by Jenna Jaxon
LOST IN HIS ARMS
Lord Wrotham’s big, rough hand took hers, but instead of leading her back to the floor, he made his way to Elizabeth, speaking a word in her ear.
She laughed and nodded, then rearranged her sheets of music.
He pulled Charlotte onto the floor to stand in front of him. “I hope you will not be too scandalized by my request, my lady.” His eyes said he hoped she was and a thrill ran from her head to her toes.
“I doubt you can shock me, my lord.” She raised her chin and stared straight into his coal-black eyes.
“We shall see.” He grasped her hands, the power in his a tangible thing. His touch spread delicious warmth throughout her body. They bowed and Elizabeth began a waltz.
Not exactly scandalous, yet a bold choice. The first figure moved easily, with little intimate contact. Then, in the second figure, his arms were supposed to embrace hers. Instead, they reached all the way around her back until they touched. He pulled her closer to him, his lips pressed against her ear, and whispered, “And now, my lady? A waltz can be a scandalous dance if your partner is of a mind to make it so.” He pressed her tighter, almost indecently.
Yet she did not struggle. Could not. His big body against her—the hard strength of him leaving nothing for her to imagine—persuaded her that to fight him was futile. She would never be free. Never wanted to be . . .
TO WOO A WICKED WIDOW
JENNA JAXON
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
LOST IN HIS ARMS
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Teaser chapter
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Jenna Jaxon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 978-1-5161-0325-6
First Electronic Edition: April 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0324-9
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0324-6
Chapter 1
London, May 1810
Moonlight streamed into the mews, brightening the night and making Lady Charlotte Fownhope draw back into the shadows of the stable. She strained to hear sounds from her father, the Earl of Grafton’s, town house, but only the clink of bridles came to her ears as Edward, her groom, led her chestnut mare and his horse into the light.
“You should have taught me to saddle her. Then I could have helped you.” She came forward to take the reins.
“I’ll always be here to do that for you, my lady.” He smiled, his white teeth a flash in the swarthy, handsome face, then leaned down to kiss her.
His warm lips caressed her, calmed her even as the comforting scent of horses and leather that hung about him enveloped her. This was where she belonged, in Edward’s arms. Not with Lord Ramsay, her father’s choice for a husband.
A horse snorted and Charlotte jumped back. “We must be off. Dinner will last only so long. With luck, no one will look in on me but my cousin Jane, so we will have until the morning before they know I am gone.”
Edward nodded and cupped his hands to give her a leg up.
Once in the saddle, she gathered the reins and waited for him to mount, her stomach tightening with excitement. “You know the way?”
“Yes, we take the Great North Road as far as York, then over to Manchester and up to Gretna Green.” He slid into the saddle. “We’ll be on horseback the first two days. They won’t expect that. They’ll be looking for a carriage.” He reached over and grasped her hands. “You’ll be all right on horseback for so long?”
She nodded, prompted to sit up straighter. If she had to spend a week in the saddle to be with Edward, she would do it. “Let’s go.”
They walked the horses out of the light, into the darkness of the underpass, keeping quiet until they were at the end of the row of stables. Charlotte resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to see if they had been pursued. They had been careful. They would succeed. She drew her black cloak around her shoulders against the now-chill wind.
At a nod from Edward, she tapped her horse and Bella started into a quick trot. The clop, clop of the hooves on the cobbled streets soothed her. After months of planning, they were on their way at last.
* * *
Several hours later, Charlotte and Edward slowed for another tollgate. They had passed through four already, and after the first, Charlotte had turned the bag of coins over to him to take care of the fees. A twinge in her hip, an ache in her thigh muscle told her that her body had begun to feel the strain of constant motion in the saddle. When they finally stopped for the night, she doubted she would want to climb back on Bella tomorrow.
Slowed to a walk, her mare nickered, and from somewhere behind the toll gate another one answered. Charlotte patted her withers and glanced at Edward.
“Tollkeeper!” he called, rending the silent night. After a moment he called again, still with no result.
“He must be dead asleep.” The wind had risen, causing Charlotte to tug her cloak closer.
“Dead drunk’s more like.” Edward dismounted, strode to the tollhouse door, and knocked.
The door jerked open. A huge hand grasped his shoulder, dragging him inside.
“Edward!” Charlotte dropped the reins, peeled her aching leg from around the horn of the sidesaddle, and slid to the ground. She must get to Edward. As her boots hit the dirt, two men appeared from nowhere.
“Ha, got ya!” They grabbed her arms, their rough fingers digging painfully into her flesh.
Terror shot through her veins, stopping her breath in her throat. Still, she managed to pull back and forth, trying to break free. No use. Their big hands clamped down on her like a vise as they hustled her toward the toll booth.
“Edward! Help! Someone, help!” Charlotte shrieked as they dragged her toward the building. Dear Lord, they must be highwaymen. She had heard sickening stories about the dangerous criminals who roamed the roads, preying on unlucky travelers. Her stomach twisted.
At the threshold they loosened their grip to get her through the door. Charlotte swung around and raked her fingernails down one man’s face.
He bellowed and pushed her away, into the house.
She wheeled toward the other man, bent on a similar attack, but stopped, shocked at the tableau before her.
The flickering light of the hearth revealed a large man holding Edward’s head down on a crude plank table, a pistol pressed against his temple. The tollkeeper in his nightshirt and cap, eyes wide, face pale, stood in front of the fire, staring at the scene. To the left of the table stood her father.
All the strength ran out of Charlotte’s legs and she began to sink toward the floor.
The man she had wounded grabbed her arm and hauled her up. “No, you don’t. That’s all, your lordship. Just the two of’em.”
Leaning on his silver-knobbed walking stick, her father fixed his dark eyes on her, his mouth a black line between thin lips.
Charlotte’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. The light flickered, dimming to a dull gray as she began to slump again. Oblivion would certainly be preferable to what her father surely had in store for her.
Cold water hit her face and chest, forcing her back into consciousness.
“You will be awake to see this, Charlotte.” Her father thrust a stoneware mug at the tollkeeper, who clutched it to his chest as if it were a shield. Then her father nodded to the man with the pistol.
“No! You cannot kill him.” Charlotte wrenched her arms out of the man’s grasp and lunged for the gun.
The side of the pistol slammed into her face, knocking her to the floor. He cocked the piece and returned it to Edward’s head.
“Thrush, here, had the audacity to try to take what is mine.” Her father’s voice shook, his fury rising with each curt word.
Through her wavering vision, her father’s face appeared impassive in the uncertain light, his voice now emotionless as he peered down at her. “If you assisted him in this, then his blood is on your hands much more so than mine.”
“If you kill him, you will have to kill me as well.” Narrowing her eyes at him, Charlotte carefully picked herself up off the floor, hatred of him so intense it must be oozing through her skin. “I will tell everyone exactly what you have done to Edward. As a peer you may be above the law, but you are not above the censure of the ton. I will make sure that they have every detail of his death and our elopement until the scandal-broth scalds you to death. If you want scandal, Father, I will choke you with it.”
He chuckled, adjusting his grip on his walking stick. “Sometimes I wish you were my heir, Charlotte. You have a better mind than Caldwell, and much more of me in you.” He sighed and rubbed the knob of his cane. “Pity you’ve begun to rave like a lunatic. I doubt you will like Bedlam, my dear. I would dislike having to put you there, but if you tell such grievous lies, what else am I to do?”
A wave of horror washed over her. Tales of the appalling conditions of the infamous hospital had sickened her. Her arms broke out in gooseflesh. Bitter bile crawled up the back of her throat. Tears trickling down her cheeks, she looked at Edward, who hadn’t moved the whole time.
He mouthed silently, I love you.
Staring at him, she raised her voice until it rang to the rafters. “I love you, Edward.”
“Sickening pap.” Her father pursed his lips as though a bad taste filled his mouth. “I should kill you, too.” He nodded to the man with the pistol. “Cates.”
“Tollkeeper!”
The shout from outside froze everyone.
Dear God, a savior. Charlotte opened her mouth, only to have the dirty hand of her captor slam over it before she could shout.
“Attend to your business, tollkeeper.” Her father’s words were clipped as he stared down at the little man. “Leave me to mine and you will be rewarded.”
Eyes wide, the tollkeeper nodded and headed for the door with shaky steps.
Charlotte elbowed her captor, wrenching her body this way and that, trying to break free. She bit down on the hand that muzzled her and stomped in an effort to mash his foot.
The howl the blackguard sent up was music to her ears. He jerked his hand away, swearing.
“Help! Oh God, help me. Someone!” She screamed so loudly something in her throat tore.
“Charlotte!” Her father slammed his cane down on the table an inch from Edward’s face, making her jump back. “Andrews, for God’s sake, stifle her.”
Andrews grabbed her again, putting his arm around her neck. She almost gagged at the sour smell of his coat.
The door burst open and a tall man holding a large pistol strode in, the tollkeeper scuttling behind him.
Cates whipped his gun around, training it on the stranger.
The man, who seemed to tower over everyone in the room, obliged him by leveling his weapon on Andrews. Glancing from one figure to another, his gaze finally rested on Charlotte. “What the devil is going on here?”
His deep, commanding voice sent a thrill of hope through her.
“None of your affair, sir.” Her father once again leaned on his cane, his mouth pinched. “You may pay your toll and be on your way. This is a private matter.”
The stranger, bundled against the cold in a blue peacoat and black felt hat with the brim pulled down shading his eyes, shook his head. “I think not.” He nodded toward Charlotte. “I heard the lady scream. I’ll hear what she has to say.”
Andrews tightened his hold and Charlotte’s vision started to gray again. A loud thwack sounded near her ear and the arm smothering her loosened and fell. She coughed, then drew a deep, clean breath. Her father’s henchman lay at her feet. The stranger now stood next to her, his gun pointing at Cates. Hope stole through her breast once more.
“Tell me what’s going on, miss.”
“I apprehended this horse thief,” her father spoke up before she could say a word, “and was about to administer justice when you came along. As I said, it is a private affair.”
“That’s not true.” Charlotte turned to their rescuer, her heart thundering. She must convince him to help them or Edward would die. “My betrothed and I were eloping. My father found out and waylaid us here. They are going to kill Edward.” Her heart lurched at the sound of the words spoken aloud. She searched the man’s face, praying with every fiber of her soul that he believed her. That whoever he was, he was a match for her father and his men. “Please, I beg of you, you must stop them.”
“He was stealing my horses, taking my daughter as a hostage for ransom.” Her father cut his eyes toward Cates.
Charlotte tensed. What would the wretched man try next?
“The lady seems rather enamored of her kidnapper, which I find odd if what you say is true.” The stranger gestured to Edward. “What do you have to say, sir?”
Edward tried to rise, but Cates slammed the butt of the pistol into the back of his head. He fell forward onto the table.
“No!” Charlotte shrieked, her stomach twisting anew. She darted toward the still figure.
Her father grabbed her arm and jerked her behind the table next to him. His fingers dug into flesh, biting even through her clothing.
The stranger swung his pistol around, pointing it at her father’s face. “Because you didn’t want me to hear his reply, I’ll assume it would have confirmed the lady’s tale.”
“And if it did, you have no authority to aid and abet their illegal flight to Scotland,” her father countered. “My daughter has not reached her majority; therefore, I am fully within my rights to keep her from making such a mésalliance.”
“Quite correct, sir. If she is your daughter, she does fall under your dominion. This man, however, does not. And you certainly have no authority to kill him.”
“That was never my intention.”
“Oh yes, it was.” Charlotte tried to pull away from her father, but his strong grip on her upper arm pinned her next to him.
“I think I will take the lady’s word over yours, all t
he same.” The stranger smiled, and a chill ran down Charlotte’s spine. “Get him on his feet.” He gestured with the gun to Edward.
Cates glanced at her father, who nodded. The henchman grabbed Edward by the back of his coat and hauled him up.
Groaning and groggy but able to stand, Edward stared at her, the anguish in his eyes matching the ache that tore at her heart.
The stranger clasped him about the waist and they backed toward the door.
“Make sure you do not take any of my horses.” Her father finally released his grip on her aching arm. Shaking it loose, she ran toward the door, shouting, “Take the chestnut mare. She’s mine.”
Cates blocked her way, but moments later the muffled sound of hoofbeats told her they were away, Edward safe at last. Her shoulders slumped and the tears began to flow once more, relief at his escape warring with the hollow ache of her heart. She would never see him again. If she could die right now, she would count herself blessed.
“Wake up Andrews and bring my carriage around.” Her father barked out the order to Cates. Glaring at the tollkeeper, who was now cowering in the corner, he tossed a gold sovereign on the table. “For your trouble and your silence.” At last he turned his attention to Charlotte, his lips twisted in a snarl. “You will fill an ocean with those tears before I’m through with you.”
He grabbed her arm again and pushed her out the door into the chill air and pale moonlight that would be the rest of her life. Oh, yes. Death would have been a blessing.
* * *
“My lady, wake up.” The insistent voice of her maid scarcely penetrated the fog of exhausted sleep Charlotte had fallen into early that morning. She grunted and turned over. If she never woke up she’d be perfectly happy.
“My lady.” Rose shook her shoulder. “Your father wants you downstairs immediately.”
Oh, God. Charlotte groaned and burrowed deeper under the covers. The reckoning she’d known was coming had arrived. Too heartsore to be afraid, she crawled out from beneath the covers. Best to get this over with, take her punishment as she always had at her father’s hands, so she could come back here to mourn Edward’s loss in private.
