The Virgin Widow

by Jen YatesNZ

  ‘Because I need air, little sister!’ he growled back at her, leaning in to drop a salute on her forehead.

  Sighing, she waved him off. He ran down the stairs in his need to be out of the house. The punchy restlessness driving him demanded the spiking adrenaline of a high stakes gambling game—or alcohol. It was too early in the day for either. He needed to keep a clear head for Mama—and Ashdown’s visit later. He’d probably kill someone if he went to Manson’s or Gentleman Jack’s. It’d have to be a woman. A pity the Matrix Club wasn’t open during the day. His cousin’s establishment would cater perfectly for the mood he was in. Big and angry, he might not be gentle.

  Lady Lucille at Madame Bouvier’s then. With rich mahogany hair, she had a passionate fiery nature most likely to offer him the energetic release he needed. Hailing a hackney he directed the driver to Half Moon Street.

  Clad in a loose, bronze silk robe and with her hair caught up on her head in a loose knot that would come tumbling at his touch, she’d take his mind from the turmoil of the last twenty-four hours. He was already halfway hard.

  Keeping the small talk to a minimum, he said, ‘I’ve come to you because I know you can accommodate me and handle it if I become a little aggressive—demanding.’

  ‘Rough?’

  He considered her for a moment. She was like a rich succulent peach.

  ‘You’d like that?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she admitted coyly.

  Bax laughed outright.

  ‘I knew you’d give me what I needed.’

  He pulled her to him and stripped the robe from her shoulders.

  ‘Luscious, hot and hungry!’ he growled with satisfaction.

  Their first coupling was fierce, energetic, hard; their second a little more finessed though no less satisfying and he fell into a sated sleep. When he opened his eyes again she was snuggled against his chest like a small trusting kitten.

  Noting the time on the small ormolu clock on the dresser he marveled he’d slept dreamlessly for a couple of hours. For that he’d leave her a generous tip.

  But as he gazed up at the scroll and vine pattern on the ceiling he was appalled to realize for the first time in his life he’d fantasized the woman beneath him was someone else—Angular Jane, in fact. And he couldn’t deny that had made the engagement more intensely sensual than violent. Goddamn!

  ***

  It wanted an hour to dinner time when Bax let himself into his mother’s rooms. Something in his chest gave a thump of delight when he saw Jane’s bright head bent over a book.

  Struck by the aura of soft serenity that was so new about her, he couldn’t but be amused when it segued into the familiar battle-glint he seemed to inspire. He was surprised to discover a desire, a need, to have her show that sweet serenity with him. Although he had to admit he felt anything but serene around her himself.

  ‘How’s Mama?’

  Jane crossed the room to him.

  ‘Her temperature is staying down and her breathing is improving,’ she murmured. ‘I think it’s safe to say she’s passed the crisis point. She’s been asking for you.’

  ‘I’m here now. This is not what you came to London for.’

  ‘It’s what I’m happiest doing.’

  ‘Selena must be anxious to get to the modiste?’

  He’d guided her to the window seat on the far side of the room as they talked. Jane perched on the edge as if poised for flight. Could he inveigle her to stay and take dinner with him? He rarely dined at home and wasn’t looking forward to the lonely affair it would be.

  ‘Your niece is mature for her age and competent in the sickroom. She stayed with Lady Baxendene this afternoon and sent Holly home to rest.’

  ‘She should take well,’ Bax mused, wondering if the chaperone might also make a stir.

  The color of her hair wasn’t fashionable, but there was no mistaking the beauty of it; There was some enigma about Jane that gave a man pause and if any man were to pause around Lady Jane Rotherby, he was determined it’d be him.

  ‘She should take well,’ Jane agreed, ‘and having said that, she’s very excited to be visiting La Callista tomorrow.’

  ‘What time? I’d be honored to escort you. Brisco will thank me for relieving him of the necessity.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Jane burst out in astonishment, quickly masked with a smile. ‘A widow and a lady almost five times a mother should be adequate escort! And I doubt Lord Brisco is aware of our intention, let alone intending to escort us.’

  Bax doubted it too.

  ‘Nevertheless, I’d be honored to give you ladies the benefit of my artistic taste and fashion sense. I’d know exactly what colors suit you. Drab semi-mourning doesn’t do you justice,’ he finished, letting his gaze roam her person, from the tips of her soft kid walking boots, up over the smoky grey of her gown to where a soft lace fichu filled the bodice, tempting him to rip it away. When he reached her eyes they were blazing and he knew deep satisfaction. As a youngster she’d been easy to bait and he realized even then he’d loved to watch fire flare in her dark topaz eyes.

  ‘No,’ he said, holding up a hand to stay her response. ‘Selena is my eldest niece and nothing could be more natural than a doting uncle accompanying her on her first outing. Especially to La Callista. My presence will guarantee Madame Callie’s undivided attention!’

  ‘You think so?’ Sarcasm was ripe in her voice. ‘She won’t even notice us, with your—magnificence—present!’

  ‘Ah, Angular Jane! I always loved how your eyes flashed pure gold when you were roused. Gives a man a longing to know how they’d blaze when you’re aroused.’

  The eyes in question widened, and she rose to her feet in a flurry of offended skirts.

  ‘You’re unconscionable, my Lord,’ she snapped, crossing the room to snatch up her medicine chest.

  ‘I am,’ he agreed, ‘but you already knew that about me,—Angular Jane,’ he finished softly.

  ‘Don’t bother offering to escort me around the street,’ she said with asperity as he began to rise. ‘I’ll purloin one of your footmen for the purpose!’

  Sailing out of the room, magnificent in her umbrage, she left him grinning at the carefully snibbed door he knew she’d badly wanted to slam.

  ***

  Her temper carried her at an unladylike gallop down Curzon Street and up the steps of Brisco House, the portly footman having to hustle to keep up and no doubt blessing his stars her destination was no further. Dismissing him with brief words of thanks, she asked Denby to inform Lady Brisco she’d be down as soon as she’d changed.

  Surveying herself in the mirror before returning downstairs, she twitched the creamy lace insert at the neck of the dark navy dinner gown and considered the colors she’d choose at Madame Callista’s tomorrow. Rich greens, jewel blues and bright autumnal colors. She couldn’t help imagining the smoky appreciation in Lord Baxendene’s eyes when he saw her in a La Callista ball gown.

  Her hand slowed at the upper curve of her breast.

  ‘How can I seduce you now? ‘Cos you know I’m going to have to—one of these days, don’t you?’

  Hades’ wicked promise from this morning shivered her senses, hinting at longings and desires unknown. What would his hand feel like there—or lower? Color flooded her cheeks and she dropped her arms.

  The color of her gowns were not important, nor were the unwelcome attentions of the Great Bax! At least she’d not given in to the awful temptation while he’d devoured her with the starving eyes of a man who’d not held a woman in a long time.

  Which certainly wasn’t true of Hades Delacourte!

  She’d dismissed it as exhaustion on both their parts, but knew better. He’d no doubt sensed her attraction to him; would never think of denying it any more than she knew how to protect herself against it. She’d always been drawn to him, but her younger self had been more adept at self-protection.

  It would probably never occur to Hades Delacourte there was a woman living who wasn’t att
racted to him. There probably wasn’t!

  She wasn’t some worldly-wise widow looking for intrigue; more like a juddering innocent. Which he’d know on the instant—was a wonder he hadn’t divined it already. Doubtless, the more she resisted the more he’d persist.

  She’d not make it easy. She might never be interested in re-marrying, certainly not to a man with the morals of a honeybee round nectar-bearing flowers.

  Even in the unlikely event he had marriage in mind.

  ***

  Deciding against the lonely splendor of the dining room, Bax ordered a dinner tray in his mother’s rooms. Settling beside her, he watched the steady rise and fall of her breathing, and considered the arrogance of his assumptions about her.

  Could he ever atone for the hurt he’d caused? A better son, Jason hadn’t believed the worst of her as Bax had. God, he was an asshole.

  Lowry and a footman arrived with the dinner trays, the soft clatter of the dishes waking Georgiana.

  ‘Haden?’ she murmured. ‘Lady Rotherby was here last time I woke.’

  ‘I sent her home. You’ve got me now.’

  ‘You don’t have to sit with me, Haden. I’ve got Lowry.’

  ‘I do have to sit with you, Mama. I—’

  ‘Oh, then—Lowry, could you help me sit up? I’m as weak as a day old chick! I should be able to feed myself. You go down and have your dinner.’

  ‘But, my Lady—’

  ‘I’ll help if needed, Lowry. I’m not totally useless,’ Bax put in with a droll smile.

  ‘I know, my Lord, but it’s not right—’

  ‘A son helping his mother? Of course it’s right, Lowry. Go and enjoy your meal. I’ll ring if Mama needs you.’

  ‘My Lady?’

  ‘Truly, Lowry, I’ll be fine with Haden.’

  After settling the tray across her mistress’s knee, the old woman shuffled across the room, a frown of disapproval directed at Bax.

  ‘Lowry’s opinion of my nursing capabilities is not flattering,’ he grumbled and was gratified to see the hint of a smile in his mother’s somber eyes. ‘Is that chicken broth she’s brought you? Want one of my cutlets?’

  Her smile deepened and pleased him inordinately. When was the last time he’d made his mother smile?

  ‘This is all I fancy. I’m not really hungry.’

  ‘That ploy never worked when I tried to avoid eating barley gruel when I was sick. You’ll therefore eat every last drop so you get well and strong again!’

  ‘Oh God!’ she suddenly whispered and closed her eyes. Tears seeped beneath the lids and slid down her drawn cheeks.

  ‘Mama! What is it?’ Bax asked, alarmed. Pushing the small table away, he leant forward and reached for her hand. ‘Are you in pain? Shall I call Lowry back?’

  ‘No—No!’ she breathed again, a sob in her voice. Her hand felt frail in his then suddenly she gripped tight and the strength in her fingers was reassuring. ‘I thought I was dying. I panicked—and I broke my promise to Harry. He’ll never forgive me.’

  Bax longed for a moment alone with Harry Delacourte, not because he loved and missed him, but because he wanted to punch him out for his selfish and conscienceless exploitation of Georgiana’s love for him.

  He’d loved the man, turned him into some kind of venerated icon in his memory. Time to realize both his parents were simply human.

  God dammit! What other erroneous judgements and assumptions had he made in his youthful arrogance?

  ‘Harry’s dead! And you’ve been brutally and unjustly punished every day of your life since making that promise! I haven’t told Holly yet—though I will. It’s her story. She’s happy with Brisco. The man adores her and it wouldn’t matter to him if she was a tinker’s brat! You secured her future as Papa required.—Now eat that broth so you get strong enough to argue with me and harangue me about my morals and duties and whatever other shortcomings you perceive me to have.’

  The smile was back in her tired eyes. Satisfied, he settled back to finish his meal though his mother only managed a few sips of the congealing chicken broth.

  When Lowry returned he left for a while to allow the maid to settle Georgiana for the night, going down to the library to search out a book to read and returning with a drawing block and pencils instead.

  He thought to sketch a likeness of his mother, her silver-streaked black braids framing her face in an oddly girlish fashion.

  He was staring at the finished sketch, his body reverberating with shock, or was it arousal, as he realized the face looking back at him from the page was Jane’s, when a knock at the door was immediately followed by the entry of Ashdown.

  The man’s patrician features were drawn with exhaustion and worry as he crossed to the bed to gaze silently down at the sleeping woman. His chest heaved and Bax remembered his desperate plea the night before, ‘Georgi, don’t leave me!’

  When Ashdown finally looked up, he indicated they should move through to the sitting room. Retrieving a decanter of brandy and two glasses from the credenza, Bax motioned towards a chair, but Ashdown strode to the fireplace, leant an arm on the mantel, stared down at the empty grate and absently kicked at it with his boot.

  Was the man feeling awkward? He felt awkward himself, which was unusual for him. There again, the situation was unusual, he supposed.

  ‘Has Georgi said anything to you about us?’

  The silvery head lifted and blue eyes bored into him. Whatever Ashdown was feeling, it wasn’t awkward.

  ‘I don’t think she knew you were here last night.’

  Ashdown fell to studying the toe of his boot where it rested on the grate.

  ‘I’m not condemning you, Ashdown. Either of you. It seems I’ve wrongly condemned my mother for years for a sin that was my father’s. How could I condemn her for finding what happiness she could under such bitter circumstances? Except—there is the matter of your wife.’

  Ashdown’s jaw clenched and his spine stiffened.

  Completely ignoring Bax’s last statement, he asked, ‘She told you—broke the—vow—that blackguard demanded of her?’

  There was shock in his eyes now.

  ‘She thought she was dying. Someone needed to know. My sister needs to know. I hope it may go some way towards healing the gulf that’s always existed between her and Mama. I understand it now. I’m sure Holly will, too.’

  The shock faded from Ashdown’s gaze to be replaced by a sharp observation.

  ‘You’re not the rakish dilettante you make yourself out to be, are you, Baxendene?’

  ‘As rakish as anyone might accuse me of being,’ Bax declared, baring his teeth in his best man-about-town sneering, superior grin. ‘Dilettante? I’d not have thought so!’

  Ashdown barked a short laugh.

  ‘Unfortunate choice of words, agreed. I’m saying you’re not what I’ve always thought you to be.’

  ‘I am as I am, Ashdown. I thought you were here to explain about you and my mother—elaborate on the fact your wife is still living,’ he prodded.

  Pain washed across the man’s aristocratic features and he crossed the carpet to drop into the chair Bax had indicated earlier.

  ‘Glory and Georgi have known each other all their lives, supported one another through—much grief. Georgi always says Glory was her sanity through the bad times with Harry and after his death and the deaths of Samantha, and Jason. Georgi became a lifeline for us both after Glory had her stroke and Glory decided Georgi and I should comfort each other—as—more than friends. I loved Glory. Still do—and she loves me. But she can no longer be a wife to me. The only part of her still operating is her mind. The only way she can signal is with her eyes, blinking for yes, wide open for no. When she wants to convey something she gives several rapid blinks. Discovering we could still communicate that much was an emotional moment. We’ve developed an elaborate business of cards and words she can respond to so we can work out what she wants to say. She gets upset if we willfully misunderstand.’

  Bax di
dn’t respond, wasn’t sure Ashdown was aware he spoke out loud. The man sat forward, elbows on his knees, staring at his dangling hands.

  ‘We’ve become remarkably adept at it. Glory can make herself quite clear. When first I understood what she was trying to tell me, I was horrified and resisted. I love her, had never been unfaithful to her, didn’t want to hurt her. So she started on Georgi. That was three years ago and she still maintains she loves us both and wants us both to have some happiness in our lives, some life!’

  Bax hadn’t a clue what to say. Beyond the fact Lady Ashdown must be nothing short of angelic.

  ‘Usually I come to visit Georgi here in the evenings, after Glory is settled for the night. But Glory decided we both needed to get out of the house, out of London. So we agreed to go out to Richmond Park for a picnic. The rain took us by surprise and by the time we’d gathered everything together and returned to the carriage we were both drenched. Georgi’s chill came on as a result.’

  The silvery head hung low then suddenly lifted and black eyes blazed defiance.

  ‘I’m not apologizing for any of this, Baxendene. I’m telling you how it is. The only time anything will change is if Glory dies. If that should happen, we’ve promised her—and ourselves—we’ll marry and continue to care for each other.’

  Bax dipped his head in acknowledgement.

  ‘I married a remarkable woman, Baxendene, and have been privileged to be loved by another. It’s been difficult not being able to berate you on her behalf.’

  ‘Go ahead. Berate me all you want. I deserve it!’ Bax muttered, finally pouring a measure of brandy into the two brandy balloons. Handing one to Ashdown then saluting him with the other, he knocked his own drink back and poured another. ‘Jason didn’t believe in Mama’s culpability. He didn’t idolize our father as I did. I was blind to his true nature and I’m still trying to come to terms with that. Nor is my mother who I believed she was.’

  Swirling the brandy in his balloon he watched without seeing as the potent liquid slowly slid back down the glass, his mind grappling with the huge shift in his understanding.