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Authors: Loveand the Single Heiress
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you mean by that?”
She smiled sweetly. “I wager if you’d read the book, you’d know.”
“Ah, yes, that intriguing challenge. And if I were to take you up on it? What would I win?”
Arrogant man. Assuming he’d merit a reward for reading a book. Still, this could actually work in her favor…
“I hadn’t had a wager in mind at all, but why not?” Especially since I am almost guaranteed a victory. “Whoever is victorious shall owe the other a boon—within reason—of the victor’s choice.” She couldn’t contain her grin. “Ah, yes, I can see you now, beating the rugs and weeding the roses. Or perhaps polishing the silver. Setting the stones for the new garden pathway, fixing the stable’s roof—”
“Win or lose, I’d be happy to assist with those chores. But why have they not been seen to?”
She shrugged. “It is difficult to find proper help in the country.”
“I see,” he murmured. “And what determines who is the winner?”
“If you read the book—the entire book, mind you—thus enabling you to engage in a well-informed discussion of the contents, you win. If you fail to do so, then I win.”
When he remained silent, she murmured, “Of course, if you are afraid…”
“Of a simple wager? Hardly.”
“Then why do you hesitate?”
“In truth, because I seriously doubt whether, in spite of my high tolerance for pain, I will actually be able to suffer through Brightmore’s drivel. However, since the worst outcome is that I’d simply owe you a boon, I suppose there is no harm in accepting your wager. What period of time do you suggest?”
“Shall we say three weeks?”
He nodded. “Very well. I accept.”
Catherine could barely suppress her glee. There were many chores a strong, strapping man like Mr. Stanton could do around the estate—all she needed to do was figure out which one would help her—and as an added bonus, irk him—the most. Most likely it should appall her to experience such a thrill at the thought of besting him and erasing a portion of his arrogance. It should—but it didn’t.
“Of course,” Mr. Stanton said, “within three weeks’ time, no doubt the gossip surrounding the actual contents of the Guide will be supplanted by the stir that will ensue by the unmasking of Charles Brightmore.”
Catherine’s heart stumbled over itself. He clearly was referring to the investigator who’d been hired. Hopefully the man would not find his way to Little Longstone. But if he did, well, forewarned was forearmed. He’d certainly glean no information from her . Forcing a calm she was far from feeling, she laughed lightly. “Unmasking? Heavens, you make Mr. Brightmore sound like a brigand.”
“There are many in London who believe he is just that.”
“Including yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You may change your mind after you read his work—assuming you read it.”
His shrug indicated he had no real intention of reading “that drivel,” and even if he did, his mind would not be changed. Annoyance tickled down her spine. Aggravating man. Had she once thought him gallant? Likable? Clearly she’d been erroneously predisposed to a favorable opinion based on her brother’s glowing reports of Mr. Stanton’s character. The easy camaraderie they’d shared in the past must have been due to the topics they’d discussed—namely Philip and Meredith. Their wedding, and most recently the imminent birth of their child. The museum was also a common subject for discourse. A frown pulled down her brows. Casting her mind back, she realized that all of their conversations had been of a very impersonal nature. She actually knew very little about Mr. Stanton. She’d accepted him without question as a friend, as a good man, because Philip said he was. According to Philip, Mr. Stanton had saved him from several scrapes while they were abroad. He categorized his American friend as loyal, steadfast, brave, and excellent with both his fists and a rapier. Well, she had no
She smiled sweetly. “I wager if you’d read the book, you’d know.”
“Ah, yes, that intriguing challenge. And if I were to take you up on it? What would I win?”
Arrogant man. Assuming he’d merit a reward for reading a book. Still, this could actually work in her favor…
“I hadn’t had a wager in mind at all, but why not?” Especially since I am almost guaranteed a victory. “Whoever is victorious shall owe the other a boon—within reason—of the victor’s choice.” She couldn’t contain her grin. “Ah, yes, I can see you now, beating the rugs and weeding the roses. Or perhaps polishing the silver. Setting the stones for the new garden pathway, fixing the stable’s roof—”
“Win or lose, I’d be happy to assist with those chores. But why have they not been seen to?”
She shrugged. “It is difficult to find proper help in the country.”
“I see,” he murmured. “And what determines who is the winner?”
“If you read the book—the entire book, mind you—thus enabling you to engage in a well-informed discussion of the contents, you win. If you fail to do so, then I win.”
When he remained silent, she murmured, “Of course, if you are afraid…”
“Of a simple wager? Hardly.”
“Then why do you hesitate?”
“In truth, because I seriously doubt whether, in spite of my high tolerance for pain, I will actually be able to suffer through Brightmore’s drivel. However, since the worst outcome is that I’d simply owe you a boon, I suppose there is no harm in accepting your wager. What period of time do you suggest?”
“Shall we say three weeks?”
He nodded. “Very well. I accept.”
Catherine could barely suppress her glee. There were many chores a strong, strapping man like Mr. Stanton could do around the estate—all she needed to do was figure out which one would help her—and as an added bonus, irk him—the most. Most likely it should appall her to experience such a thrill at the thought of besting him and erasing a portion of his arrogance. It should—but it didn’t.
“Of course,” Mr. Stanton said, “within three weeks’ time, no doubt the gossip surrounding the actual contents of the Guide will be supplanted by the stir that will ensue by the unmasking of Charles Brightmore.”
Catherine’s heart stumbled over itself. He clearly was referring to the investigator who’d been hired. Hopefully the man would not find his way to Little Longstone. But if he did, well, forewarned was forearmed. He’d certainly glean no information from her . Forcing a calm she was far from feeling, she laughed lightly. “Unmasking? Heavens, you make Mr. Brightmore sound like a brigand.”
“There are many in London who believe he is just that.”
“Including yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You may change your mind after you read his work—assuming you read it.”
His shrug indicated he had no real intention of reading “that drivel,” and even if he did, his mind would not be changed. Annoyance tickled down her spine. Aggravating man. Had she once thought him gallant? Likable? Clearly she’d been erroneously predisposed to a favorable opinion based on her brother’s glowing reports of Mr. Stanton’s character. The easy camaraderie they’d shared in the past must have been due to the topics they’d discussed—namely Philip and Meredith. Their wedding, and most recently the imminent birth of their child. The museum was also a common subject for discourse. A frown pulled down her brows. Casting her mind back, she realized that all of their conversations had been of a very impersonal nature. She actually knew very little about Mr. Stanton. She’d accepted him without question as a friend, as a good man, because Philip said he was. According to Philip, Mr. Stanton had saved him from several scrapes while they were abroad. He categorized his American friend as loyal, steadfast, brave, and excellent with both his fists and a rapier. Well, she had no
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