And damnation, what a fine-looking backside it was.

She watched him climb the stone steps to the terrace, and after he’d disappeared through the French windows leading into the house, she roused herself from her slack-jawed stupor and strode toward the house. She felt in great need of a restorative cup of tea. Two cups of tea might well be needed to settle her ruffled feathers. Three would not be beyond the realm of possibility.

Chapter 8

Today’s Modern Woman must not fear acting upon the attraction she feels fir a man, yet she should recognize that it is possible to be bold and discrete at the same time. An “accidental” brushing against his body a whisper only he is meant to hear, will thoroughly capture his attention.


A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore


“It’s your turn, Mum.”

Catherine’s chin jerked up, and she met her son’s smile across the dining room table. Heavens, how long had she been lost in her own thoughts, staring at her dinner of peas and poached turbot?

She blinked away her preoccupation and forced a smile. “My turn?”

“To share an ‘I wish I had not done that’ story.” His grin widened. “Tell Mr. Stanton about the time you were stuck in the tree.”

In spite of her best effort to remain focused on Spencer, her errant gaze shifted to Mr. Stanton. Why could she not keep from looking at the man? All through dinner she’d surreptitiously peeked at him from beneath her lashes, unable to forget her conversation about him with Genevieve. All evening she’d hoped in vain that a note would arrive from her father relating the news that the culprit was caught, thus relieving her mind that she faced any danger. Then there would be no further need for Mr. Stanton to remain in Little Longstone. His increasingly disturbing presence could return to London, thus ending this unwanted… whatever it was. Yes, the moment he was gone from her home, she would forget him.

In the meanwhile, it was damned difficult to contemplate forgetting him when he sat not ten feet away from her, looking large and masculine and incredibly attractive in a Devonshire brown jacket and snowy linen shirt. His dark eyes studied her with an arresting combination of warmth, interest, amusement, and something else that she couldn’t define. But whatever that something else was, it tingled heat down to her toes.

One dark eyebrow quirked upward. “Stuck in a tree?” Mr. Stanton repeated. “My curiosity is aroused, Lady Catherine. Please, you must share this tale. How did such an unfortunate predicament occur?”

“I was rescuing a kitten.”

“Don’t tell me you climbed a tree to do so.”

“Very well. I won’t tell you that. However, by not doing so, it shall be very difficult to continue my story.”

There was no mistaking his surprise, but rather than feeling abashed at his stunned expression, she barely suppressed a laugh of delight at shocking him.

“In that case, tell me what you must to continue.”

She inclined her head in acquiescence. “Several years ago, Fritzborne brought home a cat he’d found wandering in the woods. In a remarkably short time, we found ourselves the proud owners of a litter of kittens. They were adorable, but the most mischievous little beasts ever born. The one we named Angelica was, ironically, the most devilish of the group. One day, while Spencer and I were returning from the springs, we heard a pitiful sound. We looked up and saw Angelica perched on a high limb of an elm. She required rescuing, so I did the job.” She cleared her throat and stabbed a pea onto her fork. “The end.”

“But Mum, you left out the best part,” Spencer protested. “The part where you became stuck.” His eyes alight with animation, he turned toward Mr. Stanton. “Mum’s gown became tangled in the branches. When she couldn’t free herself, I went to the stables to fetch Fritzborne. We returned to the tree with a sturdy rope and a basket. Fritzborne tossed the rope to Mum, affixed the basket, then with a bit of ingenuity, Angelica was lowered to the ground in the basket.”

“Leaving your mother still stuck in the tree,” Mr. Stanton said.

“Yes,”Catherine interjected with an exaggerated sniff. “While that dastardly kitten ambled off as if nothing had occurred.”

“How did you get down?”

“Fritzborne returned to the house to fetch scissors, which he sent up in the basket,” Catherine said. “Of course, Milton, Cook, and Timothy the footman, had returned with him. While I sat upon the branch, hacking away with the scissors to free my gown, the group of them stood below, arguing how best to get me down. Spencer, bless him, came up with the winning suggestion. I tied the rope around the branch I sat upon, then simply slid down. The end.”

Spencer sent her a long-suffering look. “Mum…?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, very well. I was so proud of myself for successfully sliding down the rope, I decided to let go a few feet from the ground and give my audience a graceful curtsy. Unfortunately I landed in a slippery patch of mud. My feet went up, and my bottom went down.” She gave them both a rueful smile. “Luckily the mud was quite soft, as were my petticoats, and nothing save my pride was hurt. However, no stretch of the imagination could call the outing dignified. And my dress was beyond ruined. Most assuredly an episode I call ‘I should not have done that. ’”

She sipped her wine, then said, “Once I’d assured everyone I was unharmed, they all burst out laughing over my horribly disheveled appearance.”

“You should have seen her, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer said, his eyes filled with humor. “Leaves in her hair, dirt on her nose, gown muddy and chopped off.”

“Yet I’m certain you still managed to look enchanting,” said Mr. Stanton.

An unladylike snort escaped her even while warmth at his compliment flowed through her. “I’m afraid I looked the exact opposite of ‘enchanting.' However, some good did come out of the debacle as the ‘I should not have done that’ tradition was born that day. Since then, Spencer and I often relate such tales to each other in an attempt to spare each other embarrassment.” She shot Spencer a mock fierce frown and shook her finger at him. “Learn from my folly, son.”

Spencer adopted an equally serious expression. “Rest assured, should I ever slide down a rope from a tree, I will make certain not to land in a slippery mud hole.”

She gave Mr. Stanton a conspiratorial smile. “You see how marvelously it works?”

“I’m duly impressed,” Mr. Stanton said, his returning smile filled with a warmth that suddenly made her feel a bit breathless. “Except for your gown, a happy ending all around. What ever became of Angelica?”

“Oh, she’s still here, prowling the grounds and the stables, along with several of her siblings and some children of her own.”

“An impressive tale of courage, Lady Catherine,” Mr. Stanton said, “but I’m amazed that you even thought to climb the tree in the first place.”

“Oh, Mum used to climb trees all the time when she was my age,” Spencer said, a note of pride in his voice.

Mr. Stanton’s gaze never left hers. “Indeed? Your brother never told me that, Lady Catherine.”

“Most likely because my brother doesn’t know about my youthful predilection for scrambling up trees.” A chuckle she couldn’t contain escaped her. “Although he should, seeing as he was the victim of it-but he never solved that particular mystery.”

Unmistakable interest flared in his eyes. “What’s this? Something Philip doesn’t know? You must tell me.”

She adopted her most prim expression. “My lips are sealed.”

“That’s wretched, Mum,” Spencer declared. “You mentioned it, so now you must tell.”

Mr. Stanton’s brows rose, and he looked at Spencer. “You don’t know what she’s talking about?”

“I’ve no idea. But unless she wants us to expire from curiosity, she’ll tell us.”

She tapped her pursed lips with her fingertips. “I suppose I can’t have that weighing upon my conscience. But you must promise never to tell.”

“Promise,”both Spencer and Mr. Stanton said dutifully.

“Very well. When I was about Spencer’s age, I would climb the tree outside Philip’s bedchamber at night and toss pebbles at his window.”

“Why did you do that?” Spencer asked, his eyes wide.

“He was my older brother, darling. It was my responsibility to annoy him. He was convinced the noise was some horrid bird pecking at his window. He’d open the French windows and charge onto his balcony, flapping his arms and saying the naughtiest words, promising all manner of retribution when he caught the guilty bird.”

“That’s horrible, Mum,” Spencer said, but ruined the scolding by laughing.

“He never discovered it was you and not a bird?” Mr. Stanton asked, his amusement evident.

“Never. In fact, I’ve never told anyone, until now.”

“I am honored to be taken into your confidence.” He chuckled. “Although I would dearly love to tell Philip that I know something he does not.” At her frown, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “But I’ll keep my promise not to tell. I’m a man of my word.”

“When did you finally stop tossing the pebbles, Mum? Did Grandfather discover you?”

“Heavens, no. Your grandfather would be properly shocked if he knew I’d even thought about climbing a tree. I’d tied a small basket to one of the tree’s branches, and in it I kept my supply of pebbles. One night I reached my hand into the basket and was horrified to discover that it had become infested with worms.” A shudder ran through her at the memory. “I do not like worms. That episode quite cured me of my tree-climbing tendencies.”