by Erica Taylor
“True,” she admitted. “The roads were not safe, so I stopped.”
“Traveling alone?” he asked, taking another bite of stew. Sarah took a sip of wine.
“I have a traveling companion,” Sarah answered, pulling her wrap up and over her shoulders for warmth.
“So, I ask again, what is your reason for your journey?”
“A ball,” she replied with a shrug. “Nothing too exciting.”
“It must the quite the event if you are traveling all the way down to London for it,” he acknowledged before taking a bit of bread, dipping it into the broth of the stew, and plopping it into his mouth in a rather unmannerly way.
Sarah watched him in fascination. “It is truly not,” she admitted. “But my brother’s new wife sent word that all my siblings were returning for it. She explicitly stated she wished to have a dinner with everyone in the immediate family who is currently in England, and I got the impression they have some blessed news to share. But I cannot know for certain.”
“Well then, congratulations to them, and you,” he said, raising his glass of wine. She clinked her glass to his, and smiled, though she wasn’t particularly excited. She would be happy for her brother and his new wife, but each time a new babe was born it was a harsh reminder she was not counted amongst those so blessed.
“You look troubled beneath your pretty smile,” he commented, watching her. “Care to share your woes? I’ve been told I am an excellent listener.”
Sarah took another sip of wine, momentarily distracted by the fuzziness in her head and the delectable shape of his lips, curved into a half grin. “I have no troubles,” she said sweetly, certain from many years of practice that all emotion had been removed from her face aside from polite amusement.
“You are quite pretty when you lie through your teeth, Mrs. Hartford,” he replied.
“I am not about to divulge my entire life story to some stranger I met scarcely half an hour ago,” she replied stiffly.
“Why not?” he asked. “Who am I to tell?”
She eyed him warily, assessing his character as best she could after a few moments alone with him, and she found herself sharing things with him she had barely admitted to herself.
“I find that I am a tad jealous of my brother’s happy marriage. My husband and I were not blessed with children, and with each pregnancy announcement, I find myself joyful for the couple, yet sad for myself.”
“You’re young yet,” William replied, sipping his wine. “You could still have a family.”
Sarah shook her head. “I was married for five years before my husband died, and in those years, we were never able to conceive. I am afraid I simply cannot bear children.”
“It takes two people to make a child, you know,” he reminded her. “Perhaps the fault lay with him and not you?”
“If only that were the case.”
“But how can you know for certain?” he probed. “Have you ever tried with someone else?”
Despite the inappropriateness of the conversation, Sarah managed to laugh. “No, I have not,” she admitted. “But my husband did—with success nine months later.”
William frowned. “Your husband produced a child with another woman while still married to you?”
Sarah nodded, taking a long sip of wine.
“It is fortunate he died then,” William continued and took another spoonful of stew. At her confused look, he explained, “Because I would have killed him for you were he still alive.”
Sarah laughed again, the combination of wine and brandy making her giddy. “What a violently inappropriate thing to say!” And yet, she was oddly warmed by the thought. Lord Geoffrey Hartford, as he had been when Sarah had first laid eyes on him, years before he inherited, had turned from the love of her life to the bane of her existence, and while she knew her brothers would have stood up for her honor, she doubted any of them would have threatened her husband. At least, not to her face.
William shrugged. “I’m not the type to overlook infidelity.”
“Nor I,” she agreed. “But I couldn’t do much about it.”
“You could have not let him back into your bed,” he suggested.
“I tried,” she replied. “Once he confirmed my childlessness was not from any fault of his, he became more . . . determined to produce a legitimate heir.”
The wine was making this entire improper night seem normal, from the conversation to his mere presence in her room.
Tomorrow, she would swear off alcohol, Sarah vowed.
Maybe. Perhaps not.
“I don’t know why I am telling you any of this,” Sarah said, more to herself than to the man across the tiny table from her. She took another bite of the cake, escaping into its sweetness for a brief moment.
“Have you ever shared this with anyone?” he asked.
“My friend, whom I was with in the taproom, was married to my husband’s brother, and theirs was a childless marriage, as well,” Sarah admitted. “We’ve discussed some of the misfortunes of being married to brothers, but we have never discussed details in such a way. This conversation is quite out of character for me, I assure you.”
“Not for me,” William replied. “People always seem to tell me their problems. Apparently, I have a trustworthy face.”
Sarah studied him for a moment before nodding. “Yes, your face is unusually trustworthy, almost alarmingly so. Perhaps it is your eyes.”
He set his flatware on the table and pushed his empty plate away. “I say, Mrs. Hartford, are you flirting with me?” he asked.
Sarah laughed nervously. “Perhaps. Though I haven’t flirted in a good many years, so I’m probably rubbish at it.”
“Do you and your merry friend traverse the countryside taking unsuspecting men under your spell?”
“Well, no,” Sarah admitted. “Tonight we were sort of . . .” She trailed off, wondering how to explain what her intentions were. How does one say, Oh yes, if we could have a tumble in the sheets because I’m quite out of practice that would be splendid. And please don’t see it as my using you for your sexual prowess, of which I am certain you possess quite a good deal, even though I’ve paid for your dinner and your warm room for the night.
“You were bored,” he supplied. Sarah nodded slowly in spite of herself. “And you two, what? Devised a game to entice the first man to walk in the door?”
“Well, it wasn’t quite like that,” she began but stopped, narrowing her eyes at him.
He laughed. “Boredom and women do not mix well, especially widowed ones with money. Your friend seemed quite excited to see you off tonight.”
“I assure you this is not something I do often,” Sarah said. “Or ever.”
He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. “How do I know you are not going to abscond with my valuables?”
Sarah laughed. “Have you anything valuable to abscond with?”
His eyebrows rose in unison. “You do not know anything about me.”
“And you do not know anything about me,” she replied. “How do I know you won’t abscond with my valuables?”
He eyed her, hungrily, though he had emptied his plate of stew. “You don’t,” he admitted. “You chose me, remember? I just played along.”
“Yes, because you desired a warm, dry place to sleep,” Sarah replied. “Do not suggest you are getting nothing out of this arrangement.”
“And what, pray tell, are you getting out of this arrangement?” he inquired, swatting at the lock of hair that had fallen in his face.
Sarah paused, not sure how to respond. She wasn’t even sure of the answer. What was she thinking? She was engaged in a ridiculous wager that could lead to incredible ruin. But he was right, she didn’t know who he was. He could be married, or worse, he could be unattached and a frequent customer of brothels and loose women.
Taking another sip of wine, she asked, “Why are you going to London?”
�
�I was summoned,” he responded.
“Seems ominous,” she replied.
“Could be,” he replied but didn’t comment further. “Have you any other questions?”
“How old are you?”
“I am three and thirty,” he replied. “If you are older than me, I would be surprised. You don’t look past five and twenty.”
“I turned thirty this past May,” she admitted. “It is my charm that keeps me young.”
“And all your time spent robbing unsuspecting men during torrential downpours.”
“Yes, I can control the weather too,” she added. “’Tis another of my charms.”
“I suspect you have many charms, and I look forward to experiencing more of them,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.
A moment passed, and Sarah was convinced the pounding of her heart could be heard echoing off the paneled walls.
She rose slowly, the wine and brandy giving her courage and not an ounce of sanity. What was she doing? This was so out of character for her! Damn Lydia and her damnable wagers. Sarah would never live this down.
Before she could over-think and talk herself out of it— before she could run screaming from the room, or before William could ask her what she was playing at—she sat down on his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, she angled her face to the side and did the one thing she had longed to do since he walked into the taproom, soaking wet and setting her aflame.
She kissed him firmly on the lips.
Mr. William Gordon was not accustomed to kissing random women. Even being cooped up in a stranger’s room and playing along with her ploy to get him there was a first for him. But he had to admit having the lovely Mrs. Hartford in his arms was a welcome distraction from the reasons he was called to London.
His father. His brother. William had mentioned none of it, passing himself off as some country gentleman. Even his name was a lie. Mostly.
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes stormy and slightly hazy from alcohol, and she nodded. “This will work,” she muttered before kissing him again.
He opened his mouth to hers, drinking from whatever fountain she was offering, though he had no intention of letting anything go past a kiss. Bedding a strange woman wasn’t something that particularly interested him. Mrs. Hartford was lovely, to be sure, her dark hair reminding him of chocolate and her bright eyes as blue as the summer skies back home in Aberdeen. She was warm and soft in his arms, ample breasts pressed against him, breath sweet with chocolate and wine and want. Yet as enticing as she was, he knew Mrs. Hartford’s heart wasn’t truly in this game. She was fueled by the wine and the woman in the taproom who had seemingly dared her into such behavior.
She definitely made him want, though he was in no position to take anything, even if parts of him were roaring to life. He had no place here in her arms, in her room, playacting the role of her husband, but for the moment he didn’t care. It felt wonderful just to be touched, and by a beautiful woman to boot. For just a moment, he wanted to forget.
One hand roamed up her back, pulling her closer, running the tips of his fingers down the bones in her spine. His other hand pulled pins from her hair, her dark tresses falling loosely and curling around his fingers. A scent full of sweetness and lemon wafted faintly from her hair, her skin, the scent of her pushing him in a direction he knew they shouldn’t journey down, but he did not want this to end.
Despite her widowed appearance, her grey gown and severe hair styling, this delectable Mrs. Hartford did not kiss like someone’s staid and proper widow. She was a siren, calling to him from a rocky cliff, daring him to release his tightly held control and risk everything by joining her on the cliff ’s edge. He might be lucky if all he did was fall.
Wanting to see how far she’d take their liaison, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, her chocolate hair nestled against the white coverlet, blue eyes shining with mirth.
Kissing down her jaw, he moved past her collarbone and into the well of her breasts, kissing as far as the garment would let him go, reveling in the light groans escaping her throat.
“You’ve a lovely figure, Mrs. Hartford,” William murmured. “Might I see more of it?”
The woman beneath him stilled, and he paused in the attention he was paying to her breast, sensing her reason had returned.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands. Shaking her head, her voice came out muffled through her fingers. “I cannot do this.”
Laughing to himself, William leaned away from her. “I beg your pardon?” His voice sounded harsher than he intended, arousal still pulsing through his veins.
She sat up and wiggled away from him. “I’m so terribly sorry,” she said quickly, grabbing up her knit wrap that had fallen to the floor. “I just can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he asked, smirking at her, though she refused to look at him, so she couldn’t see his amusement.
“This is entirely my fault, I assure you,” she said, wrapping the shawl around her. “You are quite wonderful, but I really must go. Please, enjoy the rest of the meal, and the room is yours. I just . . . can’t . . .”
William grabbed her arm as she attempted to dash past him. “Where are you going?” he asked her.
She took a steadying breath but still did not look at him. “I am sorry,” she replied shakily. “Please let me go.”
Never, he thought to himself, but the word was hasty. He didn’t even know her. And yet he certainly didn’t want her frightened of him and fleeing her—their—room.
“You don’t have to leave,” he explained gently. “I was not going to let this go much further anyway.”
Turning towards him finally, she studied him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “You weren’t?”
He chuckled. “I am not in the habit of bedding random women in traveling inns, no matter how pretty they are, or whether they provide me with a warm meal and dry bed. I was just letting you have your fun for a bit. I had no intention of us actually . . .” He floundered for the correct words to explain what could have happened, but none seemed to fit. Sex was too brutal a word, and they certainly wouldn’t have made love, not as two strangers. Fornicate? Copulate?
Her brow was still furrowed, and she tugged on her arm, still tight in his grasp.
“You are not angry?” she questioned.
“With you?” he asked. “Absolutely not.”
His answer seemed to confuse her, and she tugged her arm again. “Then please release me. Regardless of your intentions, or lack thereof, I should not stay the night in a room with a man who is not my husband.”
“Have you a reputation to worry about?” he asked.
She pursed her lips. “A rather large one, I am afraid.”
“No one knows you here, save for your red headed friend down the hall,” he pointed out. “Unless she is bound to start rumors—and since it was she who put you up to this, I think not. You are embarrassed, that much is obvious, but you needn’t be. Stay. Do not admit defeat to your friend by running to her room and telling her you could not go through with it. She looks like the type to have a good laugh about it, but she would never let you forget it.”
She turned his words over in her head. “She would not,” she replied softly.
“And she might be entertaining someone this evening,” William added. “You would not want to interrupt.”
Mrs. Hartford took a deep breath and released it with a heavy defeated sigh. “Yes, I suppose you are correct.” She didn’t look thrilled to admit he had a point.
William released her arm, satisfied when she didn’t run.
“You need not fear me, Mrs. Hartford,” he informed to her. “You take the bed, and I will take the chair. In the morning your friend will think you worldly for entertaining an unknown man all night in your room.”
Her laughter was strained as she nodded. “Thank you,” she stated. “I appreciate your und
erstanding.”
“Thank you for the warm room,” he responded. “Besides, Abe and I didn’t really want to spend the night in the taproom. You are much better company.”
They both glanced at the dog sleeping peacefully by the dying fire, oblivious to the other occupants of the room.
“I do apologize for all this,” she said, brushing away a lock of dark hair that had fallen onto her face. “I know I gave a certain impression, and I understand a gentleman has certain expectations.”
“A gentleman would have no expectations,” he countered. “Or at least, he would never mention or demand such things from a woman.”
“Are you a gentleman?” she asked.
“Of sorts,” he replied.
She frowned. “That’s exceptionally vague.”
William shrugged. “We can share our life stories another time. Would you like to retire for the evening? Do you require assistance? I notice you are without a maid.”
Mrs. Hartford stepped around him. “She was let go just before we embarked on our journey south,” she said, pulling open her traveling trunk. “Not by any wrong doing of her own, she simply fell in love and wished to leave my service to marry and start a family of her own.”
“Sounds reasonable,” he answered as she ducked behind the partition, but, after a long moment, he heard her sigh.
“I do need your assistance,” she said, her voice strained, the request apparently requiring a great deal of effort for her to put aside her pride and ask for help.
William did his best not to laugh. “How may I be of service?” he asked, stepping cautiously to the other side of the divide.
“The buttons at the back of my dress,” she stated, not turning towards him.
“Aye, of course, madam.” He didn’t fault her for her skittishness, as it seemed she truly was not accustomed to having a man in her bedchamber, despite her claims to be Mrs. Hartford. He didn’t miss the sharp little intakes of breath each time his fingers skimmed the soft fabric under her gown and stays, her skin hot through the thin material as he moved down her spine, slipping each button from its loop. The room seem to grow warmer, despite the dying fire. As he reached the end of the buttons, the top of her dress sagged off her shoulders, exposing her perfect skin. William took a deep breath, pushing down the desire that was raging inside.
