Jacquie D'Alessandro (10 page)

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
I
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 mouth 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 com
pany—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.

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.

“I
t’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 our
selves 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.”

“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.

“Brigand
s
. 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?”