LOVE AND THE SINGLE HEIRESS

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  But she could not make such an important decision, like whether or not to take him as a lover, while wrapped in his arms. She needed to think. And in order to do so, she had to put some space between them.

  She slowly stepped back, until three feet separated them. His gaze wandered down her body. Her wet chemise clung to her skin, revealing everything to his avid gaze, but instead of feeling shy, she reveled in the intense need and desire etched on his face.

  “You’re beautiful, Catherine. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

  The desire his words fueled in her left her shaking and frightened. Hoping to cool the fire racing through her, dispel the sensual tension bouncing between them, she attempted a laugh. “How can you possibly say that? You haven’t met every woman in the world.”

  “I don’t need to touch fire to know it would burn me. I don’t need to smash a hammer on my finger to know it would hurt. Or eat a sweet from the confectionary to know I’d want another one. Some things, Catherine, you just know.” He reached out and lightly grasped her hand, entwining their fingers. “I also know that our next kiss will be even more Oh, my than the one we just shared. And the one after that...”He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a warm kiss against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. “Indescribable.”

  “Our next kiss, Mr. Stanton? What makes you think there will be a next kiss?”

  “As I said, some things you just know.”

  Another bout of heat whooshed through her. Good heavens. It was time to end this interlude before their next kiss happened right now. Turning, she strode to the flat rock where she’d placed her robe. After slipping her arms into the sleeves, she tightened the sash around her waist. When she turned around, he stood not two feet away. She drew in a sharp breath, and her head filled with his delightful, musky the scent.

  “Andrew,”he said softly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Just now you called me Mr. Stanton. I’d prefer you call me Andrew. Just as I’d prefer to call you Catherine.”

  She’d called him that to put a bit of emotional distance between them, but she doubted her ability ever to think of him in such formal terms again. Not now that she knew the texture of his skin. The silkiness of his hair. The sensation of his tongue stroking hers. And she could not deny that she liked the sound of her name coming from his lips. Amazing how simply dropping the word “Lady” changed... everything.

  “I suppose we’re on a first-name basis now. Very well... Andrew.” His name tasted decadent, luscious upon her tongue.

  He reached out and clasped her hands in a warm grip. “Are you sorry about what happened between us, Catherine?”

  She shook her head. “Not sorry. But...”Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right word to describe the jumble of emotions careening through her.

  “Scared?” he guessed. “Confused?”

  Botheration, when had she become so transparent? “Do you have clairvoyant capabilities, Andrew?”

  “Not at all.” He lifted her hands, one at a time to his mouth, his gaze never leaving hers. “I only suggest those because they are some of the things I’m feeling.”

  “Scared? You?” She meant to laugh, but the sound came out as a breathless sigh when his tongue brushed the center of her palm.

  “Terrified is actually closer to the truth.”

  The fact that this strong, virile man would admit such a thing touched her in a way she couldn’t describe. “Why?”

  “I’d say for the exact same reasons you are.”

  “Because as pleasant as our kiss was, you’re not sure it was a good idea?”

  “No. I think it was a good idea. And Catherine, our kiss was much more than ‘pleasant. ’”

  “Must you disagree with everything I say?”

  “Only when you’re wrong. And you’re wrong to describe what happened between us with a bland word such as pleasant.”

  Well, she certainly couldn’t argue with that. “Why are you scared?”

  He said nothing for several long seconds, clearly considering how to answer her. Finally, he said, “I’m afraid of tomorrow. I’m afraid that once we leave here, once we go our separate ways for the rest of the night, that when I see you again tomorrow you’ll have forgotten what we shared here. Or if not forgotten, then you’ll have decided to ignore it. I’m afraid you’ll look at me with coolness rather than heat in your eyes. I’m afraid that you’ll stop what we could share together before it’s even had a chance to start.”

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t think there is anything I can say right now to allay your fears. But I can assure you that I will not forget what we shared this evening.”

  A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Something else for us to agree upon, for I will not forget it. Not if I live to be one hundred. Now you tell me—what are you confused about?”

  She toyed with the idea of lying. Or simply leaving. But it was most likely best that she should speak her mind. “My mind and my common sense are telling me to walk away and not look back. Everything else in me, however, does not want to do that. I am not a naive, virginal miss, and I know where this... flirtation could lead. However, I’ve more man just myself and my desires to consider. Therefore, I have a great deal of thinking to do. And decisions to make.”

  “As do I.”

  “Indeed? What sort of decisions do you have to make?”

  A hint of deviltry sparkled in his eyes. “I must decide how best to entice you to make the decision I want you to make.”

  Matching his mischievous tone, she said, “You realize, of course, that arrogance is a most irritating character trait that will certainly not tip the scales in your favor during my decision-making.”

  “I spoke not out of arrogance, but out of honesty—a trait most people appreciate and find admirable.”

  “Are you saying you intend to seduce me?”

  “I’m saying I intend to court you.”

  Catherine’s heart skipped. A ridiculous reaction to a ridiculous statement. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He raised his brows. “You’d prefer not to be courted?”

  “There is no point in your doing so.”

  “So you’d prefer simply to be seduced.”

  “Yes. I mean no! I mean, oh!” She stepped away from him and pulled her robe tighter around her. “You are so—”

  “Irrepressible? Irresistible?”

  Amusement she couldn’t deny rippled though her, and her lips twitched. “I was going to say irritating.”

  “I must confess, I like my choices much better.”

  “Yes, I’m certain you do.”

  “Why is there no point in me courting you?”

  “Courting is a precursor to marriage, and as I’ve no intention of marrying again, your efforts would be wasted.”

  “A man cannot court a woman simply because he enjoys her company?”

  “Do you enjoy my company, Mr. Stanton?”

  “Andrew. And yes, I do. When you’re not being so prickly. Although, I must admit that I enjoy your company even when you are prickly. I just enjoy it more when you’re not.”

  “I am not prickly.”

  “If you don’t think so, clearly you do not know the definition of the word. Between that and not knowing what a surprise is, I think it might behoove me always to keep a dictionary in easy reach.”

  “Is this your idea of courting me? Irritating me until my head hurts?”

  “No. However, I don’t see that it makes much difference as you’ve said you don’t wish to be courted.”

  Catherine bit her lips, not certain if she were more amused or vexed. Shooting him an exaggerated frown, she asked, “Do you know who is more annoying than you?”

  His eyes twinkled with clear amusement. “No, but I’m certain you’re about to tell me.”

  “No one, Mr. Stanton. I’ve never met anyone more annoying than you.”

  “Andrew. And how fortunate that I so enjoy being in first p
lace.”

  He smiled, a beautiful, full smile, complete with the enticing dimples that had her pressing her lips together to keep from responding in kind. Botheration, where had her irritation disappeared to? She shouldn’t feel like smiling. She was supposed to be irked. Annoyed. Why then did she feel so utterly... charmed?

  Clearly it was time that she took her leave of him.

  She stepped forward, but he stopped her by lightly grasping her upper arm. All vestiges of humor left his eyes, and he reached out to trail a single fingertip down her cheek. “I think we shared something good here tonight, Catherine.”

  A tingle tripped down her spine. How did he elicit such a strong physical reaction from her with just the whisper of a touch? Although she desperately wished it otherwise, she could no longer lie to herself and deny that she found this man irresistibly attractive.

  Now the only question was, what did she intend to do about it?

  Chapter 12

  Today's Modern Woman must realize that it is not a crime to be selfish upon occasion. In many aspects of life, women are expected to, indeed ofttimes forced to, put the wants and needs of others above her own. In many instances these sacrifices are admirable. In other instances, however, they are foolhardy. Today’s Modern Woman should take the time to look in a mirror, and say to herself, “I want this, I deserve this, I am going to have it.”

  A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

  Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

  by Charles Brightmore

  “Are we almost finished, Mr. Stanton?” Spencer asked for the third time in the last quarter hour.

  Crouched on the rough wooden floor of a little-used part of the stables, Andrew smiled over his shoulder. Spencer stood next to a bale of hay, holding a broom—for the first time in his life. When Andrew had handed him the tool half an hour ago, Spencer had stared at the wooden handle for several seconds as if it were a snake, but then he got into the spirit of the task. The sheen of hard work glistened on the young man’s face, as did clear satisfaction in the fruits of his labors.

  “The floor looks good,” Andrew said. “I just need to hammer a few more nails. Then we can begin.”

  While Andrew set another nail in place, Spencer cleared his throat. “I want to thank you for taking such good care of my mother after the shooting.”

  Andrew turned around, giving the boy his full attention. “It was my pleasure to do so, Spencer.”

  “I would have thanked you sooner, but she did not tell me about it until yesterday.” He looked down and plucked a piece of hay from the bale. “When she first told me, I was not only angry at her, but at you as well for not telling me.”

  “It wasn’t my place to tell you, Spencer. And your mother’s intentions were good. We all try to protect the people we love.”

  “I know. Mum and I talked about it. I’m not angry anymore. She promised not to keep any more secrets from me.”

  “Good.”Andrew crossed to the bale of hay and extended his hand. “I hope we are still friends?”

  Spencer’s head jerked up, and his serious gaze met Andrew’s. Reaching out, he clasped Andrew’s hand in a strong grip and nodded. “Friends. But... no more secrets.”

  Guilt hit Andrew like an open-handed slap, and he merely nodded in response, not willing to give voice to such a blatant falsehood. His entire life was based on secrets. And lies.

  He released Spencer’s hand, then stepped back to retrieve his hammer. “I’ll finish this so we can begin,” he said. Burying his regret at being less than honest in the face of Spencer’s trust, he set a nail in the wood and pounded out his frustrations.

  Ten minutes later, Andrew completed the task, and he stood to survey his handiwork. While Spencer had cleared away the dust and cobwebs from the area, he’d affixed three dozen wood rectangles, each approximately the size of a brick, to the floor to form a wide circle. Yes, this would do very nicely.

  “Ready?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes. And eager.” He indicated the wood blocks with his chin. “Now will you tell me what those are?”

  “They’re to aid your balance during our pugilism lessons. Once you are steady on your feet, there is no reason why you cannot do well. Allow me to demonstrate. Brace the side of your weak foot along the wood, then step forward with your strong foot, keeping most of your weight on the forward leg.”

  After Spencer had done so, Andrew said, “As long as you keep your weight forward, the wood will keep your weak foot from sliding, thus preventing you from falling backward.”

  Spencer slowly flexed his knees several times, then a broad smile lit his face. “I say, that’s quite ingenious, Mr. Stanton.”

  Andrew took a bow. “Thank you. I’m certain you did not mean to sound so shocked.”

  The boy’s smile faded, and he looked distressed. “Oh, no. I—”

  “ ‘Twas a jest, Spencer. Now, let’s start with the basics. There are two basic principles to pugilism. Any idea what they are?”

  “To punch the other fellow and not let yourself get punched.”

  “Exactly.”Andrew cocked his head. “You seem to know a great deal about this. Are you certain you’ve never done this before?”

  “Most certain,” Spencer said, his face perfectly serious.

  Andrew suppressed his smile. “In order to do those two things, you must know how to deliver a punch and how to block or avoid a punch.”

  “I imagine speed is very important in this sport,” Spencer said, his voice wistful.

  “It is. But it is not the only thing. Timing and the ability to outthink your opponent are just as important. What you may lack in speed, you will make up for in intelligence. And you’ll recall that the goal here is not to become the most feared pugilist in the kingdom—only the best that you can be.”

  “But what if I can’t do it at all?”

  “If you try, then discover that you can’t do it, that’s fine. Not everyone can excel at everything he attempts, Spencer. The important thing is to try. I truly believe you can do this. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have hammered this makeshift ring into place. If it turns out I’m wrong, then so be it. If nothing else, you’ll have learned you don’t like it.”

  “You won’t think I‘m... foolish? Or stupid?” He looked at the ground. “Or a failure?”

  The worry and resignation in the boy’s voice tore at Andrew. Reaching out, he placed his hands on Spencer’s shoulders and waited until Spencer looked up to meet his gaze. “Whether you excel at this or not, I would never think you to be anything less than a courageous, intelligent, successful young man.”

  The hope that flared in the lad’s eyes made the space around Andrew’s heart go hollow. Spencer blinked, then swallowed. “Do you truly mean that?”

  “You have my word.” He released his shoulders, then ruffled his hair. “Indeed, I envy your courage.”

  “You?” The word was a snort of disbelief. “You and Uncle Philip are the bravest men I know.”

  “Thank you, although I believe we are the only men you know,” he teased.

  Spencer’s face flushed bright red. “That’s not true. I know—”

  “I was jesting, Spencer.”

  “Oh. I... knew that.” He frowned. “What sort of courage do I have that you envy?”

  Andrew paced before the boy several times, debating, then halted. “If I tell you, do you promise not to think me foolish or a failure?”

  Spencer’s eyes widened. “I’d never think such a thing, Mr. Stanton. I promise.”

  “Very well.” Andrew raked his hand through his hair, then drew a deep breath. “Icannotswim,” he said in rush. There. He’d said it. Out loud.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Damn. It appeared he’d have to say it again. “I. Cannot. Swim.”

  Spencer’s eyes widened further. “Never say so. Are you certain?”

  “Very. I never learned. As you know, my father did not know how to swim, and who else would have taught me? After he drowned,
any enthusiasm I might have had for the water abruptly left me. The last time I was in the water, except for a bathtub of course, was during some ridiculous reenactment of an ancient Nile canoe crossing your uncle insisted I participate in. I was too embarrassed to admit I couldn’t swim, so against my better judgment I did it. The canoe overturned, and I nearly drowned.” A shudder ran through him as he relieved the stark terror of the water closing over his head. Filling his lungs. Shaking off the memory, he gazed steadily at Spencer. “Believe me, I understand your trepidation about trying something over which you feel you have no control. But I’ll help you. You can do it. If you really want to.”

  “So could you, you know.”

  He smiled. “I already know how to fight.”

  “I meant swim. Have you ever tried to learn?”

  “No. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m afraid of the water.”

  “But you crossed an entire ocean!”

  “And don’t think I wasn’t scared. Believe me, I stayed far away from the rails.”

  “I could teach you to swim, you know. We could start today! Right after our pugilism lesson.”

  Andrew actually felt the blood drain from his face. “Today? No, I don’t think—”

  “I could teach you to swim, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer went on, his eyes alight with eagerness. “Won’t you allow me to try? I’d be honored to teach you something in return for everything you’re teaching me. And once you learn, you can take the waters with me and Mum—not that you need to know how to swim to take the waters. The springwater would only reach your chest.”

  The “no” that had hovered on Andrew’s lips fell away as he considered this opportunity. If he learned to swim... he instantly imaged him and Catherine together at night in the spring, kissing, touching in the warm, soothing water. Then a relaxing, fun-filled family afternoon, splashing and swimming with Spencer and Catherine.