“Yes. Although I suspected you really wanted my complete surrender.”

“And is that what you want, Mr. Stanton? My complete surrender?”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Are you offering it, Lady Catherine?”

He hadn’t moved, yet somehow it seemed as if he’d drawn closer to her, and she took an involuntary step backward. Then another. Her back bumped into the rough, wooden wall.

“Today’s Modern Woman does not surrender, Mr. Stanton. If the occasion calls for it, she may consider a graceful capitulation.”

“I see. But only if the occasion calls for it.”

“Precisely.”

“Well then.” He stepped forward, stopping less than an arm’s length away. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t read, along with a hint of unmistakable amusement.

Amusement? Aggravating man. How dared he be amused when she was so… unamused. Out of sorts. And damnation, breathless by his nearness. She pressed herself harder against the wall, but compensated for her cowardice by raising her chin a notch.

He reached out and captured her hand in his, and her breath backed up in her throat at the sensation of his skin touching hers. She detected the roughness of calluses and realized she’d never been touched by hands like his- hands that did not bear the softness of a gentleman’s. Her hand looked pale and small and fragile against the tanned strength of his, yet his touch, while strong, was infinitely gentle. She watched, transfixed, as he slowly raised her hand to his mouth.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed a graceful capitulation, Lady Catherine. I shall look forward to it-should the occasion arise.” The words whispered over her skin, stunning her with a flash of heat. Then, with his gaze on hers, he pressed a warm kiss to her fingertips.

Oh, my. The sensation of his mouth touching her fingers sizzled pure pleasure up her arm. Before she could recover her breath, he lowered her hand and released it, and she pressed her lips together to contain her disappointment.

His touch was… lovely. Gentle, yet with an underlying intensity that made her feel as if her skirts had caught fire. It had been so very long since a man had touched her. Yet she hadn’t realized that she’d missed it so very much until just now. And never had a touch inspired such a blaze of heat…

Catherine gave herself a mental shake. Good heavens, this wouldn’t do at all. She surreptitiously wiped her fingers on her gown in a vain attempt to remove the provocative feel of his lips from her skin. “I cannot imagine such an occasion arising, Mr. Stanton.”

He had the nerve to smile. “Hope springs eternal, Lady Catherine.”

Humph. The best thing clearly was for her to retreat and remove herself from his disturbing presence. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stanton…”She turned and walked toward the stall door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Instead of merely letting her leave, he reached out and opened the stall door for her. Not about to let him ruin her perfect exit, she swept through the opening like a ship under full sail.

He immediately fell into step beside her. “I’ve finished grooming Venus, and as there is something I need to discuss with you, I’d be happy to escort you back to the house.”

She bit the inside of her cheeks. She had no desire to discuss anything with this vexing man.

Vexing. She instantly brightened. Yes, he was vexing. Irritating. She could not, would not, find such a man attractive. Perhaps she should engage him in conversation regarding the Guide so as not to forget exactly how irritating and vexing he was. To remind herself how little they had in common. Because she somehow seemed constantly to forget.

Marching from the stables, she struck out for the house at a brisk pace, intent upon her plan of retreat. He not only kept up with her easily, but looked as if he were just strolling along while doing so.

“Are we late?” he asked.

“Late?”

“Based on the speed of your gait, which quite resembles a gallop, by the way, I was wondering if we were perhaps late for dinner.”

“I enjoy a brisk walk. It is, um, very good for the constitution.”

“You are clearly feeling better. Is your arm hurting?”

“Only faintly. What did you wish to discuss with me?”

“When do you plan to tell Spencer what happened?”

“Why do you ask?”

“He asked me this afternoon if something had upset you in London. Clearly he sensed something in your manner.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That our journey to Little Longstone had exhausted you.”

“Which is true.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t the truth, and I did not like being less than honest with him. I’d like to know when you plan to tell him, as I wouldn’t want to mention the incident to him before you’ve done so.”

“I would prefer that you not mention it at all.”

She felt, and ignored, the weight of his stare. “Surely you intend to tell him what happened.”

“What would be the point? He’d only worry needlessly.”

“But what if he finds out from someone else? Your father. Or Philip, whom your father has most likely notified. Or Meredith.”

Damnation, the man had a point, and about something that was none of his business, which only served to vex her further. “I agree that the news should come from me-if I decide to tell him. Therefore, I shall write to Father and Philip and ask them not to mention the incident.”

“I fully understand your concern for your son, indeed it is admirable. Still, don’t you think Spencer would prefer the truth-especially since you can assure him you’re going to make a full recovery? I believe he deserves as much. A lad on the brink of manhood does not appreciate being treated like a child.”

“When did you become an expert on children, Mr. Stanton-and my child in particular?”

“Actually, I know nothing about children, except that I once was one.”

“So you consider this the voice of experience speaking?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. No one likes being lied to.”

She halted, swung around to face him, and treated him to her most glacial stare. “As much as I’m excruciatingly grateful for your unsolicited advice, I really think / know how best to handle this situation. Spencer is my child, Mr. Stanton. You barely know him. I’ve raised him alone- and without interference-from the moment he was born. If I decide to tell Spencer, I will do so in my own way, when we have a quiet moment together, so as to minimize his worry.”

He said nothing for several seconds, just stood, the breeze blowing his hair, his gaze steady on hers in a way that made her want to squirm and perhaps examine her behavior, but she feared it would not hold up well to intense scrutiny. After all, hadn’t she been living a lie these last months regarding her connection to the Ladies’ Guide? And she was increasingly, uncomfortably aware that something about this man affected her behavior in ways she didn’t understand. And wasn’t certain she liked.

Finally, he inclined his head. “Spencer was already worried about you. And it bothered me to step around the issue with him. I well recall how difficult it was to be a boy that age. No longer a child, not yet an adult. I knew I was capable of much more than anyone gave me credit for, and I think perhaps Spencer is as well. However, I offer my apologies. I meant no offense.”

“Indeed? I suppose then that you thought I’d consider it a compliment to be called a liar?” She shoved aside her inner voice that whispered you are a liar.

“I did not intend to call you such.”

“What was your intention?”

“Merely to encourage you to tell him what happened. As soon as possible.”

“Very well, Mr. Stanton. Consider me encouraged.” She raised her brows. “Now, is there anything else you feel we need to discuss?”

He blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair in a gesture of clear frustration. Good. Why on earth should she be the only one out of sorts? “Only that I’m not certain how another conversation has deteriorated into an argument.”

“ ‘Tis no mystery, Mr. Stanton. It is because you are opinionated, irritating, and altogether aggravating.”

“A statement that is very much like the lake calling the ocean ‘wet,' Lady Catherine.”

She opened her mourn to respond, but he touched his index finger to her lips, effectively cutting off her words.

“However,”he said softly, the warmth from this finger heating her lips, “in addition to finding you opinionated, irritating, and altogether aggravating, you are also intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, not to mention delightful company-at least most of the time.”

His finger slipped slowly away from her mouth, and she pressed her lips together to keep from involuntarily licking them.

“ ‘Til dinner, Lady Catherine.” Offering her a formal bow, he turned and walked toward the house, leaving her to stare after him, robbed of speech.

Her lips still tingled from the gentle pressure of his finger, and now that he couldn’t see her, she flicked out the tip of her tongue to taste the warm spot.

She was outraged. Completely. Who was he to tell her how to handle her son? Or to suggest that he found her as opinionated, irritating, and altogether aggravating as she found him? And then to turn around and dare call her intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, and delightful company-at least most of the time. Clearly he was a scoundrel of the first order. A scoundrel who-Thinks I’m beautiful.

A completely unacceptable delighted shiver quivered down her spine, and she heaved out the sort of prolonged, feminine sigh she’d believed herself long past heaving. Lifting her hand to shade her eyes against the last remnants of the setting sun, she stared at his retreating backside.