Eternally grateful that he was behaving so graciously, and that she had not humiliated herself further, she forced a smile, and said, “Thank you. I’m glad we’re friends.”
“As am I.” He lightly tapped his jaw. “I just hope he doesn’t try to break this.”
“Who? Break what?”
“Andrew Stanton. And my jaw. He would not be happy should he discover I kissed you.” He grinned. “But I’m confident I’d be able to talk him out of pounding me into dust. If not, well, he may be strong, but I’ve a few tricks of my own.”
If her cheeks burned any hotter, her skin would emit steam. She inched her way backward, toward the open doorway, everything in her straining for retreat. “I must go. Thank you for your kindness and understanding.”
“My pleasure.” He escorted her to the front door, and Catherine walked swiftly down the path leading toward Bickely cottage. The moment she was certain she was out of Dr. Oliver’s line of vision, she pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, praying she’d not suffer an illness anytime in the near future because it would be a long while before she could face the doctor again.
Before riding on to Bickley cottage, Andrew stopped briefly in the village of Little Longstone to make some purchases. Just as he was about to enter the smithy, an odd sensation prowled through him. He turned around, his gaze panning the area. Rows of shops, several dozen pedestrians, a curricle with a man and a young girl perched upon the seat, two young ladies chatting under a blue-and-white-striped awning. No one appeared to be paying him any particular attention, yet he strongly sensed that someone was watching him. And it was the second time today he’d experienced the same sensation.
About an hour ago, while still en route from London, he’d felt the same warning tingle. He’d reined in Aphrodite, but had not seen or heard anyone. Still, the eerie feeling persisted, and even stronger than before. But who would be watching him? And why? Was it possible he was imagining it? He couldn’t deny he was tired, and many thoughts occupied his mind. No doubt it was just his preoccupation run amuck. Still, he’d make certain to remain alert.
After finishing his business with the blacksmith, Andrew rode to Bickely cottage, where he spent a few minutes chatting with Fritzborne at the stables before striding quickly across the lawns toward the house, eager to see Catherine and Spencer. He’d keenly missed them, suffering a deep, echoing emptiness that had plagued him since departing Little Longstone yesterday. Returning felt like coming home-a warm feeling he hadn’t experienced in more than a decade.
Late-afternoon sunshine gilded the house, making it look as if a halo surrounded the dwelling, and he quickened his pace. He’d been away for a mere thirty-six hours, yet it had felt like years. No doubt because it was actually thirty-seven hours. And twenty-two minutes. Not that he was counting.
Milton opened the door with a forbidding frown, which immediately relaxed when he saw Andrew standing at the threshold. “Ah, it is you, sir.”
Andrew raised his brows and smiled. “Clearly you were expecting someone else.”
“Actually, I was hoping there would be no further callers this afternoon.” He cleared his throat. “Present company excluded, of course. Although, you are not a caller. You are a guest. Please come in, Mr. Stanton. Seeing you at the door is a welcome relief.”
“Thank you.” Andrew entered the foyer. His shoulders tensed as he noted the new tremendous flower arrangement. “Looks as if the Duke of Kelby has emptied his conservatory again.”
A ghost of a smile whispered across Milton’s thin lips. “Yes. How fortunate for us. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth blessedly sent smaller tributes.”
“Are Lady Catherine and Spencer about?”
“They’re strolling in the gardens.” He heaved a sigh. “I do so hate to disturb them.”
“No need to on my account.”
“Not you, sir.” He jerked his head toward the corridor and curled his upper Up. “Them.”
“Them?”
“The duke and Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth. The notes they sent with their flowers this morning indicated they wished to call, however none of them wrote that they planned to visit today.”
“And they’re all in the drawing room?”
“I’m afraid so. I kept them at bay, standing on the porch for a bit, but with all three of them, it became quite crowded. And loud. I suggested quite firmly they return another time, but they all flatly refused to go. A few moments ago they threatened to storm the gardens in search of Lady Catherine. To keep them from doing so, I reluctantly showed them into the drawing room, and I’ve since been plotting a way to get rid of them that does not involve coshing them all with a skillet.”
“I see.” Andrew thoughtfully tapped his chin. “I think I may be able to assist you, Milton.”
“I’d be most grateful, sir.”
“Consider it done.”
Still laughing over her son’s humorous imitation of a toad, Catherine and Spencer entered the house through the rear terrace doors, then made their way toward the foyer. The time spent with her son had helped Catherine settle her chaotic thoughts and form a new resolve. Her relationship with Andrew was a lovely, pleasant diversion she would enjoy for the remainder of the short time he’d remain in Little Longstone. When he returned to London, she would go on with her life, caring for Spencer, enjoying her independence, free from the encumbrances that had stifled her during her marriage. As Today’s Modern Woman should, she would look back on her affair with fond memories and wish Andrew a long, prosperous life. For, other than this brief interlude, there simply was no room for him in her life.
As she and Spencer approached the foyer, the sound of several masculine voices reached them.
“Who is that?” Catherine murmured.
They entered the foyer through the archway opposite the front door, and she halted as if she’d walked into a wall of glass. And stared.
The Duke of Kelby, Lord Avenbury, and Lord Ferrymouth stood in the foyer, each in turn shaking hands with Andrew, while Milton stood at the door with a suspiciously smug expression on his face. As if seeing this unexpected assortment of men in her foyer weren’t surprising enough, it was the condition of the men that stunned her. The duke’s right eye was nearly swollen shut and surrounded by an angry bruise. Lord Avenbury held a handkerchief that bore unmistakable streaks of blood pressed to his nose, while Lord Ferrymouth sported a bottom lip three times its normal size.
She turned to look at Spencer, who was gawking at the scene with a stunned expression she imagined mirrored her own. At that moment, Lord Avenbury turned and caught sight of her. Instead of a welcoming smile, he looked… frightened? He jabbed Lord Ferrymouth with his elbow, then jerked his head toward Catherine. Lord Ferrymouth’s eyes widened, and he in turn nudged the duke. All three stared at her for several seconds, their countenances bearing varying degrees of what looked like alarm. Then they mumbled a jumble of unintelligible words while stepping hastily toward the door, which Milton opened with a flourish. After the gentlemen hurried from the house, Milton closed the door with a resounding bang, then brushed his hands together as if ridding them of dirt. He and Andrew exchanged satisfied gins.
Catherine cleared her throat to find her voice. “What on earth happened to the duke and Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth?”
Both men turned toward her. Milton immediately rearranged his features into his usual inscrutable mask. Her gaze met Andrew’s, and warmth suffused her. Unmistakable pleasure, along with a healthy dose of heat, flared in his eyes, filling her mind with a wealth of sensual images and tingling a shiver down her spine.