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I bow to your superior knowledge on the subject, madam.”
    She did not return his smile; rather, she lifted a single brow. “You continue to surprise me, Mr. Stanton.”
    A humorless laugh escaped him. “ I continue to surprise you ? In what way?”
    “I hadn’t taken you for a coward.”
    Her words stilled him. Damn it, this had gone far enough. “Most likely because I am not one. And I hadn’t taken you for an instigator, yet you appear to be deliberately baiting me, Lady Catherine. I wonder why?”
    Another layer of crimson deepened her flushed cheeks. She drew a deep breath, then emitted a nervous-soundinglaugh. “Yes, it seems I am. Forgive me. I’m afraid I’ve had a rather difficult evening and—”
    Her words were cut off by a loud cracking sound and the crash of breaking glass. Gasps and cries of stunned fright rose from the party guests. Andrew turned swiftly, sickening dread oozing down his spine as he recognized the first sound as being that of a pistol report. Shards of glass sprayed across the floor beneath the now-broken windowpanes. In the space of a heartbeat, a myriad of tormenting images he’d believed buried flashed through his mind with a streak of vivid anguish. A ringing commenced in his ears, drowning out the sounds around him, and he bludgeoned back the unwanted reminders of the past.
    “Dear God, she’s hurt!”
    The frightened cry from directly behind him jerked his head around, and everything inside him froze.
    Lady Catherine, a trickle of blood oozing from between her lips, lay sprawled on the floor at his feet.

Chapter 3
    There comes a time in the relationship between a man and a woman when they notice each other in that way. Many times this notice manifests itself with either an inexplicable tingle or a clenching of the stomach. Unfortunately, the feeling is therefore often mistaken for a fever or indigestion.

    A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of
Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment
by Charles Brightmore
    V oices, jagged and disjointed, echoed through Catherine’s mind, along with a myriad of inexplicable, contradictory sensations. Her head ached as if someone had smashed it with a rock. But that discomfort was nothing compared to the hellfire burning in her shoulder. And who precisely had set the swarm of angry bees upon her bottom lip? Yet she somehow felt as if she were floating, engulfed in a strong, comforting embrace that suffused her with warmth, like being wrapped in her favorite velvety blanket. Her cheek rested against something warm and solid. She inhaled, filling her aching head with the scent of clean linen, sandalwood, and something else…a delightful aroma she couldn’t define, other than to know she liked it.
    She became aware of the hum of voices. One voice, low, deep, and fervent, and very close to her ear infiltrated past the noise of the others. Please wake up…God, please .
    Something jounced her, shooting pain through her, and she groaned.
    “Hold on,” the voice next to her ear whispered. “We’re almost there.”
    There? Forcing her eyelids open, she found herself looking up at Mr. Stanton’s profile. His face appeared pale, his jaw tight, his rugged features stark with some unreadable emotion. A breeze dislodged a curl of her hair, blowing it across her cheek, and she realized that she was moving swiftly down a corridor…a corridor in her father’s town house, cradled tightly against Mr. Stanton’s chest, her knees draped over his one arm, his other arm supporting her back.
    He glanced down, and she found herself staring into intense ebony eyes, which burned like twin braziers. His gaze locked on to hers, and a muscle jerked in his cheek.
    “She’s awake,” he said, turning his head slightly, but his gaze never wavering from hers.
    Awake? Had she fallen asleep? Surely not. She blinked several times, but before she could force her sore mouth to form a question, they passed through a doorway and entered a room she recognized as her