d.a.m.n it, he'd only ever once in his entire life felt so helpless-and that situation had ended disastrously. And under such horrifyingly similar circ.u.mstances. A shot. Someone he loved falling to the ground...

His every nerve ending pulsed with the need to kick down the d.a.m.n door, grab the doctor by the neck, and demand he make Lady Catherine well. And the instant she was, he would deal with the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who had done this to her. But in the meantime, this waiting was eating at him. That and the fact that just prior to the shot they'd argued.

Argued, for G.o.d's sake. They'd never before exchanged a cross word. A sick sense of loss gripped him as he recalled her cool, dispa.s.sionate gaze during their conversation. Never had she looked at him like that.

"Any word on her condition?"

Andrew turned at Lady Catherine's father's voice. The Earl of Ravensly strode down the corridor, his features tight with worry.

"Not yet." Andrew rose, then jerked his head toward the bedchamber door. "I'm giving your Dr. Gibbens two more minutes. If he hasn't opened the door, propriety be d.a.m.ned, I'm storming the citadel."

The ghost of a smile whispered across the earl's haggard face. "How very American of you. But in this case, I must agree. In fact-"

The door opened, and Dr. Gibbens stepped into the corridor. "Well?" Andrew demanded before the earl could speak. He pushed off the paneled wall and approached the doctor, barely refraining from grabbing the smaller man by his cravat and shaking him as a dog would a rag.

"You correctly a.s.sessed the situation, Mr. Stanton. Lady Catherine's injury is, thankfully, a superficial flesh wound, which I cleansed and dressed. Thanks to your quick intervention, she did not suffer a severe loss of blood. While the b.u.mp on her head will bring some discomfort, it will not cause any long-lasting harm, nor will the cut on her lip. I expect her to make a full recovery." He removed his spectacles and polished the lenses with his handkerchief. "I've left some laudanum on the bedside table, but she refused to take any until she'd spoken with both of you. I recommend that she not be moved this evening. I'll call upon her in the morning to a.s.sess her condition and change her dressing. She is most adamant that she return to Little Longstone and her son tomorrow."

Everything inside Andrew rebelled at the thought of her being out of his sight, and he had to clamp his lips together to keep from voicing his objection.

"Headstrong gel," the earl said, his eyes suspiciously moist. "She cannot bear to be parted from Spencer. Is it wise that she travel so soon?"

"I'll give you my opinion after I examine her tomorrow," Dr. Gibbens said. "I bid you both good night." With a nod, the doctor left them.

"Come, Stanton," the earl said, opening the door. "Let us see for ourselves how my daughter is faring."

Andrew offered up a silent thank-you for Lord Ravensly's invitation, for in truth, he didn't know if he was capable of remaining in the corridor for another minute. He followed the earl into the bedchamber, then paused in the doorway.

Lady Catherine lay in the oversized bed, the maroon counterpane covering her to her chin. Bathed in the golden glow cast from the fire burning in the grate, she looked like a gilded angel. Loose tendrils of chestnut hair fanned out across the cream pillowcase, and his fingers itched to brush the shiny strands back from her soft skin. For all the times he'd dreamed of holding her in his arms, never once had he suspected that if the moment ever came, it would arrive in the guise of carrying her unconscious, bleeding form.

He approached the bed slowly, his knees threatening to wobble, his gaze minutely noting every nuance of her being. Her eyes appeared huge, and shadows of pain lurked in their golden brown depths, along with something else that looked liked fear. A small red mark marred her swollen bottom lip. Her face was devoid of color.

"Dr. Gibbens a.s.sured us you would make a full recovery," Lord Ravensly said, taking her hand between both his own. "How are you feeling?"

A grimace pa.s.sed over her features. "Sore, but very grateful. My injuries could have been much worse."

The earl visibly shuddered, a sentiment with which Andrew wholeheartedly agreed. Her troubled gaze bounced between them. "Were you able to find out anything about who fired the pistol?"

Andrew cleared his throat. "One of the party guests, Mr. Sidney Carmichael, reported he was just entering his carriage when he heard the shot. He saw a man running into Hyde Park. He provided a good description to the magistrate and said he would definitely recognize the man if he saw him again. Lords Borthrasher, Kingsly, Avenbury, and Ferrymouth, as well as the Duke of Kelby were entering their carriages nearby and agree they saw a shadowy figure in the park, but none could provide a detailed description.

"The group of gentlemen who searched outside came upon an injured man near the town house. He identified himself as a Mr. Graham. Mr. Graham claims that while walking down Park Lane, he was accosted from behind. When he regained consciousness, he realized he'd been relieved of his purse and watch fob."

"I see," she said slowly. "Did the robber have a pistol?"

"Mr. Graham didn't know, but then, he never saw his attacker before he was rendered senseless."

"No doubt the scoundrel knocked him out with the b.u.t.t of the pistol," Lord Ravensly fumed. "Then the weapon discharged, and here we are. d.a.m.n footpads." He shook his head, then frowned at Lady Catherine. "Now what is this nonsense Dr. Gibbens said about you wanting to return to Little Longstone tomorrow?"

"I promised Spencer I'd be home tomorrow, Father."

"We'll have the lad brought to London."

"No. You know how he hates the city. And after tonight, can you blame me for not relishing a prolonged stay in Town myself?"

"I suppose not, but I don't like the thought of you alone, isolated in the country while you're recovering. You need someone to take care of you."

"I agree," she said slowly, frowning in a way that made Andrew wonder what she was thinking. He agreed wholeheartedly with the earl, but somehow he'd expected the new "headstrong, independent" Lady Catherine to demur. To claim that her staff could adequately care for her.

" 'Tis a pity Philip cannot come to Little Longstone for an extended visit." She said the words lightly, but something in her tone caught Andrew's attention. That and the fact that she hadn't said "Philip and Meredith."

"Yes," the earl mused, "but he cannot leave Meredith now. I'd volunteer my services, but I'm afraid acting the nursemaid is not my strong suit."

Andrew forced himself not to point out that acting the nursemaid was hardly Philip's strong suit either. He looked at Lady Catherine, and their gazes met. His stomach tightened when he again saw a flash of fear, and something else he couldn't decipher in her eyes. Then her expression turned speculative, and almost... calculating?

Before he could decide, she said, "I believe I have thought of the perfect solution. Mr. Stanton, would you consider accompanying me to Little Longstone, then remaining as my guest? It would prevent me from having to travel alone, and I'm certain you would enjoy a visit to the country. Spencer would love to see you again and hear more of your adventures with Philip in Egypt. You had little opportunity to get acquainted at my husband's funeral. And with Spencer there as chaperone, your visit would, of course, be above reproach and quite proper."

For reasons he couldn't explain, a warning tingled in his gut-an instinctual reaction that had served him well over the years-telling him that there was more to her invitation than met the eye. But what? And did he really want to question her motives right now? No. He'd spent the better part of the last hour trying to figure out a plausible argument for going to Little Longstone with her and staying for an extended visit, and here she'd solved the problem.

"I realize you have responsibilities in London-"

"None that cannot wait," he a.s.sured her. "It would be my honor to accompany you, then remain for a visit, Lady Catherine. You may rest a.s.sured that I will see to it no further harm befalls you." Indeed, G.o.d help anyone who attempted to hurt her again.

"An excellent solution, my dear," the earl said, with an approving nod. "You'll have company and protection."

"Yes. Protection..." Her voice trailed off. There was no mistaking her obvious relief. Clearly she didn't feel safe in London, a sentiment he could well understand. But he suspected she'd asked him to remain in Little Longstone for an extended visit for the same reason-protection. Why? Did she not feel safe in own home?

He didn't know, but he surely intended to find out.

Chapter 4.

Men possess so little understanding of women because they seek out advice and information about women from other equally uninformed men. Winning his lady's favor would proceed in a much smoother manner if the gentleman simply asked her, "What do you want?" Should Today's Modern Woman ever be fortunate enough to be asked that question, it is hoped she will answer truthfully.

A Ladies' Guide to the Pursuit of Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment by Charles Brightmore "How are you feeling, Lady Catherine?"

Catherine looked up from her embroidery to peer across the seat at her traveling companion, whom she'd managed quite successfully under the guise of needlework to ignore for the past hour-or at least as much as one can ignore a man seated barely an arm's length away. A man who seemed to take up so much s.p.a.ce. She'd never realized how imposing Mr. Stanton's presence was. It was one thing to share a drawing room or dining room with him, but, as she'd discovered, quite another to share the confines of a carriage.

Her gaze met his concern-filled dark eyes. "I'm a bit achy, but all right."

"Would you like to stop for a short rest?"

In truth she would have liked nothing more than for the carriage to stop its lurching ride. Each thump and b.u.mp radiated discomfort through her aching shoulder and reminded her of the dull ache behind her eyes. But each b.u.mp brought her closer to Little Longstone and Spencer, and farther away from the nightmare of last night. Closer to the safety of her home, and farther away from whoever had fired that shot... that shot she was far from convinced was an accident. Closer to Genevieve, whom she needed to speak with as soon as possible. She needed to tell her dear friend about the shooting and the investigator who'd been hired to find Charles Brightmore. Warn her about the danger. Warn her she might be next.

"It is not necessary to stop," she said.

"You look pale."

"Why, thank you. Such flattery will surely swell my head-which is, thanks to last evening's fall, quite swollen enough already."

Her attempt at humor clearly sailed over his own head, for his brows bunched tighter. "You're in pain-"

"I'm fine. Perfectly fit. Dr. Gibbens gave his permission for me to travel-"

"After you browbeat the poor man. I believe his exact words when he departed your father's town house this morning were, 'Never in my life have I met a more obstinate woman. ' "

"I'm certain you heard him incorrectly."

"I'm certain I didn't."

"Yet, I recall that last evening we'd established that most men's hearing is not all it should be."

Several seconds of silence stretched between them, and she had to stifle the sudden urge to squirm under his steady regard. "I am not most men, Lady Catherine," he finally said quietly. "You're also very preoccupied."

"I am merely anxious to get home."

"I'm sure you are. But there's something else. Something is worrying you."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, forcing a light note into her voice. d.a.m.nation, just her luck to be stuck in a carriage with the one perceptive man in all of England.

"Your uncharacteristic reticence. I've never known you to be so... untalkative."

"Ah. Well, that is simply because I have been engrossed in my embroidery."

"Which I find intriguing as you detest embroidery." Clearly he read the guilty flush she felt searing her cheeks for he added, "You mentioned your aversion to needlework during your visit to London two months ago."

Double d.a.m.nation. The man was perceptive and recalled trivial details. How utterly irritating. "I'm, er, hoping to develop a fondness for the activity. And besides that, I simply have nothing to say."

"I see. In general-or to me in particular?"

She debated trying to put him off with a polite fib, but as he obviously wasn't easily dissuaded, she admitted the truth. "To you in particular."

Instead of looking offended, he nodded solemnly. "I suspected as much. About our conversation last evening... it was not my intention to upset you."

"You did not upset me, Mr. Stanton."

Doubt flashed across his features, raising one dark brow. "Indeed? Then you normally resemble a teakettle on the verge of boiling over?"

"Again, I must beg you to cease your flattery. In truth, 'upset' is merely a poor choice of word. Disappointment is closer to what I felt."

"In me?"

"Yes."

"Simply because I did not agree with you? If so, that disappoints me."

Feeling somehow chastised, she considered his words for several seconds, then shook her head. "No, not because we didn't agree, but because you made some very strong statements without benefit of firsthand knowledge. That, to me, is unfair, which I find to be a disappointing, not to mention irksome, quality in a person."

"I see. Tell me, had I ever in any of our past meetings impressed you as being unfair?"

"Not at all, which is why I found last evening's discussion so-" "Disappointing?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Not to mention irksome."

"Indeed. We wouldn't want not to mention that."

Again silence swelled between them, uncomfortable in an inexplicable way that unsettled her. Before last evening, she'd always felt at ease in Mr. Stanton's company. Indeed, she'd found her brother's closest friend intelligent, witty, and charming, and had enjoyed the easy friendship and camaraderie that had developed between them during the half dozen or so times they'd met. His comments last evening about the Guide, however, had proved most disillusioning. Scandalous, appalling, trash-filled balderdash indeed. Humph. And his opinion of Charles Brightmore as a renegade who possesses little, if any, literary talent had quite set her teeth on edge. It had required all her strength not to jab her finger at his nose and inquire exactly how many books he'd written.

Of course, the part of her that demanded fairness had to admit that the Guide could be described as scandalous. While she firmly believed that the information provided in the Guide was necessary and valuable to women, part of her had been delighted at the brow-raising aspect of the book and had been the deciding element for her to embark on the endeavor. It gave her untold pleasure and a wickedly secret thrill to tweak the hypocritical members of Society whose ranks she'd turned her back on after their hurtful treatment of her son. That desire, that need for some bit of revenge, was clearly a flaw in her character, but there you had it. And she'd enjoyed every minute of the stir she'd created-until last night. Until she'd realized that the Guide had swelled into a scandal of gargantuan proportions. She shuddered to think of the horrific scandal that would ensue if Charles Brightmore's ident.i.ty were to be discovered. She'd be ruined. And she wouldn't be the only one. There was Spencer to think about. And Genevieve... dear G.o.d, Genevieve stood to lose as much as, if not more than, Catherine if the truth came out.

Yet last evening's events suggested that more than her reputation might be at stake. Her very life could be in danger. Of course it was possible that she'd been the victim of an accident-she prayed that was the case-but the timing seemed eerily coincidental. And she was not a firm believer in coincidence...

He cleared his throat, yanking her from her brown study. "What would you say if I told you that I was perhaps considering the possibility of accepting your challenge to read Brightmore's book?"

Catherine stared at him for several seconds, then burst into laughter. A combination of annoyance and confusion flickered in his eyes.

"What on earth is so amusing?"

"You. You are perhaps considering the possibility... if you'd given committing to read the book any wider berth, you'd find yourself afloat in the middle of the Atlantic on your way back to America." Some inner devil made her add, "Not that I'm surprised however. As Today's Modern Woman knows, most men will go to great lengths to avoid committing to anything-unless it is for their own pleasure, of course. As for you perhaps considering reading the book, I certainly encourage you to do so, Mr. Stanton. Not for my benefit, but for your own. Now, before another argument ensues, I suggest we discuss something else, as it is clear we are in complete disagreement on the subject of the Guide!" She held out her gloved hand. "Truce?"

He studied her for several seconds, then reached out to clasp her hand. His hand was large and strong, and she felt the warmth of his palm even through her gloves.

"A truce," he agreed softly. His lips twitched as his fingers gently squeezed hers. "Although I suspect you're really angling for my unconditional surrender, in which case, I must warn you"-he leaned forward and flashed a smile-"I don't surrender easily."

Was it the deep, soft timbre of his voice, or the compelling yet somehow mischievous glitter in his dark eyes, or the warmth radiating up her arm from where his palm pressed against hers-or perhaps a combination of all three-that suddenly made it seem as if there was a dearth of oxygen in the carriage? She slowly extricated her hand from his. Was it just fancy that he seemed reluctant to let go?

"Your warning is duly noted." Heavens, she sounded positively... breathless.

"It was not my intention to argue with you-not now, or last evening, Lady Catherine."

"Indeed? What was your intention?"

"I'd intended to ask you to dance."

An image instantly filled her mind, of swirling across the dance floor to the lilting sounds of a waltz, her hand once again clasped in his, his strong arm around her waist.

"I haven't danced in over a year," she murmured. "I very much miss it."

"Perhaps we shall have the opportunity to enjoy a waltz in Little Longstone."

"I'm afraid not. Elaborate soirees are not usual there." Determined to erase the disturbing image of them dancing together from her mind, she asked, "Tell me more about how things are progressing at the museum."

"We've fallen a bit behind schedule with Philip's recent absence, but the building should be completed by year's end."