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 ch.o.r.es 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- a.s.suming 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 sc.r.a.pes 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 b.u.mp 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 cla.s.s. 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sure 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 a.s.sure 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 cus.h.i.+on, 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.

Chapter 5.

Today's Modern Woman needs to recognize that there are times when Society's restrictive rules should be roundly and soundly ignored. And the more attractive the gentleman in question, the more roundly and soundly the ignoring should be-discreetly, of course.

A Ladies' Guide to the Pursuit of Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment by Charles Brightmore "Bickley cottage will come into view in a moment," Lady Catherine said two hours later, pointing toward the left. "Just beyond this copse of trees."

Thank G.o.d. Andrew hoped his relief wasn't too obvious. The four-hour journey had felt more like four months. The last two hours had consisted of alternating awkward silences and stilted conversation. She'd studiously concentrated on her embroidery, but he prided himself on being able to read people, and she was clearly preoccupied about something. His instincts told him she was thinking about last night's incident, which he suspected was worrying her far more than she'd admitted.

He focused his attention out the window, taking in the verdant countryside. He couldn't wait to get out of the close quarters of the carriage, where he'd spent the last four torturous hours breathing in her delicate floral fragrance. He blew out a long, careful breath. G.o.d, did a woman exist who smelled better? No. Impossible. It had taken every ounce of his strength not to touch her, to lean closer and simply breathe her in. He had given in to the excruciating temptation and leaned closer once, and the effort he'd expended not to kiss her had cost him.

Patience. He needed to remember his campaign of subtle, gentle wooing. If he moved too quickly, he sensed she would retreat like a frightened doe. Of course, the fact that she was clearly irked with him in regards to the Guide didn't serve him well, although he himself found her enthusiasm for Brightmore's book and all that Today's Modern Woman rubbish irritating as well. He suspected she would not be pleased if she were to learn that he'd been hired to locate and unmask her literary idol, Charles Brightmore.

Although his quest to find the man was temporarily suspended while he remained in Little Longstone, he'd apply himself fully to the task once he returned to London. Charles Brightmore would be exposed, Andrew would collect a very handsome fee, and all this nonsense about Today's Modern Woman would fade away, which in turn would evaporate the tension that had sprung up between him and Lady Catherine. In the meanwhile, he'd take full advantage of his opportunity to spend time with her and set his wooing campaign into motion.

Less than a minute later, they rounded a corner in the path, revealing a stately white-columned, brick home nestled cozily against a backdrop of ma.s.sive trees, gently rolling hills, and verdant lawns. The variant shades of green were broken by meandering trails of vivid purple-and-pink, interspersed with blankets of pastel-hued wild-flowers. Shards of late-afternoon sunlight glinted off the house's gleaming, round-topped windows, drenching the mellowed brick facade in a golden glow. The entire scene reflected picturesque, country tranquillity. A calm, safe haven for her and her son, far away from the cruel pettiness of Society.

"I can see why you love it here," he said.

"It's home," she said quietly.

"It's much larger and grander than I expected. Calling it a 'cottage' is rather like referring to a s.h.i.+p as a rowboat."

"Perhaps. But the surroundings, the friendly atmosphere, and less formal ways here lend the house a coziness that belies it size. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it."

He turned, and his gaze drifted over her lovely profile. The soft curve of her pale cheek, the gentle line of her jaw. The slight upward tilt of her nose. The lush fullness of her mouth. Falling in love the moment you see something... yes, I know exactly how that feels.

"Buying this property, where Spencer has easy and private access to the healing warm water springs on the grounds was the one generous gesture Bickley extended to his son." She spoke softly, her voice utterly devoid of expression. She turned to face him, and he was struck by how her eyes had gone flat. d.a.m.n it all, he wanted to erase all the shadows the years of her unhappy marriage had cast upon her.

"Of course, as everyone knows, Bickley's true reason for the purchase was simply to install Spencer-and me-far away, where he wouldn't have to see, or be seen with, his imperfect son. Or the woman who had, in his words, foisted that son upon him." Because of his close friends.h.i.+p with Philip, Andrew was well aware of what a selfish, unfeeling, indifferent b.a.s.t.a.r.d Lady Catherine's husband had turned out to be to his warm, vibrant wife, and what a poor excuse of a father for a boy who desperately needed one. He barely refrained from saying I would have liked nothing more than five minutes alone with that b.a.s.t.a.r.d you married. Instead, he said, "I'm very sorry your marriage was not a happy one.

"As am I. It began with great promise, but after Spencer's birth..." Her voice trailed off, and for several seconds her eyes filled with the shadows that clearly haunted her still. His fingers itched with the need to reach out and touch her. To smooth away her hurts. To soothe and comfort her as the mere thought of her comforted him.

Before he could move, however, she gathered herself and smiled. "But that's all in the past," she said. "Spencer and I love Little Longstone. I hope you'll enjoy your stay."

"I'm certain I shall."

"And you must make use of the warm springs while you're here. They are very therapeutic. I'm looking forward to taking the waters myself to ease the stiffness in my upper arm."

Andrew swallowed the apprehension that rose in his throat. He didn't relish the prospect of spending time near the water. In the water was out of the question.

He was saved from replying as the carriage jerked to a halt, signaling they'd arrived.

"Before we alight," she said, her voice low and her words coming fast, "I have a request. I would appreciate it if you did not mention last night's incident to Spencer. I don't wish to alarm him."

Andrew could not hide his surprise. "Surely he will see that you are injured."

"My sleeve hides the bandage."

"What about your lip?"

" 'Tis hardly swollen at all. I'm certain he won't notice."

"But if he does?"

"I shall tell him I bit it, which is the truth."

"Perhaps, but it is misleading nonetheless."

"I would rather gently mislead him than worry him."

The door opened, revealing a formally garbed footman who extended his hand to help Lady Catherine