Jacquie D'Alessandro (2 page)

“Surely an expert such as yourself should know. The usual romantic gestures. Flowers, invitations, trinkets. That sort of thing.”

Annoyance, along with a hefty dose of jealousy, smacked Andrew. “Did she indicate that she enjoyed these attentions?”

“On the contrary, she indicated that she found these gentlemen bothersome, for she has, and I quote, ‘no intention of ever compromising my independence by leg-shackling myself to another man.’ I must say, my sister has become startlingly blunt of late. That, added to the headstrong streak I’ve detected in her manner lately
and
these other suitors…” A sympathy-filled wince pinched Philip’s features. “Not a stellar start to your wooing campaign, my friend, although I did try to warn you of that.”

Andrew brushed aside the vaguely uncomplimentary description of Lady Catherine as being blunt and headstrong. Didn’t sisters always seem that way to their brothers? However, there was no ignoring the rest, and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Who are these men?”

“Egad, Andrew, that frigid tone doesn’t bode well for the fellows, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that particular glare in your eyes before. Hope I’m never on the receiving end of it.” He considered for several seconds, then said, “She mentioned some village doctor. Then of
course there’s the Duke of Kelby whose country estate is near her home in Little Longstone. And then there was an assortment of earls, viscounts, and the like, a few of whom are here this evening.”

“Here? This evening?”

“When did you develop this troubling habit of repeating everything I say? Yes. Here. This evening. For example, Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth.”

“Our investors?”

“The very ones. I ask that you please remember they would no doubt withdraw their funding if you bloodied their noble noses.”

“I suppose that means knocking them onto their noble asses is also out of the question.”

“I’m afraid so, although that would make for a fine evening’s entertainment. Apparently Kingsly also made an overture toward Catherine.”

“He’s
married
.”

“Yes.
And
has a mistress. Then there’s Lord Darnell.” Philip jerked his head toward the punch bowl. “Note his besotted expression.”

Andrew turned, and his jaw clenched. Lord Darnell was handing Catherine a glass of punch and looking at her as if she were a delectable morsel from which he longed to take a nice, big bite. Several other gentlemen, Andrew noted grimly, hovered about, all wearing similar expressions.

“Looks like I’m going to need to purchase myself a broom,” Andrew muttered.

“A broom? Why is that?”

“To sweep that bastard Darnell and his friends off Lady Catherine’s porch.”

“Excellent idea. As her brother, I can’t say I like the way Darnell is looking at her.”

Andrew forced his gaze away from the group surrounding the punch bowl and looked at Philip. “Can’t say I like it myself.”

“Well then, since you’re quite capable of handling yourself, I’ll take myself off so you can proceed. I’ll send a letter once I’m a papa to let you know if the tyke is a boy or girl.”

Andrew smiled. “Please do. I’ll be anxious to know if I’m an aunt or an uncle.”

Philip laughed. “Good luck in your quest to win my doesn’t-care-to-be-won sister.” Amusement flashed in Philip’s eyes as he glanced toward the group at the punch bowl. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to witness the wooing as I’m certain it will prove very entertaining. And may the best man win.”

After seeing Philip off, Andrew started up the brick walkway to reenter the town house, anticipating finding Catherine. He hoped there would be no further interruptions—

The front door opened and a group of gentlemen exited the town house. His jaw clenched as he recognized Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth. Both young lords were impeccably dressed, complicated cravat knots adorning their throats, their coifs artful arrangements of careless, rakish curls. Each wore large jeweled rings that glistened in the moonlight as they indulged in a bit of snuff. Andrew decided they would not look quite so well turned-out sporting swollen jaws and blackened eyes.

And that reprobate Kingsly was with them. With his paunch, puckered lips, and beady eyes, Kingsly was already a remarkably unattractive fellow, but Andrew would be more than happy to make him even uglier if he continued his pursuit of Lady Catherine.

The thin, bespectacled Lord Borthrasher looked at Andrew down his long nose. With his pointed chin and sharp eyes with their unwavering, cold stare, he reminded Andrew of a vulture. Two gentlemen Andrew did not recognize rounded out the group. The last thing Andrew wanted was to speak to any of them, but unfortunately there was no way to avoid them.

“Ah, Stanton, care to join us for a smoke?” asked Lord Kingsly, his beady eyes raking over Andrew in a way that set his teeth on edge.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Stanton, did you say?” One of the gentlemen Andrew didn’t know raised a quizzing glass and stared at him. Like his peers, this man wore perfectly tailored evening clothes, a complicated cravat and a jeweled ring. Although he was clearly older than his companions, he was surprisingly well built and broad-shouldered, leading Andrew to wonder if the man’s physique was enhanced with padding. “Been wanting to meet you, Stanton. Heard a great deal about this museum.”

“May I present his grace, the Duke of Kelby,” said Kingsly.

Ah, the suitor whose estate was near Catherine’s. Andrew offered a brief nod, only partially mollified by the fact that the duke, hearty though he appeared, resembled a carp.

“I’d hoped to meet you as well.” The other gentleman unknown to Andrew stepped forward and extended his hand. “Sidney Carmichael.”

Andrew recognized the name that Philip had mentioned as the potential investor of five thousand pounds. Of average height and build, he judged Carmichael to be in his late fifties and wearily wondered if he was but yet another suitor. He shook the man’s hand, noting the firm grip that
pressed the ring he wore against Andrew’s fingers.

“I understand from Lord Greybourne that you’re American,” Mr. Carmichael said, his assessing gaze clearly taking Andrew’s measure, a favor Andrew returned.

“The instant he opens his mouth ’tis obvious he’s from the bloody colonies,” Lord Kingsly said with a loud guffaw, which drew laughs from the group. “Not that he says a lot. Man of few words, eh, Stanton?”

Ignoring Kingsly, he said, “Yes, I’m American.”

“Spent some time in your country during my travels,” Carmichael said. “Mostly in the Boston area. Where are you from?”

Andrew hesitated only half a beat. He didn’t care for answering questions about himself. “Philadelphia.”

“Never visited there,” Carmichael said with a regretful air. “I’m a lover of antiquities. Avenbury, Ferrymouth, and Borthrasher have been singing the praises of your and Lord Greybourne’s museum. I’d like to discuss an investment with you.” He pulled a card from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Andrew. “My direction. I hope you’ll call upon me soon.”

Andrew slipped the card into his pocket and nodded. “I will.”

“I’d like to discuss investing with you as well, Stanton,” chimed in the duke. “Always looking for a good opportunity.”

“Always looking for investors,” Andrew said, hoping his smile was not as tight as it felt. “If you gentlemen will excuse me…” He nodded and made his way around them.

As he passed Lord Avenbury, the young lord said to the group, “Ferrymouth and I are off to the gaming tables. I’d wanted an opportunity to dance with Lady Catherine, but I suppose there’s always next time.”

Andrew froze and glared at the young man’s profile.

“Delectable tidbit, she is,” Lord Avenbury said. He licked his lips, and the group laughed. Andrew had to clench his hands to keep from discovering how Avenbury would look without any lips at all.

“Her estate is close to mine, you know,” the duke said, lifting his quizzing glass, jeweled ring flashing. “Very convenient.”

“Really?” Lord Kingsly said, a distinctly lecherous gleam in his beady eyes. “I might need to pry an invitation from you, Kelby. Yes, I believe I feel a sudden urge to visit your place and take the waters.”

“Excellent notion,” seconded Lord Ferrymouth. “Borthrasher, don’t you suffer the occasional bout of the gout? The waters would do you wonders, I’m certain.” Borthrasher nodded, and Ferrymouth beamed at the duke. “I believe a gathering at your home is in order, Kelby.” His sweeping hand encompassed the group. “We’d all love to come. A few days of hunting, soaking in the springs”—he waggled his brows—“visiting the neighbors.”

“Might provide an enjoyable break from the usual boring rounds of fetes,” the duke agreed. “Let us take to the gaming tables and discuss it.”

They moved down the walkway, laughing, pulling out cheroots and snuffboxes. His jaw tightened to the point of pain, Andrew turned and strode into the house. Damn it to hell, this evening was not going at
all
the way he’d envisioned it. But at least with that group now departed, things could not get worse.

Standing in the shadows of the far corner of the drawing room, Catherine drew in a long breath, relieved finally to find herself alone for a moment to calm her turbulent thoughts. Knowing this haven would offer only a short
respite from the crowd, she cast her gaze about the room in search of another sanctuary.

“For whom are you looking so intently, Lady Catherine?” asked a deep voice from directly behind her.

Her breath caught, and she turned swiftly to find herself staring into Mr. Stanton’s familiar dark eyes. Steady eyes. Friendly eyes. Relief rippled through her. Here, at last, was a friend she could talk to. An ally who meant her no harm. A gentleman not intent upon courting her.

“Mr. Stanton. You startled me.”

“Forgive me. I noticed you standing here, and I wanted to say hello.” He made her a formal bow, then smiled. “Hello.”

She forcibly pushed aside her worries and smiled in return, knowing that he would notice any discomfiture on her part. “And hello to you, too. I haven’t seen you since I last ventured to London two months ago. I trust you’ve been well—and busy with the museum?”

“Yes, on both accounts. And I can see that you’ve been well.” His gaze dipped briefly to her gown. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” She was tempted to admit to him her relief at finally packing away her mourning clothes, but wisely held her tongue. To do so might lead to another discussion of Bertrand—as her appearance this evening already had with other guests—and she had no desire to speak of her deceased husband.

“May I help you locate someone, Lady Catherine?”

“As a matter of fact, I was looking for you.” Not strictly the truth, but he did represent what she’d been searching for—a safe cove amongst the choppy waters.

Unmistakable pleasure flashed in his eyes. “How convenient, as here I am.”

“Yes. Here you…are.” Looking strong and solid, familiar yet imposing—the perfect candidate to distract her attention from her worries and discourage the bothersome gentlemen who had buzzed around her all evening like hovering insects.

His lips twitched. “Do you plan to tell me
why
you were searching for me, or are we to play charades?”

“Charades?”

“’Tis an amusing game where one person acts out words, in a pantomime fashion, while others guess what he is trying to say.”

“I see.” She pursed her lips and made an exaggerated show of studying him. “Hmmm. Your clearly tugged-upon cravat, combined with that hint of furrow between your brows indicates you are trying to say that you wish Philip had remained to chat with all these potential museum investors.”

“A very astute observation, Lady Catherine. Philip is much more adept at navigating these waters than I. I can only hope I do not frighten off any of our financial backing before Meredith gives birth and Philip returns to London.”

“I saw you speaking with several people this evening, and none appeared
overly
frightened. As for Philip, I was pleased he came to the party, albeit for a short time.”

“He told me Meredith insisted he come to the party, in spite of his objections.”

“I’m certain she did.”

“Rather odd, considering her delicate condition, don’t you think?”

“Not at all.” Catherine grinned. “I received a letter yesterday from Meredith in which she wrote that my normally calm and collected brother has taken to alternating
between frantic pacing and croaking, ‘is it time yet?’ After a fortnight of such behavior, she was ready to cosh him. Rather than risk injuring the father of her child, she instead grasped upon the excuse of this party to push him literally out the door.”

Mr. Stanton chuckled. “Ah, now I understand. Yes, I can picture Philip, hovering over Meredith, his hair standing up on end, cravat undone—”

“—cravat missing altogether,” Catherine corrected with a laugh.

“Spectacles askew.”

“Shirt horribly wrinkled—”

“—with his sleeves rolled up.” Andrew shook his head. “I can only sympathize with poor Meredith. Makes me wish I was at the Greybourne country estate to enjoy the show.”

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Pshaw. You simply wish you were anywhere but here, attempting to entice investors.”

Something flashed in his eyes, then an engaging grin spread over his face—a grin that coaxed twin dimples to crease his cheeks. A grin she found impossible not to respond to in kind. He leaned toward her, and she caught a pleasing whiff of sandalwood. An inexplicable tingle shivered down her spine, surprising her, as it was quite warm in the room.

“I must admit that soliciting funds is not my favorite pastime, Lady Catherine. I owe you a boon for affording me this moment of sanctuary.”

She was tempted to tell him that she owed him a boon for a similar reason, but refrained. “I noticed you speaking to Lords Borthrasher and Kingsly, and also Mrs. Warrenfield,” she said. “Were your efforts successful?”

“I believe so, especially in Mrs. Warrenfield’s case. Her husband left her a sizable fortune, and she possesses a love of antiquities. A good combination as far as Philip and I are concerned.”