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 You had every right. I was discourteous and deserved every word. Say no more
about it.
Catherine brightened as a burden lifted from her shoulders.  Lady Glenmore
informed me of your plans to visit London for a fortnight. I hope you enjoy your stay.
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Anita Birt
 Thank you. What about you, Miss Thurston? Mother suggested you remain here
until we return. How will you occupy yourself without having to attend a cranky
invalid?
Catherine laughed.  You re not an invalid, Lord Glenmore, just cranky, and not all
the time. I think I would have been bored reading to a languishing lady. When I was
engaged to come here, I truly did believe I would be attending a lady not a& 
 Not an ill-humored male who threw books at you and made you unhappy. He
leaned forward and clasped her hand.  Thank you for putting up with me.
His touch sent tingles coursing across her palm. Her hand rested within his for
several seconds before she withdrew it. Struggling to maintain a semblance of
composure as her heart, for some reason, danced a jig, Catherine rose to her feet and
walked to the window. His sitting room overlooked the long avenue of trees lining the
drive. Not yet in leaf, they basked in the warm spring sun.
 Do you wish me to read to you, Lord Glenmore? She turned to face him. He was
leaning back in his chair, studying her.
 Yes. Your voice is very restful. My eyes still tire easily. I might nod off for an hour
or two. I do not sleep well during the night.
 What shall it be, my lord, The Life of Johnson? We barely started on it. I see it on the
table beside your chair.
He picked it up.  Excellent. That will surely do the trick. He finished the brandy.
 What is your Christian name? I am tired of calling you Miss Thurston.
 Catherine, my lord.
A roguish smile tipped his lips.  Catherine suits you, but I will call you, Kate. You
are definitely a Kate. Not exactly a shrewish Kate but a Kate with definite views and a
hasty temper.
 I should hope I am not like Shakespeare s Kate! A flush heated her cheeks.  What
is more, I do not spell my name with a K. I am Catherine with a C. No one has ever
called me Kate.
 Then I shall be the first. You will be Kate.
 Lord Glenmore, I believe you are teasing me. She tried not to smile but to no
avail. The smile would not stop.
 I would not dream of teasing Kate. She might throw something at me. He set
aside The Life of Johnson.  Let us try something different. There is a volume of
Shakespeare on my bookshelf. I should like you to read from The Taming of The Shrew. I
fancy learning more about the shrewish Kate.
 My lord, I think the Life of Johnson would help you sleep. I tend to act out the parts
when I read from a play. My acting is very bad it might spoil your temper. She
suppressed a giggle.
 You should smile more often, Kate. It suits you. You have a rather delightful
dimple at the side of your mouth.
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A Very Difficult Man
Catherine blushed. Her cheeks were surely crimson. She was not prepared for Lord
Glenmore s compliment about her appearance. It was just as well he was going to
London for a fortnight. It would give her an opportunity to recover her equilibrium. His
changeable temper was disconcerting his compliment particularly disconcerting. She
found the Shakespeare and seated herself on the window seat, a safe distance from him.
Far enough so he could not hold her hand again.  Shall I begin reading now, my lord?
 Yes and you are to stop calling me Lord Glenmore or my lord. My name is
Richard. If you call me Lord Glenmore or my lord again, I might be tempted to throw
something at you.
Sure her face was flaming red, Catherine bent her head over the book and feared
her voice would come out a breathless croak. Doubtless he was in high spirits at the
thought of going to London. She would humor him. On his return, their relationship
would return to what it had been at the beginning.
She cleared her throat.  Close your eyes, Richard. I shall begin.
 Very good, Kate. Do your best.
49
Anita Birt
Chapter Six
Soon his slow, steady breathing told her he was asleep. Catherine read on for
several minutes then set the book aside. Free to gaze at him, she studied this man who
had made her life so miserable she wanted to run away. In repose, his face lost all trace
of suffering. His mouth curved in a slight smile.
Was he dreaming about London? About his fiancée? His head drooped forward.
Catherine picked up a small pillow and tucked it behind his head. Unable to help
herself, she brushed back strands of black hair fallen across his brow. He stirred, and
she held her breath, praying he had not felt her touching him. She would die of
embarrassment.
When he didn t waken, she returned to the window seat, read aloud awhile longer
but her fingers itched for her sketching pad. Perhaps there was paper in his desk.
Tiptoeing across the room, she opened one drawer, then another until she found what
she wanted and returned to her seat with paper, a firm blotting pad, pen and a bottle of
ink.
Catherine thought to draw him first in profile. She had not paid too much attention
to his nose. His eyes and mouth had captured her artist s eye. He had a splendid nose.
Not perfect. It had a slight bump on the bridge. It suited his face. She drew him with his
head tilted slightly back, chin raised, and just enough of his well-muscled neck to
balance the sketch.
Satisfied with his profile, she stood in front of him to plan her next drawing, a
frontal likeness. There d not be a trace of bad temper in this sketch. Seated on the
ottoman, she drew a quick outline, and knew, at once, what she was doing was wrong.
His profile was one thing. Drawing him asleep did not feel right. It was too much like
invading his privacy without asking permission.
She d enjoy drawing him with his eyes open. He d be looking at her in that
particular way he had, one eyebrow quirked in an inquiring arch. A smile on his lips.
But could she do that without feeling all warm and quivery inside? Her fingers would
not hold her pen steady.
Catherine studied his hands resting on the arms of the chair. He had strong, square,
capable hands. Hands that held hers mere minutes ago taking her breath away. It
would be safe to sketch them.
Lord Glenmore. She could not bring herself to think of him as Richard. Her sketches
complete, she signed them,  Kate , folded them and slid them into her pocket as a
keepsake for the future after she d left Glenmore Manor and he d have long forgotten
his companion.
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A Very Difficult Man
Why had he taken it into his mind to call her Kate? She did not think of herself as a
Kate.
She returned the blotting pad, pen and ink to his desk, crossed back to the window
and resumed her seat. Back resting on the wall, she drew her knees up to her chin, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]