Warmth rushed into Catherine’s cheeks. “He is not my Mr. Stanton, Genevieve.”
“Based on what I just heard, I rather think he is whether you want him or not. He’s just staked his claim to Dr. Oliver, very cleverly I must say, under the guise of a tale called ‘the legend of the unfortunate suitor. ’”
“Staked his claim? What do you mean?”
Catherine listened intently as Genevieve related the conversation she’d overheard. When she finished, Genevieve heaved a delighted sigh. “That man is simply divine, Catherine.”
Heat scorched Catherine, and she tried to convince herself it was the heat of embarrassment. Of outrage at Mr. Stanton’s temerity. Yet as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny the almost primitive feminine thrill racing through her.
“Oh, to be desired like that again…”A slow, devilish smile curved Genevieve’s lips. “If not for my hands, I believe I would offer you some competition for Mr. Stanton.”
A swift, strong, and undeniable shot of jealousy pulsed through Catherine. “You are welcome to him,” she said stiffly.
Genevieve laughed. “Darling, if only you meant that, and my hands were not crippled, and the gentleman not so thoroughly enamored of you-” She cut off her words and leaned closer to Catherine to whisper, “Here he comes.”
Before Catherine had a chance to draw a deep breath, Mr. Stanton stood before her. “May I join you ladies?”
“Certainly, Mr. Stanton,” said Genevieve, with a beaming smile. “This is a delightful party, is it not?”
“Indeed it is. I’m enjoying myself immensely.”
“You’ve been very social, Mr. Stanton,” Catherine said, pleased her voice sounded so cool in contrast to the heat singeing her. “I believe you’ve spoken to everyone in the room.”
“Just trying to spread a little cheer.”
“We were just speaking about competition,” Genevieve said, her blue eyes filled with innocent warmth.
Catherine’s belief that her cheeks couldn’t grow any hotter was proven incorrect, and she shot her friend a repressive look-a look Genevieve blithely ignored.
“Competition?” Mr. Stanton repeated. “In regard to sporting events?”
Genevieve shook her head. “In regard to matters of the heart. Would you care to share your opinion?”
Mr. Stanton’s gaze shifted to Catherine, and the compelling look in his dark eyes stilled her. Then he turned his attention to include Genevieve in his answer. “Identify the competition,” he said, “then outmaneuver it.”
“Excellent advice,” Genevieve said, nodding in an approving manner. “Don’t you agree, Catherine?”
Catherine had to swallow twice to locate her voice. “Er, yes.”
“The music is about to begin,” said Genevieve. “Do you know how to do our country dances, Mr. Stanton?”
“Passably well.”
“Waltz?”
Mr. Stanton smiled. “Extremely well.”
“Excellent. I’m certain you won’t lack for partners.” Genevieve leaned forward and lowered her voice in a conspiratorially manner. “The duke’s nieces have taken a keen interest in you.”
“What?” Mr. Stanton and Catherine said at the same time.
“The duke’s nieces. They’re quite smitten.”
Catherine’s gaze shot over to the trio of young ladies. Three fascinated gazes were fastened on Mr. Stanton as if he were a new species of exotic animal. An unpleasant, unwelcome cramp Catherine was beginning to recognize all too well squeezed her.
The string quartet played a series of arpeggios, then launched into their first selection, a waltz.
Mr. Stanton turned toward Catherine and offered a formal bow. “As we were unable to share a dance at your father’s birthday party, may I request the honor now?”
Common sense indicated that dancing with him, being held in his arms, did not fit in at all with her avoid-and-ignore plan. But everything female in her longed to accept his offer. It had been so long since she’d danced. And she wanted so very much to dance with him…
“I’d be delighted,” she said.
Lightly resting her fingers on his proffered forearm, they made their way to the dance floor. He turned her to face him, and her breath caught at the expression in his eyes. Before she could decipher that look, however, her hand was engulfed in his, his palm settled firmly at the base of her spine, her hand rested on his broad shoulder, then… pure magic.
The room swirled by in a rainbow blur as he led her expertly around the gleaming floor. Warmth spread through her from where his hand touched her back, encompassing her in a heated glow as if she stood in a ray of summer sunshine. She could feel the supple strength of his shoulder beneath her fingertips, and pleasurable tingles radiated up her arm from between their clasped palms. His scent, that pleasing mixture of clean linen, sandalwood, and something else that belonged to him alone, filled her head, rendering her almost giddy.
She felt as if she were soaring, flying in his strong arms as everything, everyone, faded into the background except this man whose gaze never left hers, whose rapt expression somehow made her feel womanly and beautiful. Feminine and exciting. Young and carefree. Invigorated, her heart pounded with exhilaration, infusing her with a sense of freedom such as she’d never known, forcing her to call on all her breeding so as not to throw her head back in a most unladylike manner and simply laugh with pure and utter delight.
When Mr. Stanton led them to a stop, she hadn’t even noticed that the song had ended. For the space of several heartbeats, neither moved, standing as if locked in a motionless dance. Erratic breaths puffed from between her parted lips, although whether her labored breathing was due to the exertions of the dance or the man still touching her, she couldn’t tell. Gazing at him, it seemed as if his dark eyes held hundreds of secrets, thousands of thoughts, and she suddenly found herself desperate to know each and every one of them.
Applause for the musicians roused her from her stupor. He slowly released her, and she instantly mourned the loss of his warmth and strength. After forcibly gathering her wits, she clapped politely and smiled at him. “You do indeed waltz extremely well, Mr. Stanton.”
“My lovely partner inspired me.”
“I fear I am frightfully out of practice.”
“You gave no indication of it, but please consider me at your disposal should you wish to hone your skills.”
The temptation to spend hours indulging in the delicious sensation of whirling around the dance floor with him nearly overwhelmed her.
No, to dance with him again would be most unwise. And prove yet another failure to her avoid-and-ignore plan. Yet she had no desire to dance with anyone else present.
The sound of feminine laughter caught her attention, and she turned. The duke’s three nieces were descending upon them, their gazes riveted on Mr. Stanton, each girl clearly hoping for an invitation to dance.
And Catherine realized, quite unsettlingly, that not only did she have no desire to dance with anyone else save Mr. Stanton, but she did not desire Mr. Stanton to dance with anyone other than she. His earlier words echoed through her mind: Identify the competition, then outmaneuver them.
Looking up at him she said softly, “I fear I’m feeling a bit… overheated. Would you mind terribly if we went home?”
Instant concern flashed in his eyes, pricking her conscience, although she felt, in truth, quite overheated. “Of course not. We’ll leave immediately.”
She tried, very hard, to ignore the glow of pleasure suffusing her at his agreement as it boded very poorly indeed for her avoid-and-ignore plan.
She tried, but she failed.
Chapter 11
Every so often fate smiles, presenting Today's Modern Woman with the rare and precious opportunity to obtain her hearts most secret desire. If she should find herself in such a fortunate, glorious circumstance, she should heed those wise words, Carpe Diem, and not hesitate to seize the day, as it may be her only chance. Be a woman of action, not a woman of regret, for it is those things we do not do that bring us sorrow.