At that instant, Mr. Stanton turned, and their eyes met.

Heat sizzled through her, skittering jitters to her stomach, and her toes involuntarily curled inside her satin slippers. How did he manage to throw her so off-balance with a mere look? How was it that his presence in her home simultaneously comforted yet agitated her? And why, oh why, was she so intensely aware of him?

His lips curved upward in a slow smile, then he returned his attention to the backgammon board. She snapped her lips together, horrified to discover that they’d been slightly parted as she’d gawked at him. With grim determination she snatched up her embroidery and jabbed the needle into the material.

“He is annoying and presumptuous and really, not even all that attractive,” she muttered under her breath. “Why, I’ve known dozens of men far more handsome.”

Perhaps. But none of them weakened your limbs the way this man does, her inner voice taunted.

She pressed her lips more firmly together. Fustian. If her limbs were weak, it was merely due to fatigue. She’d suffered an exhausting ordeal. ‘Twas merely weariness playing with her body and emotions. After a good night’s sleep, everything would fall back into its proper place.

Stiffening her spine, she jabbed the needle through the linen once again. Very well, she found the man attractive. But only slightly, and in a strictly physical way. She certainly had no intention of acting upon these unsettling feelings. Therefore, her best recourse was to avoid him as much as possible-a challenge, as the entire purpose for him being there was to protect her should the need arise-but nothing said they had to be in the same room. And even if she found herself in the same room with him, nothing said she had to converse with him. Or stand near him. She could simply ignore him.

Relief swept through her. Avoid and ignore would be her strategy-surely easy enough tasks to accomplish.

Her inner voice chimed out something that sounded suspiciously like in a pig’s eye, but she managed, with a great deal of effort, to ignore it.

Chapter 9

If Today’s Modern Woman wishes for her gentleman to express more passion, she should boldly explain to him that while a kiss upon the hand can be employed to demonstrate fervent regard, it is not the most effective method as it can also symbolize nothing more than a sign of brotherly or sisterly fondness. It is nearly impossible, however, to misinterpret the meaning behind a kiss on the lips. Or the nape. Or the spine…


A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore


After a fitful night, which she firmly attributed to her worries about the shooting, Catherine put her avoid-and-ignore strategy into immediate effect by taking an early, solitary breakfast in her bedchamber. She knew Spencer would not be about so early, and she had no intention of risking a cozy breakfast with only Mr. Stanton for company. After her meal, Catherine spent the remainder of the morning sitting at her desk, catching up on her correspondence. When she finished, she dressed carefully, relieved that the ache in her arm had faded so as to be barely noticeable. She spent extra time on her appearance, and told herself it was because she wished to appear presentable when she visited Genevieve this afternoon.

Deciding it was well past the time to check on Spencer, who surely would have arisen by now, and perform polite hostess duties toward Mr. Stanton, she headed downstairs, looking forward to a cup of tea.

When she entered the foyer, she was immediately greeted by Milton, who held out a silver salver bearing a sealed note.

“This just arrived from London, my lady.”

Catherine’s heart quickened as she recognized her father’s distinctive bold, cursive scrawl. Deciding the tea could wait, she took the note, nodded her thanks, then headed directly back to her bedchamber. The instant she closed the door behind her, she broke the seal and scanned the contents.


Dear Catherine,


I am happy to report that the scoundrel who fired the shot last night has been apprehended. The man, a ruffian by the name of Billy Robbins, is well-known to the magistrate for perpetrating robberies in Mayfair and elsewhere. Thanks to the information provided by Mr. Carmichael, Robbins was identified and captured near the docks. As we suspected, you were the victim of a robbery gone awry. Robbins, of course, insists he is innocent, but as we all know, Newgate is filled with “innocent” men.

While this news cannot erase the harrowing ordeal you suffered, you at least now have the satisfaction of knowing that the culprit responsible can no longer hurt anyone. Please extend my regards to Spencer and Mr. Stanton, and I look forward to seeing you all again soon.

With love,

Your father


Catherine closed her eyes and blew out a sigh of heartfelt relief. It had been an accident. Thank God. She was not in danger. Nor was Spencer. Nor Genevieve. Charles Brightmore’s identity was safe. Yes, there was still that investigator Lord Markingworth and his friends had hired, but since the publisher of A Ladies’ Guide would never reveal her and Genevieve’s secret, the man would eventually have to admit defeat. The chances of his investigation leading him to Little Longstone were so minute as to be nonexistent.

She opened her eyes, smiled, and drew in what felt like her first easy breath since she’d secreted herself behind her father’s Oriental screen. Now her life could resume its tranquil course, without threat of danger. Without need of protection-

Without need of Mr. Stanton.

Her smile froze. She no longer required the protection and security his presence afforded. He could leave Little Longstone. Right away-although she supposed it would be insupportably rude to suggest he depart sooner than tomorrow morning. And since she rarely traveled to London, she need not worry about seeing him again in the near future.

Mr. Stanton’s imminent departure was good. Very good. No more necessity for avoid-and-ignore tactics. The man was a blight on her peaceful existence, and the sooner he departed for London, the better. She was happy. Ecstatically so.

Her inner voice coughed to life to inform her she’d somehow managed to confuse “ecstatically happy” with “utterly miserable.”

Botheration, she needed to find a way to somehow muzzle that damnable voice.


“May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew paused at the top of the staircase. He gripped the mahogany banister and suppressed a sigh at the way his heart skipped a beat at the mere sound of her voice.

He’d spent the entire morning-not to mention a number of the predawn hours when sleep had eluded him- replaying the wonder of last evening in his mind. Sharing a meal and silly stories with her and Spencer, laughing together, enjoying after-dinner games-it was a cozy, domestic scenario he’d played out in his dreams more times than he could count. And the reality had exceeded all his imaginary expectations. By God, he couldn’t wait to repeat the experience tonight.

And every night, for the rest of their lives.

Had she noticed how well the three of them fit together? How very right last night had been? Well, if it had somehow escaped her notice, he certainly intended to remedy that tonight.

Turning, he watched her approach. An artful array of chestnut curls framed her face in a becoming style that made her golden brown eyes appear luminous. Her pale peach muslin gown highlighted her creamy skin. The gown and its neckline were properly modest, yet rather than inspiring propriety, Andrew’s imagination ran wild with what delights her demure clothing covered.

As she neared him, the subtle scent of flowers invaded his senses, and he tightened his grip on the banister to keep from reaching out to touch her.

“You may have as many moments as you wish, Lady Catherine.”

“Thank you. In the library?”

“Wherever you wish.” Whenever you wish. However you wish. Whatever you wish. He clenched his jaw to contain the words that threatened to break free of his heart. This was hardly the time or place to blurt out that he was madly in love with her, desired her to the point of pain, and wanted nothing more than to grant her every wish.

He followed her down the stairs and through the corridor, admiring the subtle hints of feminine curves revealed when she walked. His gaze wandered upward and fastened on her vulnerable, smooth nape, left bare by her upswept coiffure-bare except for a single curl that bisected her pale skin with a shiny chestnut spiral.

His fingers flexed, and he locked his elbows to keep from reaching out to glide his fingertip over that beguiling solitary curl. So intent was he on looking at the tendril, he didn’t notice that she’d paused in front of a closed door. Didn’t notice until he walked right into her.

She gasped and reached out, pressing her palms against the oak panel to maintain her balance and keep from plunging headlong into the door. His hands came forward and slipped around her waist.

For several stunning seconds neither moved. Andrew’s mind shouted at him to release her, to step back, but his hands and feet refused to obey the command. Instead, his eyes slid closed, and he absorbed the intense pleasure of her body pressing against his from chest to thigh. Her scent, that alluring essence of flowers, surrounded him like a seductive cloud. He had only to turn his head slightly to press his lips to her fragrant skin that was so close… so tantalizingly close.