LOVE AND THE SINGLE HEIRESS

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  But he knew, and the effect upon him, the assault on his senses, was anything but soft. Desire—fierce, hot, and so long denied—slammed into him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in a vain attempt to curb the needs clawing at him.

  Her utter stillness, the rigid set of her spine, roused his common sense. Summoning all his strength, he forced himself to slip his hands from her waist and step back. “I beg your pardon,” he said in an unsteady voice that sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel. “I was not watching where I was going.”

  She said nothing for several seconds, then cleared her throat and lowered her hands from the door. “Apology accepted.”

  He stilled at the slight quaver in her voice. Was the unsteadiness of her words the result of embarrassment or anger? Or was it possible that she’d been as affected by those few seconds as he? He silently willed her to turn around, so he could look at her face, read her eyes, to see if any hint of desire existed, but she did not oblige him. Instead, she opened the door and quickly headed toward the marble fireplace lining the far wall.

  Andrew crossed the threshold, then closed the door behind him. The click reverberated in the heavy silence, a silence he was sorely tempted to break by pointing out that his begging her pardon had not been an apology. He certainly wasn’t sorry he’d had the unexpected opportunity to touch her—although perhaps he should be. The exquisite feel of her was now embedded in his mind, and his body, his lips, still tingled from the impact.

  He grimaced and shifted. Although it irked him that she continued to stare into the low-burning flames and ignore him, it was for the best. If she turned around right now, she would surely notice just how much their brief encounter had affected him.

  “Would you mind if I have a drink?” he asked, hoping one of the group of crystal decanters set on the round, mahogany table next to the settee contained brandy.

  She did not turn. “Please, help yourself.”

  “Would you care to join me?”

  She surprised him by saying, “Yes. A sherry, please.”

  Andrew crossed to the decanters. He took his time pouring the two drinks, pulling in slow, deep breaths until he’d gained control of his emotions and body. He then walked to the fireplace, stopping a safe distance away from her.

  “Your sherry, Lady Catherine.”

  She finally turned to face him. Hectic color stained her cheeks, but whether the beguiling hue was due to embarrassment, the warmth of the fire, or desire, he couldn’t tell. She regarded him with a perfectly calm, cool expression that snaked irritation down his spine. Well, obviously it hadn’t been desire. Trying his best to match her unconcerned look, he handed her the crystal cordial glass.

  “Thank you.” She took the glass, and he noted that she was very careful to not allow their fingers to touch. She shifted her gaze from him and sipped her drink. He followed suit, resisting the urge to toss back his potent brandy in one gulp.

  After taking a second sip, she slipped a piece of ivory vellum from the pocket in her skirts and held it out for him. “This arrived a short time ago from my father. The man responsible for the shooting has been apprehended.”

  Andrew set down his drink, took the note, then quickly scanned the contents. Billy Robbins. His jaw tightened when he read the name of the man who’d injured Catherine. The man who could have so easily ended her life. Be happy Newgate has you and not me, you bastard.

  When he finished reading, he handed her back the note. “I’m relieved the scoundrel was caught. Thank goodness Mr. Carmichael was so observant.”

  “Yes. We all owe him our thanks.” She tucked the note back in her pocket. “As this man’s capture means that there is no longer a threat of danger to me—”

  “No longer?” Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “I was not aware there was a threat of danger to you. What are you talking about?”

  A flicker of what looked like fear flashed in her eyes, but disappeared so quickly he couldn’t decide if it was real or imagined. She pressed her lips together for several seconds, then said, “I meant there is no longer a threat of danger to my health. I’m feeling very well, and Milton and my staff can fully see to my needs. Without any assistance.”

  Understanding dawned, along with a healthy dose of annoyance, and, damn it, hurt. She wanted him to leave Little Longstone.

  “I can arrange to have my carriage at your disposal tomorrow morning,” she continued. “While I appreciate your kindness and thank you for escorting me home, I wouldn’t want you to sacrifice any more of your valuable time away from your work in London.”

  Before Andrew could think of a suitable reply—having wisely decided that Hell no, I’m not leaving was not suitable—a knock sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” Lady Catherine said.

  The door opened, and Spencer shuffled into the room. His smile faded as his gaze bounced between his mother and Andrew. “Is something amiss, Mum?”

  She appeared to square her shoulders, then offered Spencer a smile. “No, darling. Did you need to speak to me?”

  Spencer looked clearly unconvinced. Instead of answering his mother’s question, he asked, “What were you just talking about?”

  Lady Catherine set down her drink, then crossed the pale green Axminster rug to bestow a kiss upon Spencer’s cheek. “Transportation arrangements. Mr. Stanton will be leaving us tomorrow to return to London.”

  “Leaving? Tomorrow?” There was no mistaking the boy’s dismay. He turned toward Andrew and gazed at him with eyes brimming with confusion and hurt. “But why? He only arrived yesterday.”

  Lady Catherine said, “Mr. Stanton has many responsibilities in London, Spencer, even more with your uncle Philip unavailable. While he was kind enough to leave his work at the museum to escort me home, he must return to his duties.”

  “But why must he leave so soon? We’ve only just started—” He clamped his lips together and shot Andrew an imploring look.

  “Started what?” Lady Catherine asked.

  “A surprise for you,” Andrew cut in. “Something Spencer and I discussed yesterday afternoon. I promised to lend my assistance.”

  She raised her brows. “What sort of surprise?”

  Pure chagrin washed over Spencer’s face. Before the boy could reply, Andrew again spoke up. “If we told you, it wouldn’t be any sort of surprise.” He shot Spencer a conspiratorial wink. “I believe we need to fetch the dictionary for your mother, Spencer, so she can look up ‘surprise. ’ ”

  “I know you’re not normally fond of surprises, Mum,” Spencer said in a rush, “but you’ll like this one. You’ll be proud of me, I know, when we’re finished.”

  “I’m already proud of you.”

  “Then you’ll be more proud.”

  She studied her son’s face for several seconds, then she turned toward Andrew. “You promised him this... whatever it is?”

  “I did.”

  “You did not mention this to me earlier.”

  “It had not occurred to me to do so as that is the nature of a surprise. Also, I hadn’t anticipated my visit here being quite so short in duration.”

  Silence filled the room, and Andrew could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. Why was she suddenly so anxious to get rid of him? Was there some aspect of her life that she worried he’d discover? Her earlier words, this man’s capture means that there is no longer a threat of danger to me bothered him greatly. The fact that he’d detected fear in her eyes more than once since the shooting made her explanation of “danger to my health” ring untrue. Had she lied? If so, why?

  There were only two other reasons he could think of that would make her anxious for him leave. If she were interested in forming a relationship with a man—like perhaps one of her many bouquet-sending suitors— Andrew’s presence in her home could put a damper on her plans. But that made little sense since she’d made it plain that she did not wish to form an attachment.

  The other reason made his heart pound with hope. If she vehemently did not want to f
orm an attachment, yet found herself attracted to me...

  She’d want him to leave. As soon as possible. Could that be why she’d acted so prickly around him lately—because she was fighting desire?

  He shook himself from his reverie and looked at her. She looked very disgruntled—rather the way Andrew imagined a general would if his brilliant military campaign was just outmaneuvered. Hmmm. This was very promising.

  “How long will this surprise take to complete?” she asked him.

  “At least a week,” Andrew said, certain that a halo magically appeared above his head to accompany the angelic expression into which he arranged his features.

  “A week!” There was no mistaking her dismay—or the suspicion ripe in her voice.

  Spencer instantly brightened. “You can stay that long, Mr. Stanton?”

  “Yes,”Andrew said.

  She shot him an undecipherable look, then turned toward Spencer, whose eyes were filled with a heartbreaking combination of excitement and hope. There was no mistaking she was torn. Finally, she reached out and ruffled the boy’s dark hair.

  “A week,” she agreed.

  Spencer’s smile could have lit a darkened room.

  “Well, now that that’s been settled,” said Lady Catherine, “I shall depart for my visit with Mrs. Ralston.”

  “Is your friend’s home on the way to the village?” Andrew asked.

  “As a matter of fact it is. Why?”

  “Would you mind if I came along? There are some items I need to purchase and would like to visit the local shops.”

  “What do you wish to purchase?”

  He made a tsking sound and waggled his finger at her. “Cannot tell. All part of the surprise.”

  “Perhaps we have on hand whatever these supplies are.”

  “I’ve already ascertained that you don't.” He turned to Spencer. “Would you care to join me, Spencer?” he asked casually.

  Andrew instantly sensed the tension that filled the silence. He knew Spencer rarely left the security of the grounds, and perhaps it was too soon to encourage this outing to the village, but they’d made such great strides this morning during their first horseback-riding lesson, Andrew hoped to keep their momentum going.

  Several more seconds of silence passed, and Andrew could see Spencer was conflicted.

  Lady Catherine cleared her throat. “That is very thoughtful Mr. Stanton, however, Spencer doesn’t like to venture—”

  “I want to go,” Spencer cut in.

  “You do?” There was no mistaking his mother’s amazement.

  Spencer nodded vigorously, and Andrew wondered if the lad was trying more to convince his mother or himself of his decision. “I want to help with the surprise.” He lifted his chin. “I’ll be fine, Mum. Mr. Stanton will keep me safe. I want to go. Truly.”

  She hesitated for several heartbeats, and Andrew could plainly see her surprised pleasure at Spencer’s words. Indeed, he fancied she blinked back tears. Finally, she smiled at her son. “I’d be delighted to have the company. I’ll have the carriage brought around. You can drop me at Mrs. Ralston’s cottage, then continue on to the village. No need to return for me—I‘d enjoy a brisk walk home.”

  “Can we use the curricle instead?” Spencer asked.

  “That way Mr. Stanton can show me how to handle it.” He turned to Mr. Stanton with a hopeful expression. “You do know how, don’t you?”

  Andrew nodded. “Yes, but a curricle only seats two people.”

  “We can all squeeze onto the seat,” Spencer insisted. “I do not require much room at all. Besides, it’s only a short ride to Mrs. Ralston’s, and then there’d only be two of us since Mum wishes to walk home.”

  Andrew turned to Lady Catherine, who was clearly stunned by this turn of events. Keeping his voice and expression perfectly bland, he said, “I’m amenable to trying Spencer’s plan, if you are, Lady Catherine. If we discover the seat is too crowded, I would be happy to walk beside the vehicle to Mrs. Ralston’s house.”

  She looked at him with a combination of worry and hope. “Do you promise not to travel swiftly during this lesson?”

  He laid his hand over his heart. “I swear I would never do anything to place Spencer, or you, in any danger.”

  Her gaze drifted back to Spencer and she smiled. “Very well. The curricle it is.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Spencer, under Mr. Stanton’s patient tutelage, successfully brought the pair of matching bays to a halt in front of Genevieve’s cottage. Catherine’s heart contracted at the utter delight and triumph etched on her son’s face.

  “I did it,” he said, his cheeks flushed with victory.

  “Yes, you did,” she agreed. “And marvelously well. I’m so proud of you—” Her throat swelled, cutting off her voice, and to mask her emotion, she pulled him to her for a hug. Spencer’s arms wrapped around her, and with her cheek pressed to his, she looked over his shoulder and met Mr. Stanton’s steady, dark-eyed gaze.

  Her heart thumped against her ribs, and the myriad of confusing, conflicting emotions this man inspired assailed her once again. But one rose swiftly to the surface—gratitude. She was deeply grateful to him for giving this joy to Spencer. Blinking back the moisture that ridiculously threatened behind her eyes, she smiled at him. Thank you, she mouthed silently.

  His lips curved upward in a warm smile that stalled her breath. You’re welcome, he mouthed back.

  “My goodness, is that Master Spencer at the reins of this fine equipage?”

  At the sound of Genevieve’s rich, sultry voice, Catherine yanked her gaze from Mr. Stanton and released her son.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ralston,” Spencer said, grinning hugely. “Yes, ‘tis I. I’ve just learned to drive it.”

  Genevieve approached the curricle from the flower-lined path leading to her cottage, her avid gaze taking in the three passengers squashed into the seat. Dressed in a cheery yellow muslin gown decorated with sprigs of embroidered lilacs, she looked like a breath of late-summer sunshine. “Why, I nearly did not recognize you, Master Spencer,” she said, her smile directed at the lad. “You’ve grown into quite the strapping young man since I saw you last.”

  There was no missing Spencer’s flush of pleasure at her words. “Thank you, Mrs. Ralston.”

  “And whom have you brought to see me today?” she asked with a teasing grin.

  “Well, my mum, but you already know her.”

  “Yes, Lady Catherine and I are well acquainted.”

  “And this is our friend, Mr. Stanton. He traveled all about Egypt with my uncle Philip. You should ask him about the time his clothes were stolen by knife-wielding brigands.”

  Heat rose in Catherine’s cheeks as the thought of a naked Mr. Stanton slammed into her mind. Genevieve’s smiling gaze swept over Mr. Stanton with unabashed interest. “I am curiosity itself.”

  Catherine cleared her throat. “Genevieve, allow me to properly introduce Mr. Andrew Stanton, my brother’s business partner in his museum venture. Mr. Stanton, my dearest friend, Mrs. Ralston.”

  Mr. Stanton unwedged himself from the seat and jumped nimbly down. He offered Genevieve a formal bow and a friendly smile. “A pleasure, Mrs. Ralston.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Stanton. Welcome to Little Longstone. Are you enjoying your visit?”

  “Very much. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to take pleasure in such fresh air and tranquil, colorful surroundings.” He indicated the profusion of well-tended blooms surrounding them. “Your garden is exceptional.”

  Genevieve beamed. “Thank you. It is entirely Catherine’s doing. She resurrected the entire area from the weed-infested, overgrown disaster it was when I purchased the cottage. She won’t hear of me hiring a gardener.”

  “A stranger?” Catherine interjected, her voice filled with mock horror. “Tending my darlings? Never!”

  “You see?” Genevieve said to Mr. Stanton with an arch grin. “A very headstrong woman.”

  “Indee
d?” Mr. Stanton said, his face the picture of exaggerated shock. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  A delighted laugh trilled from Genevieve. “Will you join us for tea?”

  “Thank you, but Spencer and I are on our way to the village.”

  “Another day then?”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your visit with Lady Catherine.”

  “Nonsense. I simply must hear about these knife-wielding ruffians.”

  He laughed. “In that case, I’d be honored to join you another day.” After a brief nod of thanks, he walked to Catherine’s side of the curricle and raised his hand. “May I assist you, Lady Catherine?”

  Catherine stared at his hand and swallowed. She did not want to touch him. Her brutally honest inner voice immediately branded her a liar, and she clenched her jaw. Botheration. All right, she wanted to touch him. But she greatly feared doing so. Feared her reaction, especially if it was anything like what she’d experienced when he’d walked into her in the corridor...

  Oh, stop being ridiculous, she chided herself. It was merely his hand. Helping her so she didn’t ignominiously tumble to the ground from her perch. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d actually have to touch him, as they both wore gloves. Giving what she hoped passed for a cool, unconcerned smile, she placed her hand in his.

  His fingers wrapped around hers in a sure, strong grip, and warmth permeated through her gloves to sizzle up her arm. An accompanying heat blossomed on her cheeks, and she prayed no one would notice. The instant her feet touched the ground she snatched her hand away as if he’d burned her.

  “Thank you.” Shielding her eyes against the sunlight dappling through the trees, she smiled up at Spencer. “Enjoy your outing.”

  “I will, Mum.”

  Mr. Stanton turned, as if to climb back onto the curricle, but instead he leaned toward her. “Don’t worry,” in said in a low voice only she could hear. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  He swung himself into the seat, then with a smile and a nod at her and Genevieve, he instructed Spencer to go. Seconds later the curricle was heading off toward the village.