To Tempt a Gentleman
by Kate Huntington
Zebra Regency Romance ~ ISBN 082177820X ~ U.S. $4.99; CAN $6.99

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Simply Irresistible

When an elderly relative passes away, the last thing Sir Michael Stewart expects is a bequest -- especially a lushly attractive young woman determined to move into his home! The old lady's former companion and housekeeper, Catriona Grant, has promised to take care of him now, but Michael doesn't need her help: The stubborn lass has far too many ideas about letting the sunshine in and chasing the doldrums out. Widowed and
content at his remote and admittedly rather bleak estate on Scotland's coast, Michael has only one solution -- finding Miss Grant a husband of her own. But letting her go isn't as easy as he imagined -- especially when he discovers that what passed for contentment before has been shattered by fantasies of the sweet tilt of Catriona's lips and the soft curves of her body .

"Kate Huntington's reputation for frothy, fun-filled frolicks is well earned with this charming tale of an amazingly stubborn family whose members don't realize just how much they care for each other. Fast-paced and fun." -- Romantic Times on Town Bronze


"Ms. Huntington has a flair for character and dialogue that puts her in the upper echelon of regency writers."
-- Rendezvous on Lady Diana's Darlings

Prologue

Dumfries, Scotland, 1817

"Catriona, I am going to die today."

Catriona Grant bit her lip and forced a cheerful tone to her voice as she patted her elderly cousin Sophie's forehead with a cloth dampened in rosewater.

"Nonsense," Catriona said. "You say that all the time. I think you just enjoy the attention. You are not going to die."

"Well, dear. We are all going to die," Cousin Sophie said with the touch of the astringency that marked her speech, even on bad days when her voice was a weak, wispy little thread of sound. "I mean it this time."

No, Catriona thought grimly. I will not let you go.

Her cousin was ninety years old, and her continued existence was a testament to Catriona's careful nursing. She had been at death's door when Catriona came to live with her two years ago.

"Will you have some chicken broth? You must keep up your strength."

Sophie Tilden's gnarled old hand clasped Catriona's smooth, young one.

"Chicken broth," the old lady said in distaste. "The problem with officious young people is they have no respect for the dying. Do you think I want to pass from this world with the taste of chicken broth on my lips? Fetch me a glass of port, girl. The good stuff that Sir Michael brought us for Christmas last year."

"Spirits are not good for you in your condition."

"Catriona, my dearest. You cannot keep me alive forever."

"I can try." She would not cry in front of her kind benefactress. She would not. There would be time enough to cry for her when she was gone.

"I am tired. Everyone I love except you and Michael has preceded me in death."

"But what would I do without you?"

"What would you do if you were not burdened with an old lady like me? You would get married to a good man and have children. And Sir Michael would do well to have you."

"No more of that talk, madam," Catriona said. "The last thing Sir Michael wants is a wife of questionable reputation whose own family has disowned her."

"What fustian rubbish you talk. That was years ago. Everyone will have forgotten it by now."

"I have not forgotten. I do not want to talk about it."

Cousin Sophie gave her a coy look. It quite transformed her thin, pale, wrinkled face.

"What will you give me if I stop?"

Catriona had to smile.

"That glass of port?"

"Excellent. And not your usual pathetic thimble full, if you please."

"Very well. If you will excuse me . . . "

"I will. And hurry. I have not much time." But she was smiling. When Catriona returned, Cousin Sophie accepted the glass with both shaking hands, and Catriona still had to support it as she took a sip.

"Just a little," Catriona cautioned her as the old lady took a large gulp.

"Do not be so stingy, girl," the old lady said with a sigh of pleasure. She closed her eyes. "More." Catriona tilted the glass carefully to her lips again. Even so, a bit dripped from her lips and Cousin Sophie's tongue snaked out and savored it. "I feel better already. You sent word to Sir Michael?"

"I did," Catriona said as the smile faded from her face. At least once a month at her benefactress's request she sent word to Sir Michael Stewart that he was wanted at Cousin Sophie's deathbed, and, miraculously, the old lady rallied as soon as she had them both dancing attendance on her.

This will be no different, Catriona said firmly to herself. A bit of attention from Sir Michael, and Cousin Sophie would be her old outrageous self.

Sir Michael Stewart was a worthy gentleman who owned the house Cousin Sophie occupied as well as a large estate crowning a hill outside Dumfries and several farms surrounding it. He bred horses and grew oats. He had been widowed tragically young when his beautiful wife, Cousin Sophie's London-bred niece, died in childbirth. His daughters had been married off in ceremonies worthy of princesses, not that Catriona would have been invited to attend them, and lived in London.

Neither of Sir Michael's daughters had been to Scotland to visit their father or Cousin Sophie, who had quite doted on them when they were children, for at least a year. Cousin Sophie wrote dutifully to both of them each week when she was able, and had Catriona write to them under her direction when she was too frail to hold pen to paper. They rarely wrote back.

"Why does he not come?" Cousin Sophie said. "You have the letter, do you not, Catriona? Just in case he does not come in time?"

"It will not be needed," Catriona said firmly.

"But you have it?" her cousin asked anxiously.

"Of course. It is right there, on top of the desk, where it always is."

"Good. You will not forget to give it to him when I am dead?"

"No. Although that will not be for many years yet."

Sophie signaled Catriona for another sip of wine. Catriona pursed her disapproving lips at her and then relented. She held the glass as Sophie took a delicate sip.

"Now, that is the flavor I want to have in my mouth when I enter eternity," she said.

"I think that is enough," Catriona said.

Cousin Sophie made a face at her.

"Do you know that Pastor Wilkins says in heaven time goes so fast that centuries can pass in the blink of an eye?" she asked. "When you die, it seems the people you left behind join you almost instantly."

"Cousin Sophie," Catriona said with a long sigh.

"Pastor Wilkins is a silly, sentimental young fool, but I hope he is right," Cousin Sophie said. "I would like to believe that a moment after I close my eyes in death, I will open them in heaven to find you and Sir Michael right beside me."

"No more wine for you," Catriona said dryly as she held Cousin Sophie's hand. "It is making you maudlin."

Cousin Sophie chuckled as Catriona kissed her on the forehead as if she were a beloved child.

Then she closed her eyes and died.

* * *

Catriona could hear the maid weeping. She had not stopped for the past quarter hour. In that time, Catriona had closed Cousin Sophie's eyes and tied the slackened jaw to make sure it would not harden in an undignified position. Then she sat quietly next to the corpse and felt strangely comforted.

The world, except for the maid, did not know yet that Cousin Sophie was dead. For the moment, she could almost pretend her cousin was merely sleeping as she did every afternoon at this time, and she would wake a bit confused and querulous, wanting her dinner.

She looked up when Sir Michael Stewart rushed into the small bedchamber with his coat tails flying and an expression of concern on his austere, yet handsome, face. His brown eyes were sad, and his ascetic cheekbones were reddened from the wind.

"Is she gone then?" he asked in a hushed voice. "You are certain?"

"I am certain," Miss Grant said softly. "Her last words were of you and me in heaven. I wrote them down."

He took the paper from her hand, read it and closed his eyes.

"I should have come sooner. I was out in one of the oat fields when the message came, and it took my farmer some time to find me." He walked to the bed and touched the dead lady's gray curls with an affectionate hand. "The world has lost one of its purest souls, although she would have scoffed to hear me say so."

He glanced at Catriona's face.

"I am sorry for your loss," he said.

Catriona had no words for the moment, so she merely nodded.

The young maid came into the room with her coat in her hands. She was weeping still.

"I am going to my mother's," the girl said. "I won't stay the night with a corpse in the house."

"Very well, Maisie. I shall manage without you," Catriona said calmly as the girl whirled and practically ran from the room. Catriona took the letter from the table and handed it to the gentleman. "Here is a letter from Cousin Sophie, Sir Michael. I promised her I would give it to you."

He glanced at the letter and the wax seal.

"I shall open it later in private," he said.

"As you wish," Catriona said. "I must prepare . . . her."

He hesitated.

"Shall I call on Mrs. Wilkins and ask her to come help you?"

"I can manage, I thank you," she said. "I have bathed and tended poor Cousin Sophie many times. I would not relinquish this office to another now."

"Nevertheless, I do not like to leave you alone at a time like this. I shall go fetch Mrs. Wilkins and bid her take you home with her tonight."

"And leave poor Cousin Sophie alone in the house as if she were unloved and unmourned? How could I do such a thing after her very great kindness to me?" Catriona said. "I will keep watch over her tonight."

"You are not afraid to be alone with the . . . deceased?"

"I could never be afraid of Cousin Sophie."

"Very well, then. I shall arrange for a coffin to be brought here."

"One with a sky blue lining," Catriona said, smiling sadly. "It was her wish. She always thought the color became her like no other."

"It shall be done," said Sir Michael. He went to stand by the bed and look upon Cousin Sophie's poor dead face for a long moment. Then he pressed Catriona's hand and left.

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