When Catherine was shot, Andrew had been standing next to her. The bullet had been meant for him. And tonight, Carmichael had planned to kill him-a plan set awry by Catherine’s presence. She’d unknowingly saved his life and nearly drowned in the process.

He blew out a long breath and raked unsteady hands through his hair. Jesus. All he’d ever wanted to do was protect her, and he was the danger. Which meant he had to get away from her. Immediately.

After eleven years, it appeared his past had finally caught up with him. And had twice nearly killed Catherine. Well, Carmichael wouldn’t get another chance.

Andrew walked swiftly to the wardrobe, pulled his leather satchel from the bottom, and quickly began shoving his belongings inside.

Don’t worry, Carmichael. You’ll find me. I’m going to make it very easy for you.


* * *

Catherine sat in her wing chair, staring at the grate of the fire that had burned out hours ago, the dead, gray ash a perfect reflection of her mood.

With a sound of disgust, she rose and paced. What on earth was wrong with her? She’d made the right decision, the only decision she could have made under the circumstances. All or nothing? How could she possibly have agreed to give him “all”? She couldn’t have, and it was that simple. Yet in spite of that logic, she somehow still felt as if she’d been sliced in half.

Dear God, the things he’d told her. His past should have shocked her, but after hours of thought, the ordeal he’d been through only served to reinforce her sympathy and admiration for him. Yes, he’d killed a man, but a man who only seconds before had tried to kill him. A man who had killed his wife-a young woman he’d risked a great deal to help. Andrew had lost everything, and all in the name of love. Yet he clearly had not turned his back on love, on marriage, as she had. He was kind, noble, generous, thoughtful, and…

Oh, my, the way he’d looked at her, his heart in his eyes, all raw desire and naked emotion. She halted, and her own eyes slid closed, picturing him as clearly as if he stood before her. No one had ever looked at her like that before. And God help her, as much as she hadn’t wanted it, as much as she’d tried to deny it, she wanted Andrew to look at her like that again. She simply wasn’t ready to give him up as a lover.

She opened her eyes and resumed pacing, her mind racing. Surely if she put some effort into it she could convince him that his proposal was precipitous and persuade him to continue their liaison. Today’s Modern Woman would not allow him simply to have the last word and walk away. No, Today’s Modern Woman would use all the ammunition in her feminine arsenal to tempt, allure, entice, and seduce him around to her way of thinking.

The instant the realization hit her, it was as if the sun broke through a bank of dark clouds. Why had it taken her all night to realize something that now seemed so obvious? She roundly cursed her stubborn streak, but at least she’d come to her senses.

The sooner she began her persuasive campaign, the better. And what better way to start than issuing him an invitation to return to Little Longstone next week? Even better if she were to issue the invitation right now. In the warm intimacy of his bedchamber. While she was dressed in her nightrail and robe.

The pale light of dawn was just breaking through the windows as she left her bedchamber and hurried quietly down the corridor. When she reached his door, she tapped lightly. “Andrew?” she said softly.

Silence greeted her, and she tapped again, but still heard nothing from within. Concerned, she turned the handle and opened the door enough to peer inside. Her heart stuttered, then she slowly pushed the door wide.

The room was empty, his bed undisturbed. She scanned the room, noting with stunned dread that none of his personal items remained. As if in a trance, she crossed to the wardrobe and pulled open the oak doors. Empty.

A sharp, acute ache stole her bream. With hot moisture pushing at the backs of her eyes, she turned toward the bed, and her heart leapt at the small bundle set on the pillow. She dashed across the carpet and snatched up the note on top of the parcel. Breaking the seal, she scanned the words.


My Dearest Catherine:


I believe Carmichael is Lewis Manning’s father, and that it is not you, but me whom he seeks. In my attempt to protect you from danger, I brought it right to you. Keep the doors and windows locked, and you, Spencer, and the staff remain in the house. I’ll see to it that Carmichael never hurts anyone again.

I leave as a parting gift my most prized possession. Philip was going to leave these behind when we departed Egypt, so I took them. From that very first time I heard the words you ‘d written to Philip, I felt as if I’d been turned inside out. I fell deeply, hopelessly in love with you the moment I saw your beautiful image in his miniature. You’ve lived in my heart since that day. I lived off your every word for years, and I thank you for the courage and hope they brought me. Please keep the ring as a token of my gratitude and affection.

Andrew


With shaking fingers, she unwrapped the white linen, realizing with a heavy heart it was the handkerchief she’d given him. Unfolding the last piece of material she looked down. The emerald ring rested on top of a thick bundle of faded letters tied with a worn piece of leather. She instantly recognized her own handwriting.

She felt the blood drain from her face. These were the dozens of letters she’d written to Philip while he was abroad. Andrew’s most prized possession.

The truth hit her like a backhanded slap, and she felt an overwhelming need to sit down. His love for her was not of a recent nature as she’d assumed. He’d been in love with her for… six years. He’d rescued these letters before leaving Egypt, keeping them with him all this time. And now had given them to her. Wrapped in the handkerchief she’d made him, leaving everything of her behind. Because she’d sent him away.

Something wet plopped onto her hand. Dazed, she stared at the tear, as another, then another, fell onto her skin. All those years she’d ached with loneliness, endured her husband’s cruel neglect and rejection of her and Spencer, Andrew had been wanting her. Needing her. Loving her.

The realization, the depth of his feelings, his devotion, humbled her, enervated her, and she could almost feel the wall she’d built around herself and her heart crumbling, leaving her exposed and her feelings utterly bare. Undeniable. She could hide from them no longer. She did not simply desire Andrew. She loved him.

A sob escaped her, and she pressed her trembling lips together. With an impatient exclamation, she dashed the back of her hand over her eyes. Later. She could cry later, although she dearly hoped she would not need to. Right now she needed to figure out where Andrew had gone, think of a way to help him find Carmichael. Then tell him what a fool she’d been. And pray he’d forgive her for the hurt her fears and confusion had caused both of them.

Clutching the letters and ring to her chest, she paced to the window and stared out at the soft, golden light signaling dawn. Her gaze drifted toward the stables in the distance, and she blinked at the sight of Andrew’s familiar, broad-shouldered figure approaching the wide double doors. Her heart jumped in relief. He was still here. If she hurried, she could reach the stables before he left. But with Carmichael possibly about, she needed some protection.

She dashed to her bedchamber, then dropped to her knees before her wardrobe and pulled out a worn hatbox. After opening the lid, she removed the small, pearl-handled pistol hidden beneath a pile of old gloves. She then set Andrew’s letters and the ring on top and replaced the hatbox. Cursing the further delay, she hurriedly dressed, then, slipping the pistol into the pocket of her gown, left the room.

Chapter 20

Today’s Modern Woman should always practice prudence and caution where matters of the heart are concerned. Sometimes, however, fate will present her with the one man who slips under her guard and turns her heart to porridge. If the gentleman should happen to feel the same way about her, she needs to recognize that fir the miracle it is and not hesitate to carpe hominis-seize the man!


A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore


Andrew paused in the doorway of the stables to allow his vision to adjust to the dimness of the interior, his pistol balanced in his palm. He slowly scanned the vast interior, eyes and ears straining for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing appeared amiss, and a quick search ascertained that Carmichael wasn’t hiding in one of the stalls or the loft. Fritzborne wasn’t about, which concerned Andrew. Surely he’d returned from Mrs. Ralston’s cottage by now.

He allowed himself another quick peek over the door of the third stall where Shadow slept, curled up in the corner on a blanket-covered bed of hay. He’d have to make arrangements for someone to retrieve the puppy for him. And return Aphrodite. God knew he wouldn’t have the strength to come back to Little Longstone again himself.

Forcing his feet to move, he walked into the tack room. After setting down his pistol on a worn bench, he was preparing to reach for Aphrodite’s saddle when he heard Spencer’s voice ask, “You’re leaving, Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew turned swiftly. Spencer stood framed in the doorway, his eyes reflecting confusion and hurt.