Jacquie D'Alessandro (16 page)

“I must confess, I like my choices much better.”

“Yes, I’m certain you do.”

“Why is there no point in me courting you?”

“Courting is a precursor to marriage, and as I’ve no intention of marrying again, your efforts would be wasted.”

“A man cannot court a woman simply because he enjoys her company?”

“Do you enjoy my company, Mr. Stanton?”

“Andrew. And yes, I do. When you’re not being so prickly. Although, I must admit that I enjoy your company even when you are prickly. I just enjoy it more when you’re not.”

“I am not prickly.”

“If you don’t think so, clearly you do not know the definition of the word. Between that and not knowing what a surprise is, I think it might behoove me always to keep a dictionary in easy reach.”

“Is this your idea of courting me? Irritating me until my head hurts?”

“No. However, I don’t see that it makes much difference as you’ve said you don’t wish to be courted.”

Catherine bit her lips, not certain if she were more amused or vexed. Shooting him an exaggerated frown, she asked, “Do you know who is more annoying than you?”

His eyes twinkled with clear amusement. “No, but I’m certain you’re about to tell me.”

“No one, Mr. Stanton. I’ve never met anyone more annoying than you.”

“Andrew. And how fortunate that I so enjoy being in first place.”

He smiled, a beautiful, full smile, complete with the enticing dimples that had her pressing her lips together to keep from responding in kind. Botheration, where had her irritation disappeared to? She shouldn’t feel like smiling. She was supposed to be irked. Annoyed. Why then did she feel so utterly…charmed?

Clearly it was time that she took her leave of him.

She stepped forward, but he stopped her by lightly grasping her upper arm. All vestiges of humor left his eyes, and he reached out to trail a single fingertip down her cheek. “I think we shared something good here tonight, Catherine.”

A tingle tripped down her spine. How did he elicit such a strong physical reaction from her with just the whisper of a touch? Although she desperately wished it otherwise,
she could no longer lie to herself and deny that she found this man irresistibly attractive.

Now the only question was, what did she intend to do about it?

“A
re we almost finished, Mr. Stanton?” Spencer asked for the third time in the last quarter hour.

Crouched on the rough wooden floor of a little-used part of the stables, Andrew smiled over his shoulder. Spencer stood next to a bale of hay, holding a broom—for the first time in his life. When Andrew had handed him the tool half an hour ago, Spencer had stared at the wooden handle for several seconds as if it were a snake, but then he got into the spirit of the task. The sheen of
hard work glistened on the young man’s face, as did clear satisfaction in the fruits of his labors.

“The floor looks good,” Andrew said. “I just need to hammer a few more nails. Then we can begin.”

While Andrew set another nail in place, Spencer cleared his throat. “I want to thank you for taking such good care of my mother after the shooting.”

Andrew turned around, giving the boy his full attention. “It was my pleasure to do so, Spencer.”

“I would have thanked you sooner, but she did not tell me about it until yesterday.” He looked down and plucked a piece of hay from the bale. “When she first told me, I was not only angry at her, but at you as well for not telling me.”

“It wasn’t my place to tell you, Spencer. And your mother’s intentions were good. We all try to protect the people we love.”

“I know. Mum and I talked about it. I’m not angry anymore. She promised not to keep any more secrets from me.”

“Good.” Andrew crossed to the bale of hay and extended his hand. “I hope we are still friends?”

Spencer’s head jerked up, and his serious gaze met Andrew’s. Reaching out, he clasped Andrew’s hand in a strong grip and nodded. “Friends. But…no more secrets.”

Guilt hit Andrew like an open-handed slap, and he merely nodded in response, not willing to give voice to such a blatant falsehood. His entire life was based on secrets. And lies.

He released Spencer’s hand, then stepped back to retrieve his hammer. “I’ll finish this so we can begin,” he said. Burying his regret at being less than honest in the face of Spencer’s trust, he set a nail in the wood and pounded out his frustrations.

Ten minutes later, Andrew completed the task, and he stood to survey his handiwork. While Spencer had
cleared away the dust and cobwebs from the area, he’d affixed three dozen wood rectangles, each approximately the size of a brick, to the floor to form a wide circle. Yes, this would do very nicely.

“Ready?” Andrew asked.

“Yes. And eager.” He indicated the wood blocks with his chin. “
Now
will you tell me what those are?”

“They’re to aid your balance during our pugilism lessons. Once you are steady on your feet, there is no reason why you cannot do well. Allow me to demonstrate. Brace the side of your weak foot along the wood, then step forward with your strong foot, keeping most of your weight on the forward leg.”

After Spencer had done so, Andrew said, “As long as you keep your weight forward, the wood will keep your weak foot from sliding, thus preventing you from falling backward.”

Spencer slowly flexed his knees several times, then a broad smile lit his face. “I say, that’s quite ingenious, Mr. Stanton.”

Andrew took a bow. “Thank you. I’m certain you did not mean to sound so shocked.”

The boy’s smile faded, and he looked distressed. “Oh, no. I—”

“’Twas a jest, Spencer. Now, let’s start with the basics. There are two basic principles to pugilism. Any idea what they are?”

“To punch the other fellow and not let yourself get punched.”

“Exactly.” Andrew cocked his head. “You seem to know a great deal about this. Are you certain you’ve never done this before?”

“Most certain,” Spencer said, his face perfectly serious.

Andrew suppressed his smile. “In order to do those two
things, you must know how to deliver a punch and how to block or avoid a punch.”

“I imagine speed is very important in this sport,” Spencer said, his voice wistful.

“It is. But it is not the only thing. Timing and the ability to outthink your opponent are just as important. What you may lack in speed, you will make up for in intelligence. And you’ll recall that the goal here is not to become the most feared pugilist in the kingdom—only the best that you can be.”

“But what if I can’t do it at all?”

“If you try, then discover that you can’t do it, that’s fine. Not everyone can excel at everything he attempts, Spencer. The important thing is to try. I truly believe you can do this. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have hammered this makeshift ring into place. If it turns out I’m wrong, then so be it. If nothing else, you’ll have learned you don’t like it.”

“You won’t think I’m…foolish? Or stupid?” He looked at the ground. “Or a failure?”

The worry and resignation in the boy’s voice tore at Andrew. Reaching out, he placed his hands on Spencer’s shoulders and waited until Spencer looked up to meet his gaze. “Whether you excel at this or not, I would never think you to be anything less than a courageous, intelligent, successful young man.”

The hope that flared in the lad’s eyes made the space around Andrew’s heart go hollow. Spencer blinked, then swallowed. “Do you truly mean that?”

“You have my word.” He released his shoulders, then ruffled his hair. “Indeed, I envy your courage.”

“
You?
” The word was a snort of disbelief. “You and Uncle Philip are the bravest men I know.”

“Thank you, although I believe we are the
only
men you know,” he teased.

Spencer’s face flushed bright red. “That’s not true. I know—”

“I was jesting, Spencer.”

“Oh. I…knew that.” He frowned. “What sort of courage do I have that you envy?”

Andrew paced before the boy several times, debating, then halted. “If I tell you, do you promise not to think
me
foolish or a failure?”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “I’d never think such a thing, Mr. Stanton. I promise.”

“Very well.” Andrew raked his hand through his hair, then drew a deep breath. “Icannotswim,” he said in rush. There. He’d said it. Out loud.

“I beg your pardon?”

Damn. It appeared he’d have to say it again. “I. Cannot. Swim.”

Spencer’s eyes widened further. “Never say so. Are you certain?”

“Very. I never learned. As you know, my father did not know how to swim, and who else would have taught me? After he drowned, any enthusiasm I might have had for the water abruptly left me. The last time I was in the water, except for a bathtub of course, was during some ridiculous reenactment of an ancient Nile canoe crossing your uncle insisted I participate in. I was too embarrassed to admit I couldn’t swim, so against my better judgment I did it. The canoe overturned, and I nearly drowned.” A shudder ran through him as he relieved the stark terror of the water closing over his head. Filling his lungs. Shaking off the memory, he gazed steadily at Spencer. “Believe me, I understand your trepidation about trying something over which you feel you have no control. But I’ll help you. You can do it. If you really want to.”

“So could you, you know.”

He smiled. “I already know how to fight.”

“I meant swim. Have you ever tried to learn?”

“No. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m afraid of the water.”

“But you crossed an entire ocean!”

“And don’t think I wasn’t scared. Believe me, I stayed far away from the rails.”

“I could teach you to swim, you know. We could start today! Right after our pugilism lesson.”

Andrew actually felt the blood drain from his face. “
Today?
No, I don’t think—”

“I could teach you to swim, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer went on, his eyes alight with eagerness. “Won’t you allow me to try? I’d be honored to teach you something in return for everything you’re teaching me. And once you learn, you can take the waters with me and Mum—not that you need to know how to swim to take the waters. The springwater would only reach your chest.”

The “no” that had hovered on Andrew’s lips fell away as he considered this opportunity. If he learned to swim…he instantly imaged him and Catherine together at night in the spring, kissing, touching in the warm, soothing water. Then a relaxing, fun-filled family afternoon, splashing and swimming with Spencer and Catherine.

“Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew roused himself from his brown study. “Yes?”

“If you try, then discover that you can’t do it, that’s fine. Not everyone can excel at everything he attempts. The important thing is to try.”

One corner of Andrew’s mouth pulled up. “Surely it is written somewhere that ‘thou shalt not use a man’s own words against him.’”

“Unfortunately for you, that is not written anywhere,”
Spencer said positively. “And surely you cannot expect me to take your advice if you’re unwilling to take it yourself.”

Andrew blinked. The lad had him there. “Have you ever considered becoming a barrister?”

“No. But if I stand a chance of winning this—my first case—I may consider it.” He reached out and laid a comforting hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “I know it will be difficult, especially after what happened to your father. But a very wise man recently told me that if you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always be where you’ve always been.”

Andrew shook his head. “Hoist upon my own petard,” he muttered.

“I appreciate your trust in sharing your secret with me, sir,” Spencer said in a very serious voice. “I give you my word it is not misplaced.”

There was no missing Spencer’s strong desire to be needed, to be important, to be good enough at something to teach someone else. It was all right there in the young man’s eyes, calling out to Andrew. It was a call he couldn’t ignore.

“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll try it.
One
time,” he added hastily when Spencer’s face lit up with an eager smile. “But if I don’t like it, we stop. Immediately.”

“Agreed. But first our pugilism lesson.”

Andrew nodded. “Ready?”

Spencer made two fists and struck a fighting pose. “Ready.”

“Have you taken to studying tea leaves, Catherine?”

At Genevieve’s question Catherine jerked her gaze up from her teacup and blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I wondered if you’d developed an interest in tea leaves
since clearly there is something fascinating in the bottom of your cup.”

Heat rose in Catherine’s cheeks. “Forgive me, Genevieve. I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Yes, I can see that. Is something amiss?”

Catherine looked at the warm concern in Genevieve’s blue eyes, and to her consternation felt hot moisture press behind her own eyes. “Not amiss, precisely, but there is something troubling me.”

“I’d be happy to listen if you’d like to tell me.”

“I don’t really know how or where to begin.”

Genevieve nodded slowly. “I see. This concerns Mr. Stanton.”

Catherine stared. “Good Lord, either I’ve become completely transparent, or everyone around me has developed clairvoyant tendencies.”

“There is nothing of a transparent or clairvoyant nature at work here, darling. ’Tis just that I know you so well, and the fact that since I have a great deal of experience in these matters, I can easily recognize the signs.”

“These matters? Signs? What do you mean?”

“Why, I’m talking about you and Mr. Stanton. Last evening. The way he looked at you. The way you tried so hard not to look at him. The way you waltzed together.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. My thoughts are so confused, I’m not certain how to describe them.”

“Catherine, there’s nothing to be confused about. I understand completely.”

A humorless laugh escaped Catherine. “Then perhaps you could explain it to me.”

“Gladly. You find Mr. Stanton very attractive—in spite of the fact that you do not wish to.”

“I don’t wish to,” Catherine agreed emphatically. “And what makes it worse, I cannot fathom
why
I find
him so fascinating. He is the most irritating man I’ve ever encountered.”

“Which is why you find him so fascinating,” Genevieve said with a soft laugh. “He is challenging in that he does not fall at your feet and agree with everything you say like the rest of the men seeking your favor. Yet he is kind and holds you in the highest regard. To say nothing of the fact that he is a delight to look at.” Genevieve’s sharp-eyed gaze studied her for several seconds. “I’m guessing he kissed you.”

Fire erupted in Catherine’s cheeks. “Yes.”

“He is a man who knows how to kiss a woman.”

“Truer words have probably never been spoken.”

“Did you make love with him?”

A heated tremor sizzled through Catherine at the mere thought. “No.”

“But you want to.” Clearly, Genevieve needed no confirmation of that because before Catherine could speak, she continued, “Obviously he wishes to. Did he give you any indication what his intentions are?”

“He said he intends to court me.”

“Ah!” Genevieve’s eyes sparkled. “Not only is he charming, handsome, intelligent, and—”

“Irritating. You seem to keep forgetting that—”

“—Well traveled, he is honorable as well.”

Feeling decidedly like a hen whose feathers were badly ruffled out of place, Catherine said tartly, “As I told him last evening, there is no point in courting me, as I’ve no intention of marrying again.”

“So you wish for him merely to seduce you,” Genevieve said with a matter-of-fact nod. “You could easily convince most men to agree to your terms, but one can tell at first glance that your Mr. Stanton is not most men.”

“He is not
my
Mr. Stanton.”

Genevieve brushed the comment away with her gloved hand. “I do not see him turning down the opportunity to become your lover, but his intention to court you leads me to think he will not be satisfied with that arrangement in the long run.”

“Yes, I’m certain he’d tire of me after a time.” The words felt like sawdust in Catherine’s mouth, and she sipped her tea to relieve the discomfort.

“You misunderstand, my dear. Mr. Stanton stated he wishes to
court
you. He wants a
wife
. He will grow tired not of you, but of the nonpermanent nature of your relationship. When he does, he will push for you to marry him.”