What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  “I should be delighted to make up your set. However”—she turned her attention back to Pollux—“the second set has not yet begun.” Fluttering her eyelashes up at the handsome man, she squeezed his hand. “How are we to pass the time until our dance?”

  His sharp intake of breath made her hold her own. Even more amazing, his eyes changed from deep blue to black in an instant. The wave of his desire hit her like a tangible thing. Her mouth dried, her heart raced, her whole head heated as though it had caught fire. Who was this man that he could affect her so?

  “Come with me.” He pulled her toward the double doors behind them that led to the other part of the house.

  Heart pounding, Fanny ran on tiptoes in an effort to keep up with him. This was madness. Wherever was he taking her? And what on earth did he have in mind? Oh, but she knew what that was. That deep desire in his eyes told her exactly where his intentions lay. Would she allow him to have his way with her? She didn’t quite recognize him; the mask hid just enough of his face. Still he reminded her of someone. Someone who had been most dear to her what seemed a lifetime ago. But that man had left London, swearing never to return to the ton years before. He’d retreated to his country estate and had not been seen in Town for seven years.

  They raced down the corridor, Pollux still in the lead, Castor right behind her. That gave her some comfort. Pollux wouldn’t ravish her in front of his brother, or friend rather. Still, the urgency of his headlong flight, dodging wide-eyed guests left and right, persuaded her that this man would stop at nothing to get her alone.

  He turned a corner into a deserted hall and slowed finally. Stopping at a door on the far end, he glanced around then put his hand on the latch. “Keep watch, Cas. No one enters.”

  Castor grinned. “Not a soul, Pol. My word as a gentleman.”

  Pollux pushed down the latch, opened the door into a shadowy room, and drew her inside.

  The flickering fireplace across the room gave the only light. Fanny’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. A moment in which Pollux pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts against his unyielding chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to him, and sank his mouth onto hers.

  CHAPTER 2

  Fanny’s building panic subsided at the touch of his lips. Soft, warm, almost tender, he kissed her with a gentleness that surprised her after the fierce desire that had erupted in him. She slipped her arms round his trim waist, every muscle hard beneath her hands. Oh, but she had missed this intimacy for such a long time. So good to be this close to a man again.

  He slid his tongue along the seam of her lips and without thinking she opened them, eager for more. Their tongues tangled, then she drew him in, drinking in the glorious feeling once more. Here was the passion she had shared all too little in her married life and seldom with her husband. Only with . . .

  Realization hit like a blow from a fist. She pulled away, her hand going to her mouth. It couldn’t be.

  “Do you finally know me, Fanny?”

  Speechless, she nodded, her heart beating oddly in fits and starts.

  Pollux smiled and pulled his mask off over his head.

  “Matthew.” She whispered it, still unsure if it was truly him.

  “Without a doubt. Did you truly not know me? I haven’t changed that much, surely.” He smiled and her stomach dropped. He’d not changed at all. Big, brooding, with a face like a dark angel, Matthew, Lord Lathbury, was just as she remembered.

  “You vowed never to return to London.” That had been the last time she’d seen him.

  “I found never to be much too long a time.” He stalked toward her and she retreated until she bumped into a bookcase, the spines of the books knobbly against her back. “I missed you, Fanny. Every day I missed you.” His eyes fixed her like a bug on a pin. “Did you miss me?”

  Fearing she’d reveal too much, Fanny snapped her eyes shut. Of course she’d missed Matthew. Had wished to see him back in Society more than once. Guilt and duty to Stephen, however, had forbidden her to even ask about him these past years. But she’d thought about him. Oh, yes. On the long, dark nights without Stephen, she’d thought about Matthew quite a lot. “On occasion I believe I wondered what had become of you.” Opening her eyes, she allowed herself a careful smile. “How have you been, Matthew?”

  “Tolerably well, although deathly bored by the country.” He leaned a hand on the bookcase by her head, shutting her off from the main part of the room.

  A thrill of excitement shivered down her body. Always a physical man, Matthew knew how to intimidate, to protect, to cherish. Sometimes all at once. “Have you truly remained at Lathbury for seven years? One would think you could travel to other places if London no longer amused you.”

  Shrugging, he leaned closer to her, bringing the exhilarating smell of bergamot to swirl about her head. “I spent some time shooting in Scotland each year with Kinellan. Then hunting with Braeton in Kent in the fall. I followed racing, as long as it didn’t take me too near London.”

  “Not too difficult for you, then. The best racing’s always been at Newmarket and many other tracks are far from Town.” The proximity of his presence seemed to press upon her, heightening her senses. He’d always had that effect on her, from the night they’d met at her come-out ball. She’d be drunk on him in minutes. “But why stay away, Matthew?”

  “You know why.” He straightened and she could breathe easily again. “I couldn’t remain in London and run the risk of meeting you at some ball or the theatre. Seeing you and knowing that you had decided you were Stephen’s wife, not my lover.”

  “I didn’t decide anything.” Fanny retreated toward the fireplace, any place away from him.

  “You chose to marry Lord Stephen instead of me.” On her heels, Matthew could be as relentless as one of his hounds after a fox. “And you returned to him rather than run away with me.”

  “I married Stephen years ago.” She glanced toward the door, but that was the coward’s way. They needed to thrash this out, though why it must be tonight of all nights she didn’t know.

  “You never told me why.” Brows furrowed, he pulled her around to face him again. “Why you would turn down an offer from an earl to marry the youngest son of a marquess.”

  God Almighty. She might have known that would be his first question. How could she explain a decision she’d wished to take back a thousand times? “Don’t do this now, Matthew. I’ve not seen you in seven years. Can we not renew our acquaintance in a more amicable manner?”

  Smoldering black eyes bore into her. “Just answer the question, Fanny. Why him? Why not me?”

  What did it matter if he knew or not? She squared her shoulders. Time for a confession. “I was just out of the schoolroom, young, impressionable. Ignorant. Lord Stephen Tarkington personified excitement in a way no other man ever had for me. A rakehell with a reputation to make any girl swoon if he even looked at her. He danced the first set with me and it was over. I could hardly breathe when he touched my hand.” Staring straight into his face, she frowned. “All my friends were jealous of his attentions to me and I lorded it over them. I thought he was in love with me, lost my head, and when he asked me I said yes.”

  “Someone should have been looking out for you. Someone who knew how unsuitable he was.” His frown deepened, something she would have sworn impossible.

  “You know what ladies always say. ‘Reformed rakes make the best husbands.’ ”

  Matthew grunted. “Pity Lord Stephen never reformed.”

  Sighing, Fanny shook her head. “I should have known better. My aunt brought me out, but she wasn’t as worldly as she could have been. I was dazzled by Stephen and she was seduced by his brother’s title. Another woman might have advised me better.”

  “Might have advised you to marry me.”

  Fanny lowered her eyes. “Yes, she might have done.” How many times had she wished that were true? “You would have been a brilliant match, I cannot deny it. You were handsome, tal
l, strong.”

  “Did I annoy you, perhaps?”

  “No, you were quite charming.” She slipped her hand over his chest and heat poured through her. “And very persistent, if I remember correctly. Two bouquets of roses after that first ball.”

  “Too persistent, then? Or too eager?” The bullish look returned to his face, brows lowered, cheeks puffed out.

  “Neither.” Grasping his hand, Fanny attempted to draw him over to the sofa. She might as well have been leading a statue. “You were everything a girl could have wanted.”

  “Almost every girl.”

  “I’m sorry, Matthew.” She dropped his hand, now annoyed herself. “Yes, I chose to marry Stephen. I was young and inexperienced and didn’t know what he was really like. Had someone, anyone, taken me in hand, I’d likely be your countess this moment and you wouldn’t be standing there looking like you wanted to murder someone. And I wouldn’t be standing here wanting to plant you a facer.”

  He laughed, and the tension eased. “I’ve been working out at Jackson’s, so I think I can manage to avoid a blow or two.”

  “You do look marvelously in shape.” A hunger kindled in her belly. Each time she’d touched him she’d felt the coiled steel of his muscles.

  “I had to be if I was to wear this costume.” His chuckle floated in the flickering darkness.

  “Well, I for one am very glad you made the effort.” Her eyes feasted on his form from top to toe as her hunger grew. It had been too long since she’d had a man in her bed. This man in her bed. But not here. Not now, but maybe soon. She smiled up into his face, letting all her joy shine through.

  “You are very welcome.” With a fingertip he smoothed back her hair and Fanny feared she’d melt into the floor. “I hope you know you still can be.”

  “Can be what?”

  “My countess.”

  The air around her seemed to harden, as though she’d run into a wall while standing still. Had she actually heard what she thought she’d heard? “I beg your pardon?”

  “Shall I go down on one knee, Fanny?” He suited the movement to his words and dropped to the floor, her hand captured in both of his. “You cannot be surprised, my dear. Why else would I have come to London?”

  “But . . .” Gazing into his upturned face, shining with a joy she’d not seen in years, her powers of speech deserted her.

  “Please, Fanny, do me the very great honor of becoming my wife and you will make me the happiest man in Christendom.” Matthew’s insistent tone, the look of longing in his eyes tugged at her heart. Why hadn’t she seen his deep regard for her all those years ago? They both might be much happier had she never married Stephen. However, she was a different woman now.

  “Get up, please, Matthew.” She tried to slip her hand out of his grasp, but he held on fast as he rose to his feet.

  “My standing won’t change my question.” He raised her hand to his lips and that wonderful, awful sinking feeling raced through her once more. “I love you, Fanny. I made that quite clear to you seven years ago.”

  “Yes, when you were trying to persuade me to run away with you.” She wiggled her hand again, but it was no use. She might as well try to break free from a vise.

  “You were terribly unhappy and I wanted to take you away. Make you happy once more. But you wouldn’t let me.”

  “Someone had to be sensible. The scandal would have ruined us both.” How had they come to reliving that wretchedly wonderful interlude seven years ago? They had been the best four months of her life, until she had come to her senses. And had made Matthew see sense as well.

  “Now you are a widow, free as the air, you can marry me and we can enjoy one another as we did then. Even better, because we won’t have to live in fear of being found out.” He pulled her closer and seized her lips.

  Bliss. Pure bliss to surrender to his lips once more. Firm, commanding, and with a flick of his tongue, he suddenly plundered her mouth. Hot and greedy he ravaged her, so insistent she could focus on nothing but him as he crushed her against his almost naked chest and devoured her. The world ceased to exist, save for one single thing: Matthew.

  He slid his hands from her head down her back, each sensual inch stoking her flaming body more. Then he cupped her derriere and pressed her against him, wanting her to feel that eager, hard ridge against her most sensitive place. God, how she wanted him, wanted to give into him. She gloried in their closeness another moment, longing to be closer still. Yes, that would come to pass, and soon. And for now she would savor just one more moment until . . .

  With a phenomenal strength of will, Fanny pulled away from his seductive heat. “But we are not married, Matthew. We can still be brought to ruin if we are found here.”

  “Not if you accept my proposal.” He strode forward, lust in his hot gaze.

  Retreating behind a tall wing-backed chair, she shook her head. “But I’m not accepting you.”

  He stopped as if he’d run into an invisible wall, his face blank. “You’re not accepting me? Why not, for God’s sake?”

  Digging her fingers into the chair’s soft leather upholstery, Fanny tried to clear her head before she spoke. “I am just come from a year of wearing widow’s weeds. I expected to have time to enjoy my freedom. I had no idea you hadn’t already married or that you’d be here on my first night out again.”

  “You want freedom? What on earth for? I’m offering you everything a woman could want: a title, social position, love. Do those things have no meaning for you, Fanny?” Hurt had deepened his voice.

  “I got those same things when I married Stephen. And we both know how miserable they made me.” Miserable enough to seek solace in this man’s arms, despite her wedding vows.

  “I may be many things, Fanny, but we both know I am not Stephen Tarkington.” The black eyes and lowered brows had returned.

  “Lower your voice before someone hears.”

  Waving her concerns away, he crossed his arms over his broad chest, muscles bulging. “The only one to hear might be Castor, and believe me, he’s not letting anyone into this room. Better than Cerberus, my twin.” He advanced toward her once more, stalking toward the chair.

  Fanny dodged behind a table, putting the length between them. “Any man will be unfaithful given the right circumstances. My husband didn’t need anything other than an opportunity.”

  “I disagree.” Matthew inched toward the middle of the table, his gaze darting to and fro. “Only certain types of men will stray. I am not one of those.”

  “Please forgive me if I don’t stake the rest of my life on that, my lord.” Oh, she needed to get away from him, away from this conversation before she said something she would truly regret.

  “You know I love you and only you, Fanny.” His beseeching blue eyes would melt the resolve of a saint.

  “Matthew.” Hating the pleading tone of her voice, yet helpless to change it, Fanny grasped her head in her hands to stop the whirling sensation. God knew she wanted to believe him. As she had believed Stephen. She’d been young and naive then. She wouldn’t make that same mistake now. “I need time. Time to spread my wings a little. To enjoy my freedom for a while at least and decide if I do wish to marry again.”

  He leaned back sharply and she sensed that had been a blow. “And in the meantime?”

  Leaning into him, she whispered, “We can renew our acquaintance in all ways that count.”

  “So you’ll agree to bed me but not wed me?” His frown deepened.

  “For the moment.” She tapped her fingers lightly on his chest. “Would that be such a hardship on you?”

  Sighing, he pulled a face. “I suppose not.” A flash of his boyish grin made her stomach drop. “May I woo you properly, at least?”

  “Improperly would be more to my taste.” Fanny returned his smile with one of her own, as sultry and seductive as she could make it. “But I suppose some decorous behavior wouldn’t kill me either.”

  “Good.” He took her hands and raised them to hi
s lips. “I leave for Brighton at the end of the week. I’d hoped you’d be accompanying me as my wife, but that—”

  “As your wife?” How arrogant of him to think she’d fall into his arms at the snap of his fingers. “Did you bring the special license with you tonight?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “I’d planned to get it tomorrow. Don’t ruffle your feathers. If I thought myself sure of you, you’ve certainly clipped my wings. As I was saying, I leave for Brighton at the end of the week and I’d like for you to come. Not with me”—he shot the remark in before she could draw breath to protest—“but a visit to the seaside would not come amiss at this time of year, I think. Many are removing there, so you will have your pick of the gentlemen, and I may ‘woo you with some spirit when you come.’”

  “Am I to play Kate to your Petruchio? You see me as a shrew, my lord? Not the most flattering of compliments.” She arched her neck, secretly pleased. Of all Shakespeare’s plays, The Taming of the Shrew was her favorite. Its heroine was a spirited woman. She could see herself in that role, with Matthew attempting to tame her as he wooed. This excursion could be most amusing. She’d have to find a companion to accompany her, of course. One of her widowed friends would work nicely. Especially her sister-in-law Jane, who also had a wild streak in her. A companion to encourage seduction rather than a chaperone. How delicious.

  “Well? Will you meet me in Brighton?” Matthew’s eager voice brought her back to the dim room now filled with possibilities.

  “I will be happy to journey to Brighton, my lord. If I find you there, I do hope you will attend me most earnestly.” In a heart’s beat she slipped her hands from his, pulled his lips down to hers, and sealed the pact with a kiss so warm and sweet her resolve slipped a notch. “And now if you’ll excuse me?” Turning swiftly on her toes, Fanny raced for the door. As she grasped the handle, she glanced back at him.

  The victorious grin on his face sent a shiver down her spine. She pulled the door open and fled into the corridor before she could change her mind.