Instead of looking offended, one corner of his mouth curved upward in clear amusement. “Such a pessimistic view, Lady Catherine. But whereas you choose to view the glass as half-empty, I prefer to see it as half-full. While our literary tastes may differ-”
“-Drastically differ.”
He inclined his head in agreement. “We do both enjoy reading. And we agree that your son is a fine young man. And that Venus is an exceptional horse.”
“Yes, well, I’m certain we could also agree that the sky is blue, the grass green, and my hair brown.”
“Actually, right now the sky is streaked with crimson and gold, the grass is better described as emerald, and your hair…”
His voice trailed off, and his gaze shifted to her hair, making her suddenly conscious of the fact that she’d left the house without her bonnet.
“The lovely chestnut color of your hair, the richness of the deep golds and subtle reds layered through the strands, is not well served when described as merely ‘brown. ’” He slowly reached out, and a heated tingle of anticipation raced through her. His fingers brushed just above her ear, halting her breath.
“Except for this,” he said, holding out a piece of hay pinched between his thumb and index finger. “This can be described as brown, although I must tell you, I believe most ladies prefer to decorate their hair with ribbons.”
Catherine sucked in a breath and clenched her teeth in annoyance, although she could not decide if she were more annoyed at him for throwing her so off-balance, at herself for allowing him to do so, or at him for not appearing the least bit off-balance. Well, clearly she was more annoyed at him as she had two reasons.
“And,”he added, “we clearly share a love of horses… do we not?”
“I can’t deny I love them.” She threw him an arch look. “Horses never argue with you.”
He threw an equally arch look right back at her. “No, they never do.” He walked around Venus to stand beside her. She inhaled sharply and caught a pleasing whiff of sandalwood.
“Our last conversations seem to have ended… awkwardly,” he said, “and I feel bad about it. Can we call a truce?”
Dear Lord, she didn’t want to call a truce at all. She wanted to summon up the irritation she’d felt toward him, which was far preferable to this heated, almost painful awareness of him. Of his strength. And height. And compelling eyes. And the sight of him, rumpled, the strong, tanned column of his neck visible where he’d removed his cravat.
When had their relationship taken this unsettling turn? She didn’t know, but she dearly wished she could retravel that road and avoid the disastrous detour she’d somehow taken. “I seem to recall asking you something similar,” she said.
“Yes. Although I suspected you really wanted my complete surrender.”
“And is that what you want, Mr. Stanton? My complete surrender?”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Are you offering it, Lady Catherine?”
He hadn’t moved, yet somehow it seemed as if he’d drawn closer to her, and she took an involuntary step backward. Then another. Her back bumped into the rough, wooden wall.
“Today’s Modern Woman does not surrender, Mr. Stanton. If the occasion calls for it, she may consider a graceful capitulation.”
“I see. But only if the occasion calls for it.”
“Precisely.”
“Well then.” He stepped forward, stopping less than an arm’s length away. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t read, along with a hint of unmistakable amusement.
Amusement? Aggravating man. How dared he be amused when she was so… unamused. Out of sorts. And damnation, breathless by his nearness. She pressed herself harder against the wall, but compensated for her cowardice by raising her chin a notch.
He reached out and captured her hand in his, and her breath backed up in her throat at the sensation of his skin touching hers. She detected the roughness of calluses and realized she’d never been touched by hands like his- hands that did not bear the softness of a gentleman’s. Her hand looked pale and small and fragile against the tanned strength of his, yet his touch, while strong, was infinitely gentle. She watched, transfixed, as he slowly raised her hand to his mouth.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed a graceful capitulation, Lady Catherine. I shall look forward to it-should the occasion arise.” The words whispered over her skin, stunning her with a flash of heat. Then, with his gaze on hers, he pressed a warm kiss to her fingertips.
Oh, my. The sensation of his mouth touching her fingers sizzled pure pleasure up her arm. Before she could recover her breath, he lowered her hand and released it, and she pressed her lips together to contain her disappointment.
His touch was… lovely. Gentle, yet with an underlying intensity that made her feel as if her skirts had caught fire. It had been so very long since a man had touched her. Yet she hadn’t realized that she’d missed it so very much until just now. And never had a touch inspired such a blaze of heat…
Catherine gave herself a mental shake. Good heavens, this wouldn’t do at all. She surreptitiously wiped her fingers on her gown in a vain attempt to remove the provocative feel of his lips from her skin. “I cannot imagine such an occasion arising, Mr. Stanton.”
He had the nerve to smile. “Hope springs eternal, Lady Catherine.”
Humph. The best thing clearly was for her to retreat and remove herself from his disturbing presence. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stanton…”She turned and walked toward the stall door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Instead of merely letting her leave, he reached out and opened the stall door for her. Not about to let him ruin her perfect exit, she swept through the opening like a ship under full sail.
He immediately fell into step beside her. “I’ve finished grooming Venus, and as there is something I need to discuss with you, I’d be happy to escort you back to the house.”
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.”