A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
Andrew prepared to exit his bedchamber the next morning, one thing uppermost in his mind: Catherine.
After a final lingering kiss, he’d reluctantly left her at her bedchamber door four hours ago. Actually four hours and eleven minutes ago, not that he was counting.
Very well, he was counting. And those four hours and eleven minutes had felt like four years. He needed to touch her. Kiss her. Hold her against him to reaffirm me miracle of last night. Making love to her had been a revelation. In his dreams, he’d touched her, loved her, countless times, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of her beneath him, looking up at him, her eyes glazed with need. His body joining with hers as he wordlessly expressed all the feelings he’d kept locked away for so long. All the things he couldn’t say-yet.
He exited his bedchamber and strode down the corridor, impatience pulling at him. When he looked into her eyes this morning would he see all the magic they’d shared together reflected there? The desire to experience more of the same? Or would she have spent the last four hours and now twelve minutes deciding that last night was enough?
His lips pressed together. If she’d somehow decided that it was enough, he’d just damn well have to change her mind. She was his. And he intended to have her.
When he rounded the corner, he spied Milton nearing the top of the stairs.
“Mr. Stanton,” the butler said in his precise tones, “I was just coming to your room. This arrived for you.” He held out a silver salver bearing a sealed note.
Andrew took the missive. His stomach tensed when he noted his name scrawled in Simon Wentworth’s cramped handwriting. Damn. He doubted his and Philip’s steward would be writing to impart good news. “Did the messenger say anything?”
“Only that the note was for you and that he did not require a reply. He’s already departed.”
“I see. Are Lady Catherine and Spencer about?”
“Master Spencer is on his way to take the waters. Lady Catherine requested a meal in her bedchamber. Breakfast is laid out in the dining room, sir.”
“Thank you. I need to read this correspondence first. I’ll be down shortly.”
Milton inclined his head, then headed back down the stairs, and Andrew returned to his bedchamber. After closing the door behind him, he broke the wax seal and quickly scanned the words.
Mr. Stanton,
I am writing to inform you that someone entered the museum last night, and I’m sorry to report that considerable damage was done. The magistrate believes that when the thief-or thieves-realized there were no artifacts yet housed in the museum, he became enraged and inflicted as much damage as he could. An ax was taken to the floor and walls, and every single one of the newly installed windows was broken. The magistrate doesn’t hold much hope that the scoundrel will be caught unless a witness comes forward with information. I’ll set the workmen up to repair the damages-no need for you to worry on that score, but I don’t have the experience to handle the investors, and I’m afraid their reactions are already not favorable. Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly were making inquiries, as well as Mrs. Warrenfield and a Mr. Carmichael. Therefore, I think it might be best if you returned to London as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, I will see about hiring on more workers. Per your instructions before you left London, I have not written to Lord Greybourne to inform him of anything regarding the museum.
Sincerely,
Simon Wentworth
Andrew blew out a long breath and raked his hand through his hair. In his mind’s eye he pictured the museum’s polished parquet flooring and richly paneled walls. And all those beautiful pane-glassed windows… Damn it to hell and back! All that work, destroyed. It made him sick inside. As did the thought of leaving Catherine, especially now. But he had no choice. And he had to tell her.
Slipping the note into his waistcoat pocket, he quietly departed his room.
Her skin still tingling from a warm bath, Catherine looked out her bedchamber window at the sun’s gentle morning glow reflecting silver off the dew-laden grass. Her gaze drifted toward the garden… toward the path that she and Andrew had followed last night.
Her eyes drifted closed. Vivid images flashed through her mind of how they’d spent the hours until just before dawn… intimately exploring each other’s bodies. Sharing the wine, bread, and cheese. Andrew feeding her strawberries. Laughing. Touching. Making love again, slowly, savoring every touch. Every look. Every kiss. Every stroke of his body deep inside hers.
For all the times she’d imagined being with a lover, for all the curiosity the Guide had planted in her mind, she’d never, not once, envisioned anything like last night. She’d always believed that one’s imagination could conjure up scenarios reality could never match.
She’d been horribly mistaken in that belief.
Imagination could not experience the wonder of Andrew’s lips and hands worshiping her, burning away everything, every thought, except him. The feel of her breasts crushed against his warm, naked chest. The musky scent of their lovemaking surrounding them in the gazebo’s golden-lit, still air. The texture of his firm skin beneath her fingertips. And the sight of him…
A long, feminine sigh escaped her. Dear God, the sight of him, his strong, muscular body glistening in the flickering light, fully aroused. For her. By her. His eyes black with want. Hot with desire. Filled with a fierceness at complete odds with his gentle touch. His absorbed expression as he aroused her beyond bearing. Then the sensual, sated languor glowing in those eyes in the aftermath of their passion. His quick grin. His lovely smile. Yet behind his humor the heart-quickening heat simmering just below his surface.
Unfortunately, she suspected she was feeling more than simply heart-quickening heat for Andrew. And that was unacceptable. Disquieting. And most of all, frightening.
She wouldn’t, couldn’t allow herself to forget that this was temporary. She well knew the heartbreak associated with a permanent arrangement. And lest she forget…
She crossed to her wardrobe, then knelt to withdraw a small mahogany jewelry box she kept hidden in the far back corner beneath several blankets. She opened the lid and withdrew the ring inside. Rising, she stared at her diamond wedding ring resting in her palm. A flawless five carats of brilliance, surrounded by a dozen smaller stones, all equally perfect. A ring most women would covet. Sadly, she was not most women. She’d kept this painful reminder of the past so she’d never forget the emptiness that resulted from all its promises. One look at the jewel was a forceful reminder that she would not, could not allow one night of passion to cloud her common sense. Whatever these… feelings for Andrew were, she needed to push them aside. Forget them. They would enjoy a few more days together, then go their separate ways, leaving them both with lovely memories, but nothing more.
Satisfied that she’d put everything back into its proper perspective, she was about to bend down to retrieve the jewelry box when a quiet knock sounded at her door. Slipping the ring into her pocket, she said, “Come in,” wondering if Mary had forgotten something when she’d delivered her breakfast.
The door opened, and Andrew stepped over the threshold. Andrew, looking clean and freshly shaved, his hair neatly combed, his fawn breeches and dark blue jacket accentuating his dark good looks, cravat perfectly knotted, boots polished to a high sheen. He looked tall and broad, masculine and delicious, and, with his eyes intent upon hers, just a bit predatory and dangerous. Her heart jumped, and every nerve ending tingled with awareness.