Jacquie ’Alessandro - Love and the Single Heiress

Nearly an hour later, after much strenuous shaking by Andrew of an outer bucket filled with chips of ice and salt while Spencer vigorously stirred an inner bucket filled with cream, sugar, and strawberries, Andrew finally announced, “It’s ready.”

Spencer, his face red from his exertions, blew out a loud breath. “Thank goodness. My arms are about to drop off.”

“As are mine,” Andrew agreed. “But trust me, once you taste this, the pain will instantly fade.”

“I feel horribly guilty,” Catherine said. “While you two shook and stirred, I merely sat here and enjoyed the lovely weather.”

“You were watching Shadow,” Andrew reminded her, scooping heaping spoonfuls of pink stuff into porcelain bowls.

“Not a difficult task, as the imp has been sleeping for the past three-quarters of an hour.” She looked down at the bundle of black fur sprawled across her lap and tried, without any success whatsoever, to stem the affection flooding her. “I believe I bored Shadow to sleep.”

“Well, she who bores the dog to sleep serves the cause just as much as those who stir and shake,” Andrew said, handing her a bowl and spoon. “Taste.”

Catherine dipped her spoon into the creamy concoction, then lifted it to her lips. Her eyes widened with pure delight as the smooth, sweet, strawberry-flavored chill slid down her throat. “Oh, my.”

Andrew laughed. After scooping out a generous portion for Spencer, then himself, they all sat upon the blanket and indulged in their treat.

“You’re right, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer said, “this is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Made all your arm aches disappear, I’ll wager.”

“Every one,” Spencer agreed.

“Where did you learn to make this?” Catherine asked, savoring another delectable spoonful.

“In America. The family who owned the stables where I worked was fond of serving this to their guests.” A phantom of some emotion she could not read flashed in his eyes. “Whenever they did so, their daughter would pilfer an extra bowl for me. Eventually I asked their cook how it was made.”

A spurt of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy shot through her at the thought of Andrew sitting on a blanket with his employer’s daughter, eating a frozen delight that she’d brought him.

“The girl who brought you the ice-what was her name?” Spencer asked, voicing the question Catherine hadn’t had the courage to speak.

“Emily,”Andrew said, softly, looking down into his bowl.

“Was she nice?”

“Very nice.” He looked up and gave Spencer a slight smile that looked more sad than happy to Catherine. “In fact, you rather remind me of her, Spencer.”

“I remind you of a girl?”

Andrew chuckled at his horrified expression. “Not the fact that she was a girl, but because she… struggled to find where she fit in. She did not feel very comfortable around people. Indeed, except for me, she had very few friends.”

Spencer’s brow puckered as he pondered this. Then he asked, “Are you still her friend? Do you correspond with her?”

There was no mistaking the pain that filled his eyes. “No. She died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

“When did she die?”

He swallowed, then said, “About eleven years ago. Just before I left America. I bet she would be pleased that we’re all enjoying this treat. And I especially wanted to make strawberry because I know it is a favorite of both of you. Who would like some more?”

“Me, please,” said Spencer, holding out his bowl.

The adroit subject change had not escaped Catherine, and she wondered if there was more behind it than simply not wanting to discuss a sad subject. Andrew’s pain when he’d discussed this Emily was palpable, filling her with sympathy for him. The conversation had also piqued her curiosity.

Amid many appreciative murmurs, they each enjoyed another bowl while laughing at Shadow-who’d awakened and showed a huge interest in the proceedings. “There’s just enough for one more serving,” Andrew said. “Since I know from experience that this is a favorite of stable masters, I wager Fritzborne would enjoy it.”

“I’ll bring it to him,” Spencer offered.

As Catherine watched her son walk toward the stables, his uneven gait forming the familiar lump of love in her throat, she was also acutely, painfully aware that she and Andrew were alone.

She turned to look at him and stilled at the compelling, serious look in his dark eyes.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

Three simple words. How did he cleave through all her hard-fought-for resolutions with three simple words? Her insides seemed to melt, and she was grateful she was sitting, for her knees felt oddly weak. As much as she hated to admit it, as much as she desperately wished she hadn’t, she’d missed him, too. More man she’d believed it possible to miss a person. Much more than she’d wanted to. And certainly much more than was wise. And now, with those three simple words, she feared that all her attempts to keep her heart unencumbered were doomed to failure.

He reached out and brushed his fingers slowly back and forth over the back of her hand, sending delicious tingles up her arm. “You said earlier that I lacked self-control, and I want you to know just how very wrong you are. I cannot even begin to describe the amount of control I am exercising right now not to kiss you. Touch you.”

“You are touching me,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Not in the way I want to, I assure you.”

Heat pooled low in her belly, and sensual images of all the seductive ways he’d touched her flashed through her mind.

“Do you still want to meet at the springs tonight, Catherine?”

“Yes.”Desperately. “Do you?”

“Do you truly need to ask?”

“No.”She could easily see the desire in his eyes. And if she didn’t change the subject, she stood in danger of saying or doing something she might well regret.

“This”-she spread her hand to indicate their picnic area and the collection of buckets-“was a delightful surprise. And very thoughtful of you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I confess I have a surprise for you as well.”

“Really? What is it?”

She shot him an aggrieved look. “What are you always saying about a dictionary?”

He laughed. “Touchй. When will my surprise be unveiled?”

“Are you always this impatient?”

His eyes darkened. “Sometimes.”

Heavens, she wished she’d brought her fan to dispel the heat this man inspired. “Actually, you may have it right now.” She slipped a small, flat tissue-paper-wrapped bundle secured with a bit of blue satin ribbon from the pocket of her gown and handed it to him.

Surprised pleasure flared in his eyes. “A gift?”

“It’s nothing really,” she said, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

“On the contrary, it’s extraordinary.”

She laughed. “You haven’t opened it yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s still extraordinary. How did you just happen to have this in your pocket?”

“I retrieved it from my bedchamber after I’d written my note to Philip-before I rejoined you in the foyer.”

He untied the ribbon, parted the tissue paper, then lifted the white linen square. “A handkerchief. With my initials embroidered on it.” Staring at the material, he gently rubbed his thumb over the dark blue, silk thread letters that had obviously been done by an inexpert hand.

“The night in the garden,” she said, her words coming out in a rush, “when you showed me the bleeding hearts, you didn’t have a handkerchief when you thought I was crying-not that I was crying, mind you-but since you didn’t have one, I thought perhaps you could use this.”

He said nothing for several seconds, just continued slowly to brush his thumb over the letters. Then, in a husky voice, he said, “You don’t care for needlework, yet you embroidered this for me.”

A self-conscious laugh escaped her. “I tried. As you can plainly see, embroidery is not my forte.”

He looked up and his gaze captured hers. There was no mistaking his pleasure at her gift. “It’s beautiful, Catherine. The finest gift I’ve ever received. Thank you.”

Warmth suffused her, then quickly turned to heat when his gaze dropped to her lips. Her breath caught, anticipating the brush of his lips against hers, his luscious taste, the silken sweep of his tongue.

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 anticipated, but surely that was for the best.

Yes, surely it was.

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.