“Mr. Stanton?”
Andrew roused himself from his brown study. “Yes?”
“If you try, then discover that you can’t do it, that’s fine. Not everyone can excel at everything he attempts. The important thing is to try.”
One corner of Andrew’s mouth pulled up. “Surely it is written somewhere that ‘thou shalt not use a man’s own words against him. ’”
“Unfortunately for you, that is not written anywhere, ”
Spencer said positively. “And surely you cannot expect me to take your advice if you’re unwilling to take it yourself.”
Andrew blinked. The lad had him there. “Have you ever considered becoming a barrister?”
“No. But if I stand a chance of winning this—my first case—I may consider it.” He reached out and laid a comforting hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “I know it will be difficult, especially after what happened to your father. But a very wise man recently told me that if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always be where you’ve always been.”
Andrew shook his head. “Hoist upon my own petard,” he muttered.
“I appreciate your trust in sharing your secret with me, sir,” Spencer said in a very serious voice. “I give you my word it is not misplaced.”
There was no missing Spencer’s strong desire to be needed, to be important, to be good enough at something to teach someone else. It was all right there in the young man’s eyes, calling out to Andrew. It was a call he couldn’t ignore.
“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll try it. One time,” he added hastily when Spencer’s face lit up with an eager smile. “But if I don’t like it, we stop. Immediately.”
“Agreed. But first our pugilism lesson.”
Andrew nodded. “Ready?”
Spencer made two fists and struck a fighting pose. “Ready.”
“Have you taken to studying tea leaves, Catherine?”
At Genevieve’s question Catherine jerked her gaze up from her teacup and blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I wondered if you’d developed an interest in tea leaves since clearly there is something fascinating in the bottom of your cup.”
Heat rose in Catherine’s cheeks. “Forgive me, Genevieve. I’m a bit preoccupied.”
“Yes, I can see that. Is something amiss?”
Catherine looked at the warm concern in Genevieve’s blue eyes, and to her consternation felt hot moisture press behind her own eyes. “Not amiss, precisely, but there is something troubling me.”
“I’d be happy to listen if you’d like to tell me.”
“I don’t really know how or where to begin.”
Genevieve nodded slowly. “I see. This concerns Mr. Stanton.”
Catherine stared. “Good Lord, either I’ve become completely transparent, or everyone around me has developed clairvoyant tendencies.”
“There is nothing of a transparent or clairvoyant nature at work here, darling. ‘Tis just that I know you so well, and the fact that since I have a great deal of experience in these matters, I can easily recognize the signs.”
“These matters? Signs? What do you mean?”
“Why, I’m talking about you and Mr. Stanton. Last evening. The way he looked at you. The way you tried so hard not to look at him. The way you waltzed together.”
“I... I don’t know what to say. My thoughts are so confused, I’m not certain how to describe them.”
“Catherine, there’s nothing to be confused about. I understand completely.”
A humorless laugh escaped Catherine. “Then perhaps you could explain it to me.”
“Gladly. You find Mr. Stanton very attractive—in spite of the fact that you do not wish to.”
“I don’t wish to,” Catherine agreed emphatically. “And what makes it worse, I cannot fathom why I find him so fascinating. He is the most irritating man I’ve ever encountered.”
“Which is why you find him so fascinating,” Genevieve said with a soft laugh. “He is challenging in that he does not fall at your feet and agree with everything you say like the rest of the men seeking your favor. Yet he is kind and holds you in the highest regard. To say nothing of the fact that he is a delight to look at.” Genevieve's sharp-eyed gaze studied her for several seconds. “I’m guessing he kissed you.”
Fire erupted in Catherine’s cheeks. “Yes.”
“He is a man who knows how to kiss a woman.”
“Truer words have probably never been spoken.”
“Did you make love with him?”
A heated tremor sizzled through Catherine at the mere thought. “No.”
“But you want to.” Clearly, Genevieve needed no confirmation of that because before Catherine could speak, she continued, “Obviously he wishes to. Did he give you any indication what his intentions are?”
“He said he intends to court me.”
“Ah!” Genevieve’s eyes sparkled. “Not only is he charming, handsome, intelligent, and—”
“Irritating. You seem to keep forgetting that—”
“—Well traveled, he is honorable as well.”
Feeling decidedly like a hen whose feathers were badly ruffled out of place, Catherine said tartly, “As I told him last evening, there is no point in courting me, as I’ve no intention of marrying again.”
“So you wish for him merely to seduce you,” Genevieve said with a matter-of-fact nod. “You could easily convince most men to agree to your terms, but one can tell at first glance that your Mr. Stanton is not most men.”
“He is not my Mr. Stanton.”
Genevieve brushed the comment away with her gloved hand. “I do not see him turning down the opportunity to become your lover, but his intention to court you leads me to think he will not be satisfied with that arrangement in the long run.”
“Yes, I’m certain he’d tire of me after a time.” The words felt like sawdust in Catherine’s mouth, and she sipped her tea to relieve the discomfort.
“You misunderstand, my dear. Mr. Stanton stated he wishes to court you. He wants a wife. He will grow tired not of you, but of the nonpermanent nature of your relationship. When he does, he will push for you to marry him.”
“He will not succeed.”
“Then it is my guess that he will end your relationship at that time.”
Catherine ignored the odd feeling that pervaded her at the bald statement, and laughed. “I was not aware that gentlemen ended relationships because the woman refused to get married. What sort of man would want the responsibility of a wife, especially a wife who comes with another man’s child, when he could have the carefree enjoyment of a mistress?”
“The sort of man who wants a family. Permanence. A woman and child to share his life with. A man who is capable of giving a woman all the things a man like your husband was not. The sort of man who is in love.” Genevieve shrugged. “Mr. Stanton could be any one of those—or perhaps all of them.”
“He cannot possibly be in love with me, Genevieve. We barely know each other.”
“It does not take long to fall in love.” A wistful, faraway look entered Genevieve’s eyes, and Catherine knew her friend was thinking of her former lover. Genevieve appeared to give herself a mental shake, then offered Catherine a sad smile. “Indeed, it can happen distressingly fast. And unfortunately, Cupid’s arrow often strikes our hearts at inconvenient times and makes us fall in love with very inconvenient people. Lord knows I am a perfect example of that.”
“I am not in love with Mr. Stanton. Heavens, I don’t even particularly like him!”
“Actually, I meant Mr. Stanton, my dear. It certainly is inconvenient for him to have feelings for a woman who is dead set against marriage. To say nothing of a woman who is his social superior. And I believe you like him more than you think. Certainly more than you are willing to admit.”
An instant denial rose to Catherine’s lips, but she found she could not utter the words. Instead, she set her teacup aside and rose to pace in front of the floral chintz settee
. “I cannot deny I am faced with deciding what to do with this... inconvenient attraction to Mr. Stanton.”
“It isn’t difficult, Catherine, as you only have two options: ignore your feelings, or enjoy them and indulge in an affair.”
Catherine shook her head. “It is not that simple. There are things I must consider before making such an important decision.”
“It is precisely that simple. You want him, he wants you, neither of you are attached, neither are innocents— what else is there to consider?”
“My son, for one thing. What if he were to find out I’d taken a lover?”
“Well, naturally you would be extremely discreet, Catherine. Not only to protect Spencer, but yourself as well.”
“Someone could still find out.”
“Yes, but no one said that taking a lover was free of risk. Oftentimes the risk itself lends an air of excitement to the affair.”
“What about the fact that Andrew lives in London?”
“He may live in Town, but he’s in Little Longstone now.”
“But he will return to London in a week’s time.”
Genevieve raised her brows. “I would think that would be perfect. You do not want a permanent relationship, and he is leaving Little Longstone in one week. What could be more ideal?”
Catherine halted in her pacing in front of the fireplace. “I had not considered it quite that way.”
“Perhaps you should.”
Gripping the edge of the mantel, she tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I never should have reread the Guide last night.” She looked at Genevieve over her shoulder and gave a sheepish laugh. “As I’m sure you can imagine, it put all sorts of ideas in my head.”
“I’m certain it did. But I think it’s far more likely that you were driven to reread the Guide because those ideas were already in your head—put there by Mr. Stanton.”
Catherine nodded slowly. “Yes, you’re right.” She turned to face her friend. “What if I conceived a child?”
“As you know from the Guide, there are various ways to prevent that from happening.” Genevieve stood and walked to stand next to Catherine. Clearly Catherine’s anguish showed because Genevieve did something she rarely did—she reached out her gloved hand and touched Catherine’s shoulder in a show of support and sympathy.
“I can see you are distressed, my dear, and you should not be. There is really only one decision, and I believe that in your heart you know what that is. Allowing yourself sensual pleasure does not make you less of a good mother. As the Guide points out, being selfish upon occasion is not a crime.”
“There is no room for this man in the life I’ve built here.”
“Perhaps not in the long term, but there could be room for the next week.”
Silence stretched between them until finally Catherine said softly, “You would take him as a lover.”
“Yes,”Genevieve replied without hesitation. “I would not deny either of us the pleasure. I would listen to my heart and carpe diem! Seize the day! But based on my writings in the Guide, I’m sure you knew that.” A sad smile touched her lips. “Every woman deserves a grand passion in her life, Catherine. It is one thing to read that such sensual pleasures exist, but to experience them...”She heaved a dreamy-sounding sigh. “The memories of my time with Richard will continue to warm me for the rest of my life.”
Catherine’s heart turned over with sympathy. “You do not have to be alone, Genevieve.”
Her friend held up her hands. “These are not hands a man wants touching him.”
“There is more to you than your hands. You are a beautiful, intelligent, vibrant woman.”
“Thank you. But a grand affair, the taking on of a lover, is based on a strong physical attraction, and that, I’m afraid, is in the past for me. But not for you. Catherine, what is your heart is telling you?”
Catherine closed her eyes. She’d expected to listen to an internal battle between her mind and her heart, but the yearnings of her heart drowned out any other sound—and with only two words.
She opened her eyes. “My heart says carpe diem.”
Chapter 13
While the intimacy afforded by the dark lends itself to sensual encounters, Today’s Modern Woman should not hesitate to try making love without the cover of darkness. Seeing every nuance of your lovers expressions, watching surrender overtake control adds layers of pleasure to the lovemaking experience.
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Feeling in need of a brisk ride to settle her runaway thoughts, Catherine decided to stop at the stables on her return walk from Genevieve’s cottage. The double oak doors were thrown open, and she stepped into the cool, shadowy interior. Dust motes danced on ribbons of sunshine streaming through the windows, and she drew in a deep breath, loving the heady scent of fresh hay, horseflesh, and leather. The murmur of masculine voices reached her ears, and her heart quickened. Was Andrew once again in the stables with Fritzborne?
She walked toward the voices, and realized the sound was coming from round the corner—the old, rear section of the stables that had not been refurbished. As she drew closer, the voices became more distinct, and she realized that one of the voices indeed belonged to Andrew. The other belonged to Spencer.
“That’s good,” said Andrew, his words growing more distinct with her every step. “Keep your left hand up. Higher. Protect your face. Now jab with your right.”
“I can’t bloody reach you,” came Spencer’s breathless reply, followed by a grunt. Catherine paused and raised her brows at her son’s language.
“Move your strong leg back a step. That will draw me in closer. Then, once I’m in your range, lunge forward and jab.”
“Ha! I’ll get you now.”
“Ha! I’d like to see you try.”
Catherine tiptoed forward, her slippers silent on the wood floor. When she reached the corner, she peeked around the doorway. And froze.
Andrew and Spencer appeared to be engaged in... fisticuffs? Neither wore their jackets or cravats, and both had rolled back their shirtsleeves to their elbows. Her jaw dropped as Andrew bounced on the balls of his feet, feinting back and forth, while Spencer, fists clenched at chin height, swung at him several times and missed. Then Andrew’s hands flashed out, narrowly missing Spencer’s jaw. Spencer leaned back to avoid the blow, and nearly toppled backward.
A cry of fright raced into her throat, but before she could utter it, Andrew caught her son’s upper arm and steadied him. “Watch your balance, Spencer. Keep your weight forward and raise those hands to prevent—”
“What on earth is going on here?” Catherine, voice shaking with a combination of anger and fright, stepped from the shadows and planted her hands on her hips.
Andrew froze at the sound of her outraged voice and glanced over his shoulder, hoping she would not look as upset as she sounded. Their eyes met, and his heart sank. Not only did she look angry, she appeared horrified as well.
He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, something struck him directly under the chin with a perfectly placed blow. Instantly realizing the something was Spencer’s fist, Andrew staggered back a step, got his feet tangled up, and landed squarely on his arse on the hard wood. He winced and made a mental note to fall toward the haystack next time.
“Good heavens, Spencer, have you—or rather both of you—taken leave of your senses?” came Catherine’s voice from behind him. He heard her rushing forward.
Spencer shifted his stupefied gaze from his clenched fist to Andrew, then back to his fist, then to his mother, who appeared to have steam exiting her ears. He visibly swallowed, then moved toward Andrew. “I say, Mr. Stanton, I didn’t mean to—”
Andrew held up one hand to stop the boy’s words while he rubbed his sore jaw with the other. “Now that was an excellent, perfectly executed blow, and a perfect example of the second rule
I taught you, which is... ?”
“Always take advantage of your opponent’s weakness.”
“Precisely. I was momentarily distracted by your mother’s arrival, and the next thing I know, I’m on my arse on the floor. Very nicely done.” He jumped to his feet, brushed some dust from his breeches, then with a smile, he offered Spencer his hand. “I’m proud of you.”
The flush of unmistakable pleasure washing over the boy’s face, combined with the wonder and gratitude in his expression, warmed Andrew’s heart in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Th... thank you, Mr. Stanton.” His smile collapsed as suddenly as it had appeared. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Andrew moved his jaw back and forth, then winked at the lad. “I’ll survive.” He then turned his attention to Catherine and smiled, pretending he did not notice her thunderous expression. “Your son is an excellent pupil.”
“Pupil? Please do not tell me that you are teaching him to fight with his fists.”
“All right, I won’t tell you that.”
“What are you doing?”
“Since you’ve requested that I not tell you that I’m teaching him to fight with his fists, it’s going to be very difficult to answer that question.”
She leveled a look on him that made him thankful he wasn’t milk, as he would have curdled on the spot. She then swiveled her glance toward Spencer. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Mum. Of course. It’s Mr. Spencer who got knocked on his bottom.”
“And I’m very well, thank you.”
Her angry glance jumped back and forth between him and Spencer. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”
“I was teaching Spencer some fundamentals of pugilism,” Andrew said. “As you can see, he is a very apt pupil.”
“Why on earth would you teach him something like that? Did either of you consider the risks? He could have fallen. Gotten seriously hurt. He nearly toppled backward only a moment ago.”
“But I didn’t, Mum,” Spencer broke in. “Mr. Stanton caught me.”
“And if he had not been successful?”
LOVE AND THE SINGLE HEIRESS Page 17
