Regency Historical - Love And The Single Heiress Part 27

Shadow chose that moment to flop himself down in front of her, belly up, paws dangling, in a shameless bid to be rubbed. With a start, Catherine recalled where they were, then pried her attention away from Andrew's distracting gaze. She tickled her fingers over the pup's soft belly, much to his canine delight, while Andrew tucked his new handkerchief into his pocket. "You realize that Spencer is now going to want a dog," she said.

"Would that be so terrible?"

Catherine carefully considered before answering, then said, "As much as Spencer and I both like dogs, I've always feared having one."

"Because you thought the dog might jump on him? Knock him over?"

"Yes."She lifted her chin. "I was only trying to keep Spencer safe."

"I wasn't criticizing. Actually, when he was smaller, I think it was a prudent, wise decision. But Spencer is no longer a child."

"And a man should have a dog?"

"Yes, I think he should."

"He hasn't brought up the subject in a number of years-although I suspect that is about to change."

He clasped her hand, and she suppressed a sigh of pleasure at the feel of those callused fingers enclosing hers. "I saw the dogs who sired the litter, and neither one was large. Fritzborne mentioned that he'd be happy to have a dog stay in the stables if you didn't want the beast in the house. Said a dog would keep all those cats in line."

Catherine pondered a bit, then said, "There is no denying that Spencer is no longer a small boy. And he's careful. Strong. Such a young man certainly deserves a puppy if he wants one." She shook her head. "Everything seems to be changing, and so quickly. I swear it was only yesterday he was a babe in my arms."

"Just because something seems to happen quickly, doesn't mean it's bad, Catherine. In my experience, it usually just means those things are... inevitable." Before she could think up a reply, he said, "Here comes Spencer." He withdrew his hand with clear reluctance, then reached into his waistcoat pocket and slipped out his watch. After consulting the timepiece, he looked at her with an expression that scorched her. "Seven hours and thirty-three minutes until midnight, Catherine. I pray I can last that long." He wasn't the only one saying that particular prayer. Tonight their affair would reach its inevitable end. A bit sooner than she'd antic.i.p.ated, but surely that was for the best. Yes, surely it was.

Chapter 18.

There are subtle, less obvious places on every man's and woman's body that, when touched kissed caressed, and stroked elicit strong and delightful sensations. For instance, the small of the back. The nape. Earlobes. The inside of the wrist and elbows. The back of the knees. The inner thighs. Today's Modern Woman should strive to discover all the deliciously sensitive spots on her lover's body and make certain he discovers all of hers...

A Ladies' Guide to the Pursuit of Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment by Charles Brightmore Andrew walked toward the springs, trying to unravel the knotty problem that still seemed to have no solution. What to do about Catherine?

Of course, he knew what he wanted to do, had taken steps toward that end in London, but his every instinct warned him it was too soon to profess his love and ask for her hand. For the hundredth time he cursed the fates that necessitated his leaving tomorrow. While he'd obviously made progress, he hadn't had enough time to win her heart. To convince her to change her views on marriage. To find a way to tell her the truth about his past. Pray that that knowledge didn't turn her against him. He needed time, which he unfortunately did not have.

He also needed patience, which was becoming more and more difficult to come by. He'd wanted this woman, had loved her for what seemed like an eternity. Everything in him rebelled against taking months and months to court her slowly. He wanted her now.

He greatly feared that any ground he'd gained would be lost once he left here. She'd only wanted a short-term liaison. He suspected that once she returned to her normal routine, she would not be eager to issue him a return invitation to Little Longstone. Indeed, such a visit might well turn into a source of gossip. It was one thing for him to remain a few days after escorting her here so she did not have to travel from London alone. It was quite another for him to make return trips simply to visit.

As he approached the last curve on the path before arriving at the springs, the sound of a twig snapping directly behind caught his attention. His first thought was that it was Catherine, but then he caught a subtle whiff of tobacco. He tensed and turned swiftly. Unfortunately he turned a second too late. Something crashed down on the back of his head, and his world faded to black.

Catherine stood at the edge of the springs and looked down at the gently bubbling warm water, waiting for Andrew to arrive. She'd wrapped her resolve around her like a suit of armor and tightly tethered her heart to prevent any risk of its escaping its confines. For years she'd been content with her solitary existence, sharing her life with Spencer, enjoying the waters and her gardens, her friends.h.i.+p with Genevieve. Andrew's presence threatened to invade the safe haven she'd made here, stirring up all these confusing feelings, yearning, and desires she didn't want. She desperately needed to regain her equilibrium. After tonight, she would. Tonight belonged to her and Andrew. Tomorrow they went their separate ways. And that's the way she wanted it.

The muted sound of a twig snapping roused her, and her heart leapt in antic.i.p.ation. Seconds later she heard what sounded like dull thud, followed by a low groan, then another thud.

"Andrew?" she called softly. Only silence met her. She stood on her toes and peeked over the stone outcropping that curved around the springs and peered down the darkened path. Seeing nothing but inky shadows, she listened for several seconds yet heard nothing save leaves rustling in the soft breeze. Had she imagined the sound? Or had Andrew perhaps tripped on a branch or tree root in the darkness?

"Andrew?" she called again, a bit louder this time. Silence. She cursed the fact that she hadn't brought a lantern with her, but she knew the path to the springs so well she could navigate it with her eyes closed. Besides, she had not wanted to risk anyone possibly seeing the light from the house. Had Andrew also tried to avoid discovery and been injured as a result?

She stepped from behind the rocks and walked briskly along the path. The instant she rounded the curve she saw the p.r.o.ne form lying on the ground.

"Andrew!" Heart in her throat, she rushed forward, praying he wasn't badly hurt. Just as she reached him, she was grabbed roughly from behind. A strong arm gripped her just below her bosom, imprisoning her arms against her side, and jerked her backward, off her feet. She managed to cry out once before the attacker clamped his other hand over her mouth.

Catherine kicked and thrashed wildly, but it was quickly obvious she was no match for this man's superior strength. He half dragged, half carried her toward the springs. And away from Andrew.

Andrew. Dear G.o.d, he must have been a victim of this brigand. Was he still alive? She redoubled her frantic efforts, twisting, kicking, but to no avail as she was dragged ever closer to the water.

Distant sounds, rising and falling like a rapid tide, permeated the thick fog dulling Andrew's mind. A vicious ache throbbed behind his eyes, and he dragged his heavy lids open with a Herculean effort. He blinked and looked up at... the dark sky?

It required all his strength to push himself into a sitting position, an effort that forced him to close his eyes against the nausea and sharp pains radiating from his head. He pulled in several deep breaths, trying to a.s.similate what had happened and why the h.e.l.l his head hurt so badly. He'd been walking to the springs. To meet Catherine. A noise behind him. Then... someone attacking him from behind. His eyes sprang open. Catherine.

A sc.r.a.ping sound, followed by a m.u.f.fled grunt, coming from the area near the springs caught his attention, and he forced himself to stand. He staggered a few steps and had to press his palm against a tree trunk for several seconds until the dizziness pa.s.sed, and his equilibrium returned. After his vision cleared, he moved silently down the path. When he rounded the curve, the sight that met his gaze stilled everything inside him-breath, blood, heart.

Catherine, struggling mightily, was being dragged behind the tall rocks surrounding the springs by a dark-clad figure. They disappeared from sight and Andrew dashed forward. He'd taken less than a half a dozen steps when he heard Catherine cry out. Her wail was silenced by a loud splash.

Blood pounding in his ears, Andrew raced ahead. He rounded the rocks and instantly a.s.sessed the situation. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was looking into the bubbling spring. Clearly he'd thrown Catherine into the water, as she was nowhere to be seen. And she hadn't surfaced...

With a roar of outrage, Andrew grabbed the man by collar and lifted him off his feet. Their eyes met, and a shock of recognition radiated through Andrew. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he growled. His fist flashed, smas.h.i.+ng into the man's nose. He then heaved him backward, against the rocks. The man's body hit with a thud. With a groan and blood running down his face, he sank.

Andrew didn't wait to see the b.a.s.t.a.r.d hit the ground. He jumped into the gurgling spring. Warm water closed over his head, and he fought the panic seizing him in a vise grip. His feet hit something hard and he pushed upward. His head broke the surface, and he pulled in a gasping breath as his feet settled on the bottom and warm water swirled around his chest.

He waded farther into the pool, swis.h.i.+ng his hands under the water, his eyes frantically scanning the surface. A few feet in front of him he caught sight of what looked like a piece of dark material. He grabbed for it and tugged.

It was Catherine. Her gown. He jerked her upward, getting her head out of the water. She lolled like a limp rag in his arms.

"Catherine."His voice came out in a harsh rasp. Cradling her with one arm, the water swirling around them, he pushed the wet hair from her face. His fingers encountered a lump just above her ear, and his jaw clenched. She must have hit her head when that b.a.s.t.a.r.d threw her in.

"Catherine... please, dear G.o.d..."He lightly shook her and firmly patted her cheeks, willing her to breathe, unable to draw a breath himself as he stared down at her pale, wet, motionless face. He gathered her closer, squeezing her to him, whispering her name, begging her to breathe. To open her eyes.

Suddenly she coughed. Coughed again. Then gasped for breath.

"That's it," Andrew said, patting her sharply between the shoulder blades. After several more choking coughs, her eyelids fluttered open, and she gazed at him with a dazed expression. She blinked, then lifted a shaking wet hand to his cheek.

"Andrew."

That hoa.r.s.e whisper was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "I'm right here, Catherine."

"You were hurt. But you're all right."

He most certainly was not. In the blink of an eye he'd nearly lost everything that mattered to him.

Fear flashed in her eyes and she squirmed in his arms. "There's a man, Andrew. He grabbed me, and

must have injured you."

"I know. He's-"

Andrew's gaze froze on the empty spot where he'd last seen their attacker slithering down the rock wall.

In his desperate attempt to pull Catherine to safety he'd momentarily forgotten the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Obviously,

he'd only been stunned. He quickly scanned the area, but saw nothing. "He's gone." Holding tight to Catherine, he waded to the edge of the spring and gently set her on the smooth rock ledge. By the time he'd exited the water, Catherine had risen to her feet.

"Can you walk?" he asked, alternating his watchful gaze from her face to their surroundings.

"Yes."

He slipped his knife from his boot, cursing himself for not gutting the b.a.s.t.a.r.d when he'd had the chance,

but all his thoughts had been focused on getting to Catherine before it was too late. And he'd nearly been

too late.

"I hurt him," Andrew whispered next to her ear, "but clearly not badly enough. I hope he's off licking his wounds and won't make another attempt tonight, but I can't be sure. We're going to walk as quickly and quietly as we can back to the house. Do not let go of my hand."

She nodded. Gripping his knife in one hand and tightly clasping Catherine's wet hand in the other, they

started down the dark path. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the house without further incident.

After locking the door behind them, Andrew lit an oil lamp and took a moment to examine the lump on her head. She winced when his fingers gently probed the tender spot, but she a.s.sured him, "I'm fine."

"All right. I want to search and secure the house." He lit another lantern, then handed it to her. "Stay close to me." He wasn't about to let her out of his sight.

"I want to check on Spencer," she said, her eyes filled with concern.

"That's first," he agreed, leading the way up the stairs.

After ascertaining that Spencer was safe, Andrew whispered, "Stay here with him. I want to check the rest of the rooms. Lock the door behind me and do not open it for anyone except me." He held out his knife. "Take this."

Her eyes widened, and she audibly swallowed. But she took the weapon, determination gleaming in her eyes.

"Be careful," she whispered.

Andrew nodded, then left the room. Once he'd heard the lock click into place behind him, he immediately headed toward his bedchamber. After making certain no one lurked in the room, he pulled his pistol and another knife from the leather satchel in the bottom of the wardrobe.

"I'm ready for you now, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Dozens of questions buzzed through his mind, the loudest of which was why, but his questions would have to wait.

Slipping the knife into his boot, he carried the lantern in one hand, hefted the comforting weight of his pistol in the other, and set off to search and secure the house.

Catherine stood in Spencer's bedchamber, clutching the knife, her ears straining to pick up any foreign sound, her gaze never leaving her son's face, which was gently illuminated by the oil lamp she'd set on his desk. Her wet clothing stuck to her like an uncomfortable second skin, and she pressed her lips together to keep her teeth from chattering. She wasn't certain if the s.h.i.+vers racking her were more the result of being chilled or due to the shocking fright of this evening.

Spencer stirred, let out a small sigh, then settled, and Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. She'd thought the danger was over, had been convinced that the shooting in London was a random accident and not related to her connection to the Guide and Charles Brightmore, but clearly she was wrong. Dear G.o.d, what had she done? Guilt and self-recriminations wrapped a noose around her neck, strangling her. Andrew could easily have been killed. She could easily have drowned. And G.o.d only knows what sort of threat her actions had wrought upon her family.

She kept her silent vigil, heart pounding with every creak of the house, praying for Andrew's safety. When she finally heard a soft tapping on the door, relief wobbled her knees.

"Catherine, it's me," came Andrew's quiet voice from the corridor.

Holding her lantern aloft, she opened the door, quite certain she'd never been so relieved to see anyone in her entire life. He motioned for her join him in the corridor. After she'd done so, he quietly closed Spencer's door, then clasped her hand and led her in silence directly to her bedchamber. The instant the door closed behind them and they were ensconced in privacy, he set both their lamps on the marble hearth and drew her into his arms.

Catherine slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest, absorbing his hard, fast heartbeats against her cheek.

"The house is safe," he said softly, his words warm against her temple. "No intruders. I locked all the doors and windows. I woke Milton, briefed him on what happened, and instructed him to tell the rest of the staff in the morning." He leaned back and tipped up her chin. "I know who did this, Catherine. I saw him. Recognized him. And I swear to you, I'll find him."

"Who is it?"

"A man named Sidney Carmichael."

Catherine frowned. "He attended my father's birthday party, as well as the duke's soiree."

"Yes. He is-or rather was-one of the potential museum investors. I spoke to him just yesterday in London." His brow creased with a deep frown. "In spite of the dark, I know it was he. I just don't understand why he would do this. He hadn't yet handed over any funds for the museum, so he didn't stand to lose any money."

Catherine's stomach twisted. She wished she didn't have to tell him, but there was no other way. Drawing a bracing breath, she said, "I'm afraid I know why, Andrew."

His gaze sharpened, but instead of demanding an immediate explanation, he said, "I'm anxious to hear your thoughts, but first we must get you into dry clothing before you become ill. Turn around."

For the first time she noted that he'd changed into a fresh linen s.h.i.+rt and breeches. She turned and felt him deftly unfasten the row of b.u.t.tons down her back. After he helped her slip off her damp gown and underthings, she retrieved a nightrail, robe, and slippers. While he carefully settled her wet garments over the back of a wing chair, and tended the fire which had burned too low, she quickly dressed.

After she'd tightened the robe's sash around her waist, she walked to the fireplace, taking a moment to allow the flames to chase away the last of her chills. When she was warm, she turned to him. The fire cast the room in a golden, flickering glow, gilding his features in contrasting panes of shadow and light. His eyes were serious and filled with questions as they regarded her, yet he said nothing, patiently waiting for her to speak.

Clasping her fidgety hands at her waist, she said, "I'm not certain how to tell you this, other than to simply say it. You are aware that many people are angered by the Ladies' Guide and that there is great interest in the author."

"Yes."