The Virgin Widow

by Jen YatesNZ

  Papa. Mama, and thereby himself.

  Like a new deck of cards in the hands of a practiced card-sharp, his view had been ruthlessly shuffled and would never again fit together as perfectly as before. Considering the number of times that same deck of cards might yet be rearranged, he grimaced and tossed back the second measure of brandy in an effort to drown the shudder of premonition brushing across the surface of his skin.

  ‘Life is like a deck of cards,’ he muttered, holding out the decanter to Ashdown.

  Watching the stream of liquid filling his glass, Ashdown observed, ‘And as much at the mercy of Lady Luck.’

  Both stared silently into the empty grate, then Ashdown spoke again.

  ‘Will you oblige your Mama by finally taking a wife then?’

  His thoughts already sinking into the black inner hole that often claimed them, Bax snapped his head up in time to catch the gleam of—mischief?—in Ashdown’s tired eyes.

  ‘I’m repentant—not fucking suicidal!’

  Ashdown waved his glass in acknowledgement then said, ‘I’ll stay with Georgi tonight. My staff know where to find me if I’m needed at home.’

  ***

  Dressed in a kingfisher blue walking gown, Jane knew she looked well and was annoyed at herself for caring. A ‘La Callista’ creation, albeit a good three years out of date, she told herself she wore it out of deference to the modiste. Truth was, it had a vibrancy she loved and knew worked well with her coloring. James had loved her in this gown; said it made her eyes sparkle like candles dancing in topaz.

  He’d also told her when he was gone she’d find a man to love and he’d be a real husband to her and though she’d denied any desire to marry again there was a deep secret part of her longing to know how it would feel to be loved, desired by a man; a man who’d make her feel—complete.

  Neither she nor James had been thinking of a man of Lord Baxendene’s ilk.

  He was not the man to change her anomalous state. At thirty, she was still a virgin, a fact known to none but herself. She was also a grandmother. For most women being a wife and mother came first, but she’d totally missed those stages. James had been more father than husband and it hadn’t mattered until Hades loped into his sister’s drawing room with his niece perched high on his shoulders. Like herself he was no longer a gangly youth.

  Black curls tossed by wind and the happy hands of a rambunctious child were the perfect foil for grey eyes either dancing with deviltry or smoldering with the kind of heat to scorch a lady in parts she tried to pretend she didn’t have.

  Lord! She was mooning before her mirror trying to decide what Hades would see when she walked into the room. With a snort of self-derision, she pinned a matching bonnet in place, snatched up her reticule and hurried out the door. The most likely scenario was he’d either slept late and forgotten or found some other pastime more worthy of his attention than escorting three females to the modiste.

  Besides, she didn’t feel like being polite to him after the scandalous things he’d said. When she entered the morning room he was already draped against the mantel, smiling at a delighted Holly and looking as suavely elegant as Beau Brummel himself. In a perfectly-fitted blue superfine coat, form-fitting creamy buckskins, tasseled black hessians polished to a mirror surface, and neck cloth tied in the simple but elegant mathematical style he drew every eye without trying.

  Only the well-honed muscularity of the man no elegant attire could hope to disguise belied his being of the true dandy set. Knowing herself as susceptible as the most naïve and romantically-notioned young women where Hades was concerned, Jane carefully schooled her features to bland politeness.

  ‘Good morning, Holly. Lord Brisco. Lord Baxendene.’

  Hades quirked one lazy black brow at her formal address, but Holly notwithstanding her rotund form, bounced excitedly on her chair.

  ‘Oh Jane!’ she chided, green eyes dancing. ‘You can’t mean to be so stuffy and formal today. Hades has come to escort us to Madame Callista’s. Is he not the best of brothers? I tried to convince Basil to come, but he always has so much else he has to do whenever I suggest he accompany me shopping!’

  ‘And so I do,’ Brisco averred stoutly from behind his wife’s chair. ‘Besides, what would I know of ladies’ folderols and furbelows—aside from the undoing of ties and fastenings and such?’ he ended with a wicked grin down at his wife’s upturned face.

  ‘Basil!’ Holly admonished, rising in a flurry of skirts and red cheeks, to face her husband.

  Lord Baxendene took advantage of their preoccupation with one another to bow low over Jane’s hand and murmur, ‘Yes, Angular Jane. The formal title ‘Lord Baxendene’ does not sit well on lips that have variously named me ‘Bax the Axe’, ‘Giraffe’ and even ‘Gangly Bax’ on occasion.’

  ‘We were children,’ Jane said frostily. ‘Maturity should at least engender better manners!’

  ‘Are you accusing me of being immature and impolite in calling you Angular Jane?’ he asked, still holding her hand and pressing his lips to the tips of her fingers.

  ‘Most certainly im—impolite,’ she muttered.

  ‘And unconscionable,’ he responded, thereby turning both their thoughts to his highly improper comments of last evening.

  ‘In the extreme.’

  Snatching her fingers from his grasp, she stepped further into the room.

  ‘How is Lady Baxendene this morning?’

  His mouth had a wicked tilt to it and his eyes danced like summer lightning in an evening sky.

  ‘She took a little gruel this morning—seems a little stronger.’ He turned to Holly. ‘She asked after you, hoping you hadn’t worn yourself out looking after her.’

  Surprise bloomed in Holly’s eyes, then she shrugged as if it were of no moment.

  ‘Someone had to go and there was no one else!’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Bax said, his smile gentle and almost serious, ‘she seemed to appreciate your presence.’

  Holly’s hand slid into Brisco’s and as Jane observed Bax watching his sister she noted an expression of concern—and love—briefly soften the hard, masculine cast of his features.

  Chapter 5

  Selena entered, stealing everyone’s attention.

  ‘There you are, my dear,’ Brisco said heartily. ‘I’ll take my leave if you’ll all excuse me. There’s a Committee discussion about the purchase of some fabulous marble statues from Greece and I want to be assured we make the most of the opportunity. Thanks, Bax. No doubt I owe you and will be expected to pay up at some future date.’

  Bax merely grinned evilly as Brisco hurried out the door.

  Patently delighted with her uncle’s escort, Selena gladly accepted his free arm, the other being occupied with Holly who was fussing with her gown and declaring, ‘I love it when you come shopping with me, Hades. You have perfect color sense!’

  The odious man looked back over his shoulder and winked at Jane. He handed first Holly then Selena into the carriage, insisting they sit facing the horses.

  Turning to Jane he handed her up to the seat opposite where she’d have to endure his presence beside her. He took up a lot of room in a carriage and she was certain he occupied more than necessary. If they were alone she’d be tempted to slap him.

  Alarmed at the volatility of her feelings, she pretended an inordinate interest in the sights from the window, which was preferable to reacting in any way to the subtle pressure of his thigh against hers or indicating her awareness by trying to ease her body up against the door—like—a frightened virgin! Lord, the man tried her temper! Not in all the years since she’d married James had she come so close to losing it.

  Hell-bent Hades. It’d not be the first time she’d wished he’d find that place he’d apparently spent his entire life pursuing.

  When the carriage drew up at La Callista he assisted his niece and sister out first. By the time he’d handed Jane down they were disappearing through the door. Whereupon he blithely offered Jane his arm.


  With a clipped, ‘Thank you, my Lord,’ she ignored him and sailed up the steps in what she knew was ‘flight’ rather than a ‘magnificent exit’, but was beyond caring. His persistent urbanity infuriated her.

  That her thigh still hummed from the pressure of his, her hand still burned from his assistance to alight—right through the fabric of both their gloves, and her fingertips still remembered the sensuality of his lips from his greeting in the Brisco’s morning room a full half hour before, only fanned the flames of her unease.

  He entered right behind her and as she’d imagined when he’d first invited himself along on this expedition, Madame Callista was all smiles and attention for his overgrown lordship—as if Jane had not entered immediately before him.

  ‘Madame Callie!’ he purred, bowing over the woman’s hand as if she were some great lady. Really? Jane had to restrain herself from snorting. What in heaven was wrong with her? If ever there was a moment she needed James and his wise counsel, his intense gentlemanly calm, it was now. Focusing on that thought and the strategies he’d painstakingly taught her for handling her volatile temper, allowed her to settle. She tuned out Madame’s effusive responses to a man who was obviously one of her best customers and simply waited for her to notice Jane’s presence.

  Thankfully she’d found her smile and a relatively calm equilibrium by the time the woman turned to her.

  ‘Lady Rotherby, I offer my condolences for your loss. I can only imagine ‘ow you must meess Lord Rotherby’s guidance and counsel. Such a wise man. ’E knew what suited you. Merci for your note apprising me of your visit and for bringing Meess Carstairs and Lady Brisco with you. I'm deeply honored to dress thees beautiful young woman. I ’ave ze new shipment of fabrics, ze colors most flattering. And I know of no gentleman whose eye for style and color ees more impeccable than Lord Baxendene’s.’

  ‘And so I’ve been telling Lady Rotherby,’ Bax interposed calmly.

  All over again Jane wanted to slap the fulsome smile from his sinfully handsome face.

  ‘Thank you, Madame Callista,’ Jane said graciously, while totally ignoring his lordship. ‘Miss Selena is your most important client today. I beg you’ll attend to her needs first. She needs gowns for every occasion, I believe.’

  ‘I beg to differ, Jane,’ Bax interrupted, immediately establishing a personal interest and close relationship by the use of her first name that had the modiste’s eyes widening with speculation.

  ‘It’s past time you put off the pale shades of semi-mourning so unflattering to one of your coloring. Therefore,’ he said, turning back to Madame Callista, ‘Lady Rotherby’s need is as urgent as my niece’s.’

  Jane fought to maintain her self-control and failed miserably. The saving grace was the modiste ushering them through to a private salon with two dressing rooms opening off it, so her waspish set-down was not overheard by other clients in the shop—who were agog with speculation at the presence of the Great Bax in this exclusively feminine emporium.

  ‘Kindly confine your interest and your comments to your niece’s needs and allow me to mind mine!’

  The shameless rascal exchanged a droll look with the bright eyed modiste and settled himself unconcernedly on the largest chair in the small but elegantly appointed room. Nevertheless, he did look a little like a giraffe teetering on a stool, which thought considerably cooled Jane’s temper as she crossed the room to position herself on the far side of Holly and Selena.

  For the next two hours they discussed styles, materials and colors, Bax volunteering his opinion whenever asked—and as often when he hadn’t been. He gave every impression of being elegantly at ease, totally engrossed, and contentedly entertained. Try as she might, Jane could see no hint of the devastated man she’d found crying at his mother’s bedside her first night in London. Was he so shallow then? Should she take it as another sign his feelings only ran skin deep, that this rakish, laid back gentleman, as at home in a ladies’ dressing room as he no doubt was in a gaming parlor or boxing ring, was the real Hades Delacourte?

  But as the morning progressed and Holly showed signs of tiring, he became all solicitous concern. Troubled shadows appeared in his eyes when they rested on his sister, no doubt considering how and when he should reveal the truth of her identity.

  Then he’d turn back to Jane, eyes gleaming with a wicked intent that stole her sense—and reason. Her only recourse was to fall back on the calm, serene ‘Lady of the Manor’ persona James had brought out in her.

  ‘This fine worsted would make an exquisite cape, the rich mahogany shade perfect with Lady Rotherby’s coloring. Do you not think so, Madame Callie? It matches her eyes when she’s devising ways to kill me—slowly.’

  Gritting her teeth, Jane affected unconcern and said, ‘I’ve decided on the brown with a green and gold braided trim.’

  ‘Really?’ Bax asked in apparent seriousness. ‘That’s—staid.’

  He imbued the word with connotations of something decidedly unpleasant. Ignoring him, Jane turned her attention to fabrics for her riding habit. Having worn the same one for the last five years, it was not only out of mode, but shabby into the bargain. She was loving the current styles and was almost certain she was going to choose the forest green and have it frogged with bronze braid and buttons. Her hat would be in the same dark green and held in place with a length of bronze veiling, and she’d carry the bronze into her boots and gloves.

  The vision of herself thus attired was clear and pleasing and Hades shattered it by placing his huge gloved hand on the bolt of forest green fabric and declaring, ‘This is the only color for you, Jane, trimmed with bronze—if you’d ask me. You’ll look like a woodland sprite!’

  Fury sizzled down her spine and for a moment she thought she’d fly apart with it.

  ‘I didn’t ask you,’ she muttered, as he moved closer than was strictly proper. He went still—or was it her imagination hoping she’d scored a direct hit with her sharp set-down. But if she had, he recovered quickly.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, as if she’d been consulting him all along.

  ‘The dark kingfisher,’ she snapped. ‘And I’m thinking a trim and buttons more brass than bronze.’

  Damn the man. That wasn’t what she’d wanted, but there was no way she was going to allow him the slightest input into her new wardrobe. She was not his mistress! Lord knows what Madame Callista was thinking.

  While he’d been preoccupied with Selena’s needs earlier she’d been able to choose a couple of new gowns for morning, afternoon and walking without his eagle-eyed interference. But Selena, her important first choices made, was now in one of the cubicles being measured, babbling excitedly because Uncle Bax was picking up the tab for the entire day’s purchases, including the ball gown for her coming out ball in a week’s time. He’d told her to choose exactly what she wanted—with the guidance of her aunt and Madame Callie. Her happy voice echoed from the fitting cubicle from time to time and, Jane thought sourly, he was probably expecting her to be as delighted for his interference.

  She’d been happy to listen to James’s suggestions, accept his guidance, and he’d been ultimately content to let her make her own choices. James had been her husband. Lord Baxendene was not!

  While his Lordship and the modiste discussed a mutual acquaintance who’d recently suffered ill health, Jane moved quietly to where several bolts of colorful silks and satins were laid out and lost herself in the exquisite fabrics.

  A fabulous gold net spangled along the border with swirls of topaz and emerald glass beads was the perfect overlay for the gold silk moiré alongside. With it she could wear either a topaz or emerald parure. James had bestowed so much jewelery on her she’d felt like a loved and pampered daughter.

  Tears stung her eyes for a moment as she fingered a beautiful gold and turquoise striped satin he would have loved. It would make the perfect underskirt teamed with the gold sarsenet. He’d said, in gold and turquoise she put him in mind of a fiery headed angel
.

  ‘Want my opinion?’

  The rich drawl came from behind her shoulder, effectively banishing her memory of James’s indulgent smile.

  ‘No!—Thank you,’ she managed to tack on.

  ‘Pity. I fancy you in midnight blue.’

  ‘I’ve made my choices—and—I don’t need you sp—spoiling it for me!’ she blurted, unable to halt the accusation.

  ‘Spoil it for you? I’m sorry—I certainly don’t wish to do that,’ he murmured, for her ears only.

  Sauntering back to the chair he’d claimed earlier, he settled once again with an expression of happy indulgence completely belying any hint of hurt. She was ever a fool where Hades Delacourte was concerned. As if such a man could ever be hurt by a woman like her!

  But surely he understood what the modiste and everyone else would construe from his so particular interest in her wardrobe! She couldn’t allow it. For Selena’s sake; for the sake of the family back at Rotherby Hall; for her own sake!

  But she couldn’t fault him in his attentions to his sister and niece. Selena was almost hyperventilating with delirium at his generosity, while Holly’s eyes and cheeks were bright with love and adoration.

  As they finalized the day’s orders he added a deep red pashmina for Holly and a pair of soft kid gloves for Jane. She’d been admiring them earlier, tried them on, but decided to leave them for another day. Horrified at his gesture, she was adamant she could not—indeed, would not—accept them.

  ‘It’s only a pair of gloves, Jane, and I’m certain even Madame Callie would agree a pair of gloves between friends can have no more connotation than—my heartfelt thanks for agreeing to chaperone my niece!’

  He smiled blandly down at her while Madame Callista agreed profusely with his statement, as she would, Jane decided with an inner snarl. The woman would be drooling into her account books tonight!

  Just as she was probably going to be unable to prevent herself from sleeping with his gift under her pillow.