“An angel’s smile.”
“Yes. Before her death, my mother and I spent many happy hours together in the gardens. When I’m here, I feel as if she’s with me, smiling down at me from heaven.” Feeling suddenly embarrassed by her ramblings, she said, “It’s just silly whimsy.”
He gently clasped her hands and entwined their fingers, a gesture that simultaneously comforted and excited her. “It’s not silly, Catherine. It’s important to have places that mean something to us. Places where we can go to settle our thoughts. Find peace. Relive our favorite memories. Or just enjoy a bit of quiet.”
“You must have such a place of your own, to understand it so well.”
“I’ve had many during my travels.”
“Have you one in England?”
“I do.” He smiled. “When next you travel to London, I’ll show you my favorite bench in Hyde Park, and my favorite alcove in the British Museum.”
She returned his smile and firmly ignored her inner voice, which coughed to life to remind her that she had no intention of traveling to London in the foreseeable future. “Why did you ask Fritzborne about my favorite part of the garden?”
“Because I needed to know for your surprise.”
“Another surprise? I’m not certain how many more surprises I’m capable of experiencing today.”
“Have no fear. Come.”
He released her one hand, then, still holding the other in his warm grip, he led her toward the copse of elms. Curious, she looked around, but did not see anything out of the ordinary. When he stopped near the tallest tree, however, the scent of freshly dug dirt tickled her nose, and she looked down. And stilled.
There, in the pale glow of the moonlight, stretched an unfamiliar flower bed filled with a profusion of plants of various sizes surrounding the two outermost trees. She instantly recognized the familiar foliage, and her breath caught. “What is that?”
“Do you not recognize the plant? It is—”
“Dicentra spectabilis,” she whispered. “Yes, I know.”
“You said the bleeding heart was your favorite. I noticed a number of bleeding hearts scattered about your garden, but not a single large grouping.”
As if in a daze, she released his hand and crouched down to run her finger gently over a delicate row of tiny, perfectly shaped red-and-white hanging blooms. “You did all this?”
“Well, I cannot take all the credit. I enlisted Fritzborne’s and Spencer’s help.”
“They know of this?”
“Yes. Spencer helped me pick out the plants when we visited the village. Fritzborne hid them in the stables, then transported them here this afternoon. Spencer and I planted them.” He chuckled. “I think keeping this a surprise nearly killed the lad.”
“Yes, I imagine it did.” She pulled her gaze away from the stun-inducing wonder of the flower bed and looked up at him over her shoulder. “This is why you wanted to go to the village? To purchase these?”
“Among other things, yes.”
She moved to rise, and he immediately extended his hand to assist her. She slipped her hand into his, absorbing the warm, callused texture of his palm as it surrounded hers. When she once again stood facing him, she did not release his hand.
“Other things?” she repeated, her heart thumping in slow, hard beats. “Don’t tell me there are more surprises.”
He smiled. “All right. I won’t tell you that.” He brushed an errant curl from her forehead, and her hard-thumping heart skipped a beat at the intimate gesture.
“I cannot believe that the small flower shop in the village had such an abundance of plants available,” she said.
“Actually they had only a few. When I told the shopkeeper I wanted more, he suggested some of the village residents might be willing to sell their plants. So Spencer and I proceeded to knock on doors.” He laughed. “I think we met nearly everyone in the village in our quest for bleeding hearts.”
She could only stare. “You’re saying you went to the homes of people you didn’t know to ask them if you could purchase plants from their gardens?”
“That sums it up very well. Everyone was quite happy to allow Spencer and me to dig up their plants for ‘Lady Catherine’s surprise. ’”
Heavens, there had to be at least three dozen plants surrounding the elms. “You went to a great deal of trouble.”
“I wouldn’t call doing something for you trouble.”
Her gaze drifted downward again, and at the sight of what he’d done for her, a rush of tenderness swamped her, swelling her throat with emotion, and pushing moist heat behind her eyes. Returning her gaze to his, she squeezed his hand and spoke the simple truth, “No man has ever done such a lovely, thoughtful thing for me.” And romantic; her inner voice chimed in with a feminine sigh. You forgot to add romantic.
He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin inside her wrist. “I did tell you I enjoy being first.”
The feel of his mouth on her skin, the quiet words breathing heat, licked tiny trails of fire up her arm. He then lowered her hand to press it against his chest, where his heart thumped strong and fast against her palm. Almost as strong and fast as her heart was beating. Because of the way he was looking at her. How close he stood. And because of not only what he’d done, but the way he’d done it.
“The flowers are even more special because you included Spencer in your surprise,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
To her mortification the moisture building up behind her eyes overflowed, and a pair of tears leaked from her eyes.
His eyes widened with a look that could only be described as masculine panic. “You’re crying.”
He sounded so horrified and accusatory, the sob that was caught in her throat bubbled forth as a laugh. “I’m not.”
“Then what do you call this?” He caught one tear on the tip of his finger while his other hand frantically patted his pockets, presumably for a handkerchief.
Now amused—thank goodness—she slipped her own lace hanky from her long sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“Are you still crying?”
“I was not crying.”
“Again we require the dictionary.” He reached out and took the handkerchief from her, then gently dabbed at her cheeks. When he finished, he tilted his head first left, then right, peering at her closely. “It appears you’ve stopped.”
“I had not started. I’d simply... sprung a freakish leak of the eyeballs. Today’s Modern Woman does not cry when a man brings her flowers. Heavens, if that were the case, I’d have been in a state of constant hysterics for the past fortnight.”
She said the words in a teasing manner, but the instant they left her lips, she realized that these were not just any flowers. Moreover, it was becoming alarmingly clear that the man standing in front of her was not just any man.
He handed her back her handkerchief, which she tucked up her sleeve. “Well, consider me relieved that your, er, freakish eyeball leak has corrected itself.”
He did indeed look relieved, and she had to bite back a smile. Even in the aftermath of the shooting, he’d remained calm and collected. Yet the sight of feminine tears clearly undid the man, a trait she found utterly endearing.
Dear God. She simply did not want to find something endearing about him. Bad enough she already found him painfully attractive. Speaking of which, her inner voice interjected, ‘tis well past the time to put your plan into action.
Angel’s Smile would do just as nicely as the gazebo, and she did not want to wait any longer for him to hold her. Kiss her. Which, for some reason she could not fathom, he had yet to do. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and demand to know what the bloody blazes he was waiting for. Well, it was simply time to take matters into her own hands.
Giving him what she hoped passed for a carefree, yet with a hint of alluring smile, she said, “Your generosity and thoughtfulness makes me feel all the m
ore guilty about the wager we made.”
“Wager?”
“Regarding you reading A Ladies’ Guide?”
His confused expression cleared. “Ah, yes. That wager. Why do you feel guilty about it?”
“When we made the wager, we’d agreed upon a time of three weeks. Since then we’ve mutually decided that you’ll only be in Little Longstone for one week. I’m afraid that given the time constraints and the fact that it would prove nearly impossible for you to secure a copy of the Guide here, I think we need to discuss terms.”
His expression turned thoughtful, and taking two steps backward, he leaned his back against the thick trunk of the elm behind him and studied her. “If it would be nearly impossible for me to secure a copy of the Guide here in Little Longstone in one week’s time, I don’t see how I would have been able to accomplish the task in three weeks. Or three months for that matter. Which makes me wonder if perhaps I was duped.”
“Not at all. With three weeks at your disposal, you would have had sufficient time to send an order to a London bookstore and have had a copy delivered to you here. If you’d been so inclined.”
“Ah. But now that I only have a week—”
“I fear that is no longer a viable option,” she said, injecting just the right note of regret in her voice. However, her conscience made her ask, “If you still had the three weeks’ time, would you have sent an order to London?”
“No.”
It was all Catherine could do to keep her lips from curving into a triumphant smile. Perfect. He’d swallowed her bait without a hitch. Now all she had to do was reel him in.
“I thought not,” she said, keeping her expression serious, “which means that—”
“Our wager is void.” He nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
She stared at him. “Void? That is not what I was going to say at all.”
“Oh? What were you going to say?”
“That I was the winner.”
His brows shot upward, and he folded his arms across his chest. “How did you arrive at that conclusion?”
“You just admitted that you would not have made arrangements to secure a copy of A Ladies’ Guide from London, regardless of the length of your stay in Little Longstone. You will recall that in order for you to win the wager, you had to read the Guide, then engage in a discussion about it, which you cannot do if you do not have a copy, which you cannot secure without making special arrangements, which by your own admission you’ve no plan to do, which, even if you did plan to do, you no longer have the time to do.” She finished her speech with a flourishing wave of her hand and sucked in a much-needed breath. Then she offered him her sweetest smile. “Therefore, that means I am the winner.”
He remained silent for several seconds, studying her with a slightly bemused expression that delighted her. Excellent. She’d obviously thrown him off-balance. Her strategy was working brilliantly. Now for the final step...
“Do you concede?” she asked.
“It would appear I have little choice.”
Her heart leapt in anticipation. “As I’m sure you recall, the winner is entitled to a boon of their choosing.”
“Ah, yes. Now that you mention it, I do recall that.” He chuckled. “So that is why you wanted me to concede rather than call our wager void. I suppose I’ll be spending tomorrow polishing the silver.”
She took one step closer to him. “No.”
“Weeding the roses?”
Another step closer. “No.”
“Mucking out the stalls?”
Another step. Now only an arm’s length separated them. Her heart was beating so hard she felt the pounding in her ears. “No.”
His watchful gaze held hers for what felt like an eternity, but was surely no more than ten seconds. Finally, he said in a husky voice, “Then perhaps you should tell me what you do want, Catherine.”
Carpe diem, her inner voice prodded. Summoning all her courage, Catherine took one more step forward. Her body brushed against his, and his masculine scent filled her head. Encouraged by his sharp intake of breath, she placed her palms against his chest and looked directly into his eyes.
“I want you to make love to me.”
Chapter 14
Today’s Modern Woman should strive to gain a level of sexual expertise. The woman who is well-versed in the delights of the bedchamber can be confident that her lover will not lose interest and seek companionship elsewhere.
A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Andrew remained perfectly still, allowing his mind and body to absorb fully the stunning impact of her words and actions. Catherine standing before him, desire shimmering in her eyes, her hands splayed against his chest, her lush body leaning against his. The smoky timbre of her voice when she whispered that heart-stopping sentence. I want you to make love to me.
For as many times as he’d fantasized about her saying those words, nothing prepared him for the reality. His heart slapped so hard against his ribs, it wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d said, what on earth is that drumming sound?
Yet, beneath the layers of elation, desire, want, and need, flickered a single, tiny candle of discontent. Yes, he desperately wanted to make love to her, but he wanted a great deal more than that. Given her aversion to marriage, and her belief in the precepts put forth in A Ladies’ Guide, one of which encouraged “women of a certain age” not to remain celibate, she clearly only wanted an affair. If he refused her, would she turn to someone else? The mere thought of her asking another man to make love to her clenched his jaw.
Not that he had any intention of refusing her.
She shifted against him, and his entire body tightened. Yes, he wanted much more from her, but for now, this was enough.
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, and he realized that he’d remained silent too long. That she thought his silence meant he planned to refuse her. Words and feelings he’d suppressed for what felt like an eternity welled up, clogging his throat, rendering him unable to speak. But it mattered not as he was incapable of forming a coherent sentence. Only one word echoed through his mind, a mantra of all he wanted. All he’d ever wanted from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Catherine. Catherine. Catherine.
She clearly read the inferno of desire he knew burned in his gaze because the uncertainty vanished from her eyes, and her lips parted. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he drew her fully against him while he ran his other hand up her back until his fingers sifted into her soft, upswept hair. He lowered his head as she rose up on her toes.
The instant their lips met, he was lost. In the sweet seductive taste of her. In the incredible feel of her pressing against him. In the delicate floral scent of her. The delicious friction of her tongue rubbing against his. The erotic sound of her moan of pleasure.
Needs and wants that had gone unanswered, unfulfilled for so long, clawed him like sharp talons. Spreading his legs, he gathered her closer, pressing her into the V between his thighs. His erection strained against his tight breeches, and he cursed the barrier of the clothing between them. Another low moan rumbled in her throat, and she rubbed herself against him, stripping away another layer of his rapidly vanishing control.
While his lips and tongue explored all the velvety delights of her mouth, one of his hands came forward to palm her breast while his other hand slid down her back to cup her rounded bottom. She gasped, and her head fell limply back, presenting him with the delicate, vulnerable curve of her neck, a delicacy he instantly took advantage of.
Catherine strained closer, thrilling to the feel of his hard, aroused body. Closing her eyes, she clutched his broad shoulders in an effort to remain upright against the storm of sensations battering her. His lips and tongue blazed a trail of fire down her neck, fanning the flames already burning her. One strong hand kneaded her breast through the material of her gown, tightening her nipple and shooting shards
of sharp want down to her womb, while his other hand massaged her buttocks with a slow, hypnotic motion that forced a long, need-filled moan from her throat. The feminine flesh between her legs felt swollen and heavy and moist, and a mounting desperation edged through her.
He lifted his head, and a groan of protest vibrated in her throat.
“Not here,” he whispered, his breathing as ragged as hers. “Not like this.”
Her heart tripped over itself at the naked hunger in his eyes. At the waves of desire all but emanating from him. He looked as if he wanted to devour her, and everything feminine in her thrilled at the thought.
“You deserve more than a quick grope against a tree, Catherine.”
God help her, but a quick grope against the tree— indeed anything to relieve the sweet ache imprisoning her—sounded like heaven. But he was right. This was not the place.
She was about to grasp his hand and lead him toward the gazebo, when he grasped her hand, and headed in that direction.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice an aroused growl. She fell into step beside him, excitement and anticipation coursing through her. “Where are we going?”
“The gazebo. It’s closer than the house. And more private.”
“How do you know about the gazebo?”
“I came across it while riding Aphrodite.”
She was glad the darkness cloaked the satisfied grin curving her lips. Not only would they end up at the gazebo, but he would think it had been his own clever idea. Wouldn’t he be pleased to discover when they arrived that the enclosed structure wasn’t completely empty—it contained the supplies she’d smuggled out of the house and left there earlier this afternoon. She’d longed to bring more, to turn the space into a cozy haven, but hadn’t dared risk anyone discovering her leaving the house carrying more than a basket. That would have led to questions she did not want to answer. After all, she could not very well say that she was preparing the gazebo for a tryst. And while the setting was admittedly rustic, according to A Ladies’ Guide she’d have all she needed for a memorable night—a cozy quilt, a bottle of wine, a wedge of cheese, and... herself and Andrew.
LOVE AND THE SINGLE HEIRESS Page 19
