“And rather served you right,” Mr. Stanton said, his grin teasing.

“Yes,”Catherine agreed with a laugh. “I fear I well deserved the sobriquet of ‘Imp’ that Philip bestowed upon me. Surely he’s told you what a devil I was.”

“Oh, he did.” The amusement slowly drained from Mr. Stanton’s expression. “But he also said that he was an awkward, clumsy, serious, pudgy youth who you coaxed from shyness by teaching him how to laugh and smile. How to take time for fun. That your exuberance, loyalty, and love saved him from what would otherwise have been a very lonely childhood.”

A swift jolt of emotion caught Catherine by surprise, swelling her throat, while images of her and Philip as children blinked through her mind. She swallowed hard to find her voice. “His peers often treated him unkindly, which never failed to infuriate me. I only wanted to make him as happy as they’d made him sad. Philip was, and still is, the very finest of brothers. And of men.”

“I agree,” Mr. Stanton said. “Actually, Lady Catherine, I would not be surprised if Philip suspected it was you outside his window and climbed that tree, whereupon he’d have discovered your little basket of pebbles. I assume he was aware of your aversion to worms?”

Catherine blinked, nonplussed, then shook her head and chuckled at her own folly. “Yes, he was. I’ll make a point of asking him about the incident when I see him next. That devil. As neither of you gentlemen has any siblings, I would not expect you fully to appreciate the need for brothers and sisters to irritate each other. Although it was all done in fun.”

“Mum still does impish things, you know,” Spencer announced.

Mr. Stanton looked immediately interested. “Oh? Like what?”

“She slides down the banister.”

Amusement-filled dark eyes assessed her. “Why, Lady Catherine, is this shocking statement true?”

“Sometimes I’m simply in a bit of a hurry to get downstairs,” she said as primly as she could.

“And sometimes she wakes me after Cook’s gone to bed so we can steal to the kitchens and find ourselves a grand snack.”

“Spencer is a growing boy who requires a great deal of nutrition,” she said even more primly, although the effect was ruined when she felt her lips twitching.

“She sings songs with naughty lyrics while she works in the garden.”

“Spencer!” Catherine’s face heated. Good heavens, she hadn’t realized he had heard. “I’m certain you, ah, misunderstood.”

“Not a bit. You tend to sing rather loudly. And off-key.” Spencer grinned at Mr. Stanton. “Mum couldn’t carry a tune in basket.”

“Will you regale us with a selection, Lady Catherine?” Mr. Stanton teased.

A bubble of horrified laughter escaped her, and she coughed to cover the sound. “Perhaps some other time. And now that everyone knows far more about me than they should, it is your turn, Mr. Stanton, to share an ‘I should not have done that’ tale.”

He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against his chin. After several seconds of consideration, he said, “The day I arrived in Egypt, after being on board a ship for weeks, I wanted two things: a hot, decent meal, and a hot, decent bath. After I’d eaten, I found a bathhouse on the outskirts of Cairo. Feeling well fed and clean, I departed, only to discover that I’d inadvertently ventured into an area known for cutthroats and thieves. Fortunately, I managed to get out alive. Unfortunately, I was robbed before I managed to escape.”

“Why did you not defeat the brigand with your fists?” Spencer asked, his eyes wide.

“Brigands. There were four of them. And as they all had knives and pistols, I’m afraid I would not have fared very well.”

“What did they steal from you?”

“My money. And my… clothes.”

Spencer’s jaw dropped. “Never say so! All your clothes?”

“All my clothes. Right down to my boots, which quite irked me as they were my favorites.”

“So you were…?” Spencer’s voice trailed off in disbelief.

“Naked as the day I was born,” Mr. Stanton confirmed.

“What did you do?”

“I briefly debated fighting them to get my clothes back, but decided my life was not worth the risk. Fortunately, they seemed disinclined to do away with me. Indeed, I think they were highly amused at leaving me to find my way home in broad daylight, naked as a babe.”

Heat whooshed through Catherine, and her throat went dry at the thought of Mr. Stanton, freshly bathed, standing in a column of golden sunlight. Naked.

She instantly recalled the chapter in the Guide dedicated to instructing Today’s Modern Woman on some of the many things she could do to, and with, a naked man. Her recollection did nothing toward cooling the inferno that seemed to have engulfed her.

“Did anyone see you?” Spencer asked, his eyes agog. Catherine prayed she did not wear a similarly rapt expression and barely resisted the urge to fan herself with her linen napkin.

“Oh, yes, but I just kept running as fast as I could. I finally filched a sheet from someone’s laundry, which afforded me a small measure of my lost dignity. Not one of my more stellar episodes, and while I can laugh about it now, it was not at all humorous at the time. Yes, wandering about Cairo on my own was just one of many ‘I should not have done that’ moments.” He grinned. “Would you like another?”

“Yes!” said Spencer.

“No!” said Catherine at the same time. Mr. Stanton naked, wandering about in a sheet, robbed by armed ruffians, naked… Lord only knew what else he’d done, and she was quite certain she did not want to know. Yes, quite certain.

A nervous laugh escaped her, and she rose, signaling the end to their meal. “Perhaps another time. For now, I suggest we retire to the drawing room. Do you play cards, Mr. Stanton? Chess? Backgammon?”

“I enjoy all three, Lady Catherine. What would be your pleasure?”

To see you naked. Catherine barely suppressed the horrified squeak that rose in her throat. Good God, where had that ridiculous thought come from? Of course she did not want to see him naked. The absurd, inappropriate notion was clearly just a consequence of his absurd, inappropriate story. Yes, that’s all it was.

Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Why don’t you and Spencer play while I enjoy my needlework by the fire?”

“Very well.” He turned to Spencer. “Backgammon?”

“My favorite,” Spencer said.

She led the way toward the drawing room and mentally congratulated herself on her excellent plan. She’d now have her needlework to concentrate on rather than her unsettlingly attractive guest.

An hour later, however, she realized that her plan was not so excellent after all. It was nearly impossible to focus her attention on the intricate flower pattern of her hated embroidery when her gaze continually strayed in the most annoying manner across the room to the French windows, where Mr. Stanton and Spencer sat, the backgammon board resting on a cherrywood table between them. Damnation, when had she lost control over her own eyeballs? Even when she managed to stare at her work, she accomplished little, for her entire being was focused upon trying to hear snippets of their conversation-a conversation Spencer was clearly enjoying.

The deep rumble of Mr. Stanton’s laugh mingled with Spencer’s chuckle, and for the hundredth time, Catherine’s hands stilled, and she peeked at the pair from beneath her lashes. Spencer’s mouth was stretched in a boyish, ear-to-ear grin. Pure delight emanated from him, and the fact that no shadows lurked in his eyes squeezed her heart with maternal love.

Spencer laughed again, and she gave up all pretense of needlework. Setting her project aside, she leaned back against the soft brocade of her wing chair, and just indulged in watching her son enjoy himself. She loved to see him smile and laugh, and he did so far too seldom in her opinion. During the last year he’d taken to solitary walks, wandering the estate’s gardens and trails that led to the warm springs. While he basked in the freedom afforded by the vast grounds, she worried that he spent too much time alone in sad reflection. She gave him the privacy he needed, but made certain that they still spent time together every day-talking, reading, sharing stories, eating their favorite foods, enjoying the gardens and each other’s company.

Now, sitting across from Mr. Stanton, Spencer looked happy, carefree, and relaxed in a way she rarely witnessed when he was in the company of anyone besides his familiar, immediate circle. Normally he was wary and withdrawn with strangers, fearing they would jeer at him or pity his condition. But clearly he harbored no such fear with Mr. Stanton.

Catherine’s gaze shifted to the man who’d invaded her thoughts far too often since last evening. His chin was propped upon his palm as he studied the backgammon board, while Spencer hooted with mock-diabolical laughter, predicting his defeat. It suddenly struck her how cozy and domestic this scene-indeed this entire evening- was, and acute yearning washed over her.

How many times during her marriage had she hopelessly wished to experience a pleasurable home-and-hearth scenario such as this? How many hours had she foolishly wasted inventing scenes in her mind, of her, Bertrand, and Spencer enjoying a meal, then father and son laughing over a game board, while she looked fondly on? More than she could count.

The fact that that vivid, longed-for image she’d held so dear to her heart had come to life before her eyes, prominently featuring Mr. Stanton, filled her with an aching sensation she could not name. He had not figured in the tableau she’d imagined. Yet even though his presence should have been all wrong, it somehow felt most disturbingly right.

She gave herself a mental shake. Good Lord, she was long past hoping for and wanting such a domestic scene. She and Spencer did not need anyone else in their lives. Still, looking at Spencer’s joyful expression, the animation with which he spoke to Mr. Stanton, filled her with a rush of gratitude toward her guest for the kindness he was extending toward her son. While Mr. Stanton possessed many qualities she found irksome, clearly Spencer enjoyed his company.