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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.
50
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,
prepared to stay until he wakened. She supposed that is what companions did, stayed
until they were told to leave. He might ask her to continue reading.
Until this past hour, her times with Lord Glenmore had been fraught with danger.
Not physical danger exactly, unless she counted their first meeting when he very nearly
hit her with a book. It was the cruel things he d said that hurt. She was better able to
cope with a thrown book than painful assaults on her character.
Drowsing in the late afternoon sun beaming through the window, Catherine
wondered about her future after she left the manor. After dealing with Lord Glenmore s
hostility, she felt able to cope with almost anything except another difficult man.
There d not be another Lord Glenmore in her life. She had learned her lesson. One
invalid like him was quite enough. Advertising her services in the Times might be
useful, stating unequivocally her preferences. Ladies only need apply.
He shifted in his chair. For seconds his eyes blinked open. Gazing around the room,
he caught sight of Catherine, smiled, closed his eyes, and settled back. Relaxed in sleep,
all the tension she had observed in his body seemed to fade away.
Whenever he smiled at her, which had not been often, the taut lines around his
mouth disappeared. Perhaps the visit to London and the cheerful presence of his
fiancée would finally drive away the sadness still lurking behind his dark eyes.
Catherine sighed. How peaceful, quiet and dull it will be without him. He d kept
her edgy and off balance every minute she had spent with him.
Until now.
When he wakened, he might revert to his miserable, bad-tempered self. Catherine
grinned. There was never a dull moment around Lord Glenmore.
* * * * *
The hours Richard had spent with Kate had passed quickly. He was sorry when the
day ended. It was close to midnight when he settled down in bed, pillows propped
behind his back. The lamp on the nearby table burned low. He had slept for two hours
in the afternoon while Kate read to him, two blessed hours without a disturbing dream.
He d surfaced every now and then, heard her voice, and drifted back to sleep.
When he wakened, she had set the book aside, and sat sideways on the window
seat, her knees drawn up to her chin, her face turned away from him. Sunlight glinted
through her hair, turning it golden like corn silk. Tendrils had escaped from the dark
blue ribbon holding them in place and drifted in tantalizing curls over her ears.
Unaware of him, she had seemed quietly content waiting for him to waken.
51
Anita Birt
He hated the nights. Hated the horrors awaiting him when he closed his eyes. The
nightmares that plagued him had ceased this past week. Damnation, he was like a child
in the nursery, wanting Kate to read him to sleep and stay with him during the night.
To chase away the monsters.
He smiled remembering the monsters of his childhood. When he and Dolly were
young lads, they had scared themselves witless with ghost stories, especially stories
about monsters hiding in the wardrobe or climbing up the outside walls with clawed
feet and stealing into their room.
But there were no monsters out there. They were in his head, locked up until he fell
asleep at night when they stole out to haunt him. He d be shouting orders to his
troopers, spurting blood burning his eyes, his horse screaming in agony, men all around
him, falling like flies, trailing their guts.
He shuddered. Little wonder his temper was unpredictable, lashing out at Kate as if
she were responsible for his sleepless nights. Settling back on the pillows, he thought
about her, about why she had sought employment as a companion. She did not have
the look of a companion, and her accent labeled her as someone from a background
similar to his. A woman as attractive as Miss Kate Thurston should have suitors
clamoring for her attention.
Relaxed, eyes closed, he pictured her as she walked toward him leading Misty.
She d been laughing then, and the mare, dancing at the end of the lead, seemed to be
laughing with her&
Richard wakened and glanced at the clock on the mantel. A cock crowed on the
estate farm. Either he was not seeing straight or it was half past seven o clock in the
morning. He d slept through the night. He tugged the bell rope to summon Pickens.
The valet hurried into the bedchamber. Yes, milord.
Pickens, what time is it?
Pickens stepped over to the mantel and peered at the clock. A minute or two past
the half-hour, milord. It is half past the hour of seven.
Is it, by God? I ve not slept like that for months. He threw aside the covers.
Naked to the waist, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, slipped a silk robe over
his shoulders, and reached for his crutches.
You look rested, milord. Was your night undisturbed? I did not hear you call out.
I read until late and must have fallen asleep. He made his way to the window.
The last thing he remembered was picturing Kate with Misty. The image he d conjured
up seemed so real he half expected to see his companion riding the mare down the
drive.
You ll be off to London this morning, milord. Lady Glenmore informed me, you
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