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.
Before he could think, before any reason why he shouldn’t invaded his mind, he gave in to the overwhelming longing. His lips touched the ivory skin just behind her ear, gentle as a breathless whisper, so softly he wondered if she even realized what he’d done-and that it was done deliberately.
But he knew, and the effect upon him, the assault on his senses, was anything but soft. Desire-fierce, hot, and so long denied-slammed into him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter in a vain attempt to curb the needs clawing at him.
Her utter stillness, the rigid set of her spine, roused his common sense. Summoning all his strength, he forced himself to slip his hands from her waist and step back. “I beg your pardon,” he said in an unsteady voice that sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel. “I was not watching where I was going.”
She said nothing for several seconds, then cleared her throat and lowered her hands from the door. “Apology accepted.”
He stilled at the slight quaver in her voice. Was the unsteadiness of her words the result of embarrassment or anger? Or was it possible that she’d been as affected by those few seconds as he? He silently willed her to turn around, so he could look at her face, read her eyes, to see if any hint of desire existed, but she did not oblige him. Instead, she opened the door and quickly headed toward the marble fireplace lining the far wall.
Andrew crossed the threshold, then closed the door behind him. The click reverberated in the heavy silence, a silence he was sorely tempted to break by pointing out that his begging her pardon had not been an apology. He certainly wasn’t sorry he’d had the unexpected opportunity to touch her-although perhaps he should be. The exquisite feel of her was now embedded in his mind, and his body, his lips, still tingled from the impact.
He grimaced and shifted. Although it irked him that she continued to stare into the low-burning flames and ignore him, it was for the best. If she turned around right now, she would surely notice just how much their brief encounter had affected him.
“Would you mind if I have a drink?” he asked, hoping one of the group of crystal decanters set on the round, mahogany table next to the settee contained brandy.
She did not turn. “Please, help yourself.”
“Would you care to join me?”
She surprised him by saying, “Yes. A sherry, please.”
Andrew crossed to the decanters. He took his time pouring the two drinks, pulling in slow, deep breaths until he’d gained control of his emotions and body. He then walked to the fireplace, stopping a safe distance away from her.
“Your sherry, Lady Catherine.”
She finally turned to face him. Hectic color stained her cheeks, but whether the beguiling hue was due to embarrassment, the warmth of the fire, or desire, he couldn’t tell. She regarded him with a perfectly calm, cool expression that snaked irritation down his spine. Well, obviously it hadn’t been desire. Trying his best to match her unconcerned look, he handed her the crystal cordial glass.
“Thank you.” She took the glass, and he noted that she was very careful to not allow their fingers to touch. She shifted her gaze from him and sipped her drink. He followed suit, resisting the urge to toss back his potent brandy in one gulp.
After taking a second sip, she slipped a piece of ivory vellum from the pocket in her skirts and held it out for him. “This arrived a short time ago from my father. The man responsible for the shooting has been apprehended.”
Andrew set down his drink, took the note, then quickly scanned the contents. Billy Robbins. His jaw tightened when he read the name of the man who’d injured Catherine. The man who could have so easily ended her life. Be happy Newgate has you and not me, you bastard.
When he finished reading, he handed her back the note. “I’m relieved the scoundrel was caught. Thank goodness Mr. Carmichael was so observant.”
“Yes. We all owe him our thanks.” She tucked the note back in her pocket. “As this man’s capture means that there is no longer a threat of danger to me-”
“No longer?” Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “I was not aware there was a threat of danger to you. What are you talking about?”