Wedding the Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  She had opened her eyes on the darkness of her room at Lyttlefield Park and had known she was truly awake. She expected the crushing grief that always followed these dreams to grip her once more. Instead, she’d been seized by a restlessness, tossing and turning about dry-eyed in the soft bed. Sad, yet somehow content, for she had bid Dickon farewell at last.

  The bedclothes suddenly weighed her down. She thrust them back and sat up to light the lamp. She prowled over to the window, her bare feet shrinking from the cold floor. No sight of dawn yet. It should be light by now, not the middle of the night. Likely she’d sleep no more tonight, though she would dutifully try. She climbed back into the bed, tucking the covers around her. Now what?

  Shadows danced in the corners of the room as Elizabeth tried to settle down after that disturbingly real dream. What had brought it on was obvious even to her: the turmoil in her heart over wanting a male presence in her life—a very specific male presence, to be sure. One she must confront on the morrow—or later today, in fact.

  Jemmy’s handsome, boyish face and bright curly hair came to her mind’s eye easily, as if he actually stood before her. Just as he had two months before in this very room. Good Lord.

  She slid down beneath the covers, resisting the urge to pull the sheet over her face. This had been her room during the October house party. The copy of The Monk had been on the nightstand then, and she’d been curious about it. Which meant that the bed she’d been sleeping in, been dreaming of kissing her husband in, was the same one in which she’d—gracious! She didn’t want to think of what they’d done in this bed.

  Lord Brack. Jemmy. Though it was difficult, she must start thinking of him thus. The young gentleman had touched a chord deep within her when they’d melded their bodies. She’d no idea how hungry she’d been for a man’s touch, and Jemmy’s had been skillful, masterful. He’d been able to make her forget her grief for Dickon through the renewal of the carnal pleasures she’d enjoyed almost constantly when her husband had been in Town.

  Oh, dear. The two experiences—passionate love with Dickon and equally passionate lust, stoked by that disgraceful pagan ritual—had begun to blend together, the one nearly becoming one with the other. Did she indeed wish to let go of the past? Did Dickon wish for their love to continue through her happiness? She had a high standard for any man to live up to in Dickon. Would Jemmy be able to take on such a daunting task? He seemed truly fond of her, magnanimously forgiving her for calling him by another man’s name. If one thought about it in just the right light, Jemmy could take it as a compliment that he could be so skillful as to make her believe he was Dickon at that final shuddering release of emotion. In any case, like it or not, they had shared the ultimate intimacy, and from that had come a child.

  A child who would, perhaps, have riotously curly blond hair and a sunny disposition to match. So she must do her duty, her duty to the child, and perhaps to herself as well, to be happy. For her, for Dickon, for the baby. Happiness had been a stranger to her for so long she couldn’t admit that for her to be happy did not disrespect or betray her late husband’s memory. Rather it was his benediction for her to live her life and make her peace with him.

  Peace, like a mantle of softest wool, settled over Elizabeth, embracing her even as she enfolded it in her heart. She rather hoped the peace would aid her to sleep again, but no. Ten minutes later, she still tossed and turned, mulling it all over again in her head. If she remained like this, she would go mad.

  In desperation, she glanced at The Monk and shuddered. Many books were an aid to sleep; however, Lewis’s sensational volume did not have that reputation. On the contrary, if one wished to remain awake, some of the more lurid passages would certainly do the trick.

  Throwing back the covers, she slid to her feet and thrust them into slippers. No one would be stirring at this hour. She would pop down to the library and find something more soothing to read. Donning her dark blue wrapper, she grabbed the big leather tome and the candle, and made her way downstairs.

  The corridors were dim, shadows shrinking and growing as she passed through them. Thankfully, no one else seemed to be abroad, though the servants would be rising soon. Good. She could find her book and return upstairs without anyone seeing her and asking difficult questions she’d much rather not answer at the moment.

  The door to the library stood open, its dark interior yawning before her like a great black mouth.

  All the better to eat you with, my dear. Really, she must stop these fanciful thoughts. What on earth had gotten into her tonight?

  She hurried forward, the candle wavering, casting huge shadows that seemed to twist and sway. Perhaps it was the book. The gothic nature of The Monk, what little she’d read of it, had infused her with these ridiculous, irrational fears. Best to get it out of her hands at once.

  Glancing about at the towering shelves of books, she saw no gap large enough in the tightly packed volumes to suggest where The Monk belonged. As she moved from shelf to shelf, the silence of the room began to weigh on her. Maybe she should simply put the book on the library table for a servant to return to its proper place. She could choose another book to read at a later time. That would allow her to make a swift retreat to her room before her imagination got the best of her.

  She padded softly to the polished mahogany table in the center of the room, to lay the book on it. In her haste, the edge of the leather binding slid off her fingertips and thumped onto the table with a loud, hollow thud.

  “Who’s there?”

  Elizabeth screamed, whirling toward the voice that boomed unexpectedly from behind the sofa that faced the cold fireplace. The candle flickered wildly and blew out, plunging the room into darkness. Who could be here at this time of night? Step by careful step, Elizabeth backed toward the door. If she could make it to the corridor, she could run for her room before the person could catch her.

  “I say, don’t be afraid.”

  The now-familiar voice stopped her as she reached the doorway. “Lord Brack?”

  A quickly indrawn breath from the darkness. “Elizabeth?”

  Relief washed through her, to be followed immediately by sheer panic. Jemmy was the last person she wished to see. What was he doing in the library in the middle of the night?

  The scratch of flint and steel and a candle flared, revealing Lord Brack in shirtsleeves, blinking owlishly as he held the candlestick up. The flickering light illuminated his disheveled appearance—rumpled shirt, cravat hanging limply on either side of his neck, hair sticking up in unruly abandon.

  Her heart thundered loudly in her chest.

  “Elizabeth, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?” A concerned frown deepened as he set the flame down and strode quickly toward her. “Are you not well?” He grasped her hands. “Shall I fetch someone for you?”

  Disarmed by his sudden nearness, Elizabeth reveled in the warm, strong hands on hers. The faintly salty male scent of him sent a wave of desire coursing through her, heating her from toes to eyebrows. Gasping at his touch, she whispered, “No, no, I am fine, my lord.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t believe you, my dear.” His frown almost reached his nose now. “Your cheeks are flushed, and you’re trembling. You fainted in the church this morning. Obviously, you are not well.”

  “I swear to you I am not ill.” She swallowed, trying to get moisture into a mouth gone dry as a desert. After so much time apart, the nearness of him quite went to her head. Dizzy with the excitement, she squeezed his hands and swayed toward him.

  “My dear! You are not well. Here.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the shadowy sofa. “Sit here, and I will ring for Fisk. He can send a footman for Mr. Putnam.”

  “Oh, no, my lord. I truly am well.” She snared his hand as he grabbed his jacket. “I promise you. I came here to return a book and exchange it for something that would be more encouraging to sleep.”

  “What were you reading that was keeping you up?”
/>   “The Monk.” She pointed to the volume on the table. “Do you know it?”

  Lord Brack chuckled as he settled his jacket over his shoulders.

  Elizabeth wished he hadn’t done that. The sight of his dishabille had set her pulse to racing rather pleasantly.

  “I do. And I agree it is a book hardly conducive to a peaceful night’s repose.” He sat beside her on the leather sofa and ran a hand through his hair, standing it up on end with a rather appealing, rakish charm.

  “So I thought I would find something by Mrs. Amelia Perriwinkle. Her books are always so amusing.” Pulling her wrapper tighter around her, Elizabeth’s awareness of the intimate nature of their situation increased. That she was more strongly attracted to him than ever became clearer every moment she spent in his presence.

  “Yes, I believe they are.” His gaze had strayed to her face, fixing on her mouth with a longing that made her stomach clench.

  “And why are you here this time of night, my lord? Were you unable to sleep as well?”

  He jerked upright, a hint of color in his cheeks. “Not exactly.” A sigh escaped him, and he avoided her eyes. “I was concerned about your welfare when Georgina told me you would not be at dinner. When we returned from Wrotham Park, I was too restless to sleep and came in here for a drink.” He grunted. “Several drinks, if you have not already guessed. Eventually, I took off my jacket to make myself more comfortable and lay down on the sofa. Until you roused me.” He cleared his throat, his gaze shooting back to pin her to the sofa.

  Elizabeth coughed, hoping for more time. She wasn’t prepared for this tonight.

  “I wish you would tell me the truth, Elizabeth. I am beginning to think you simply wish to avoid me. If it hadn’t been for the episode in church.” Gazing earnestly into her eyes, he ran his thumb gently over her knuckles. “I am worried about you, my love.”

  The sweet endearment melted her heart and the last vestige of her resistance. She must tell him. He must know, before they could go forward together. Gathering her courage, she clasped his hands. “I promise you, my lord, I truly am well. You are, however, correct that there was a reason for my swoon earlier.” Drawing herself up, looking him straight in his eager, worried eyes, she said simply, “I am almost certain I am carrying your child.”

  Lord Brack blinked rapidly, his brows bunching together as his mouth dropped open. “I . . . I beg your pardon, but I was a bit foxed before. Did you say you are—” His gaze shot to her abdomen, though it was well cloaked by her wrapper. “Did you say you are carrying our child?”

  Hearing him call it “their” child filled her with a sizzling warmth. A worry she hadn’t even recognized as a concern—that he would deny the child—slid from her shoulders. “Yes, my lord, you did. I am.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth.” He enfolded her in his arms and stood, lifting her off the sofa and crushing her to his chest.

  “Oomph.” He’d surprised a gasp out of her.

  “Oh, Lord, did I hurt you?” He lowered her immediately to her feet and stepped back. The worry lines of his face were thrown into stark relief in the candlelight as he frantically looked her up and down.

  “No, I am fine. A bit startled, is all.” And a lot relieved.

  “As am I.” He turned away, walking in a circle, running his hand through his hair, rumpling it even more thoroughly. “I can scarce take it in. A child,” he said, wonderingly. “And if a boy, my heir. Good Lord.”

  To her astonishment, he threw himself at her feet, grasped her hands, and looked up at her, beseeching. “Elizabeth, please, please do me the very great honor of becoming my wife.”

  She’d known he would ask again, even before her revelation. Their last encounter in London had all but assured her he was eager for them to wed. And she too was ready now. Gone were any reservations about her indiscretion in bed, and though they had not spoken of love, she could assure herself the passion that burned between them like a bright sun would one day transform into the deep, steady abiding love she had known before. “Yes, Lord Brack,” she said, smiling down into his boyishly eager face, “I will marry you.”

  He leaped up, joy in his wide smile, and grasped her face, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that left no doubt about his passion.

  His lips were soft as she remembered, but much more insistent, sweet with hints of the whiskey he’d drunk earlier. Delicious in every way. He ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, and she eagerly opened to allow their kiss to deepen, to welcome him into her, into her life.

  She relaxed against his hard body, enjoying the warmth spreading throughout her as she touched more and more of him. She would be greedy of this man’s kisses as well.

  With a groan, he pulled away from her, surreptitiously adjusting his breeches. “You have made me the happiest man alive, my darling, save in one thing.”

  Lost in the afterglow of that delicious kiss, Elizabeth smiled but shook her head. “I think we should display caution yet, my lord. We may be betrothed, but I do not believe the library is quite the place for more of a tryst than this.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “God knows, I desire you in every way, my love, yet that was not quite what I referred to.”

  “It wasn’t?” She stared longingly at his mouth, hungry for it even now.

  “No. What would make my happiness complete right now is for you to call me Jemmy.”

  The fire that shot to her cheeks surely warmed the library. She ducked her head to avoid his eyes. “I will confess I have thought of you that way for some time now, though I still feel strange addressing you as . . . Jemmy.” The wretched blaze in her face increased. The name sounded strange on her tongue, but when she finally raised her head to him, his eyes shone with joy. He kissed her hands with a renewed fervor that touched her heart.

  “Now I do claim to be happiest man in the world.” The coiled excitement in him made her fear he might shout the house awake just to tell them the news. “Will you go with me tomorrow to my father to inform him about our intentions? He’s at Blackham Castle in East Sussex, scarcely a half day’s carriage ride from here.”

  “I think that would be lovely. Will Georgie accompany us?” She knew Georgie had been disinherited upon her marriage to a vicar’s son, but her friend had hoped time and her widowed state might change her father’s mind.

  “No.” He shook his head sadly. “That avenue is not quite open to her as yet, unfortunately. But while we are there, I will plead my sister’s case. It is time Father relented and opened his arms to her again. Of course, if he does not, we will soon be able to make her circumstances better.” He twined her arm through his, lit her candle, and started out of the library on an optimistic note.

  Elizabeth sighed, contented as she had not been for more than a year. Perhaps her dream and that wretched book had led to a wonderful new chapter in her life after all.

  Chapter 15

  Jemmy’s carriage rolled up to the front door of Lyttlefield Park at precisely nine o’clock later that morning. He’d already breakfasted early, in the company of Elizabeth, who stood beside him, looking fresh and pretty as a summer sky. Her pale blue spencer had a matching bonnet that framed her lovely face and brightened the blue of her eyes to azure.

  They should have been weary and yawning after their late-night assignation, but he supposed the excitement of the moment kept him at least alert. However, there would be time to nap in the carriage during the long ride.

  “Will you spend the night at Blackham, Jemmy?” Georgie had come out with them to see them off, the crisp air pinking her cheeks.

  “Yes, it will take more than half the day to reach the estate.” He handed Elizabeth in and turned back to his sister. “I wish you were coming with us.”

  “I do as well.” Georgie wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips unattractively, making him laugh. “I wonder what would happen if I simply showed up on Father’s doorstep? Do you think he’d make me sleep in the stable?” Her lips quirked into a smile, but her eyes were now
sober.

  “Doubtful; however, we will not tempt the fates today. I will speak to him, though, about your returning after Lady Cavendish removes to Wrotham Park. If you are very sure you wouldn’t rather return to Mrs. Reynolds and the Kirkpatricks?” What a choice to have to make. Elizabeth had told him just how badly his sister had been treated by her sister-in-law.

  “Rather like having to decide between Scylla and Charybdis. Live with a sea monster with six heads or a whirlpool that sucks you to the bottom of the sea.” Georgie’s rueful smile went straight to his heart. “I can see Mrs. Reynolds with six heads, and not one of them with anything nice to say to me.”

  His sister’s woebegone face settled the matter. He must bring his father around and make him allow Georgie to return home at least for the short while before the Season began. Then, if she made a match Father approved of, she could marry and leave Blackham before the summer was out. Pity she hadn’t gotten on better with his friend, the Marquess of St. Just, a very eligible parti in the ton right now.

  “You’d best be off, Jemmy. Don’t stand here staring like a mooncalf.” She giggled as she playfully steered him toward the waiting carriage. “Give my love to Father, if he’ll have it.”

  Jemmy nodded, bussed her cheek, and stepped up into the carriage. The door shut, and the coachman started the team.

  Clutching her thick black shawl about her shoulders, Georgie continued to wave at him until the carriage turned into the long, tree-lined driveway and she was lost to him.

  Settling back against the soft leather seat, he smiled at Elizabeth and took her hand. “I have hopes of mediating a reunion with Georgie and our father. After I’ve introduced him to you and he is secure in the knowledge that his heir is perhaps on the way, I’ll wager he’ll be in a more lenient frame of mind.”

  “I only hope he will not be shocked by the news.” Elizabeth trembled at what Lord Blackham would think of her, already breeding before the wedding. It happened quite frequently in ton circles, even in the best of families. As long as the couple wed before the birth, nothing was thought about such situations.