To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  They arrived at the little knot of ladies and George’s acquaintance turned toward them.

  “Mr. Abernathy. How wonderful to see you again.” The woman’s eyes lit with pleasure and perhaps a touch of amusement. She turned her penetrating gaze on Nash, and he swallowed hard, unnerved by her bold assessment of him.

  Managing a smile, he bowed as George made the introduction.

  “My lady, may I present the Earl of Wrotham? Late of His Majesty’s Navy. Wrotham, this is Lady John Tarkington, widow of the late Major-General Tarkington.” Abernathy beamed at her. “I am so pleased this special light of the ton has reemerged.”

  “Delighted, my lord.” The widow’s low-pitched voice managed to convey a touch of the suggestive in just those three words.

  “Actually it’s pronounced ‘Rut-am,’ my lady.” He sent George a scathing look that was ignored. “Abernathy here has never said it correctly.” He bowed to Lady John. “My pleasure, entirely.”

  Her eyes narrowed seductively, and an uncomfortable flare of heat touched his face. Well, George had intimated she’d had her share of scandal. So his friend had best beware this woman didn’t sink her claws into him, although the man appeared unconcerned. Instead, he continued an avid conversation with her, leaving Nash at sixes and sevens and without an introduction to the intriguing younger woman.

  From the corner of his eye he watched her, deep in conversation with two other ladies. She stood out among them, brilliant as a peacock among doves. Her laughter sent a little thrill down his spine. He clenched his fist. Would George never inquire about the blasted introduction?

  “Wrotham.”

  Nash jerked his attention back to his friend.

  “I told Lady John you wished an introduction to her friend.” Abernathy picked up the quizzing glass once more and gestured toward the lady.

  “My cousin actually, my lord.” Lady John’s broad smile dimpled her cheeks for the first time.

  “I had hoped to ask her for the first dance, my lady.”

  “Splendid. Charlotte.” Lady John stepped toward the entrancing figure in yellow, who turned at the sound of her name.

  She smiled at her cousin, then glanced inquiringly at him. He held his breath.

  The face he now saw close at hand confirmed his instincts. A vision of loveliness on the outside, with an energy that pulsed under her skin, making her the most animated person he had ever seen. Her eyes glinted green, sparkling in the candlelight like the sun reflected off the jeweled waters of the Mediterranean. The slight smile on her perfectly bowed lips made her appear both secretive and joyous, filled to the brim with anticipation of something long awaited.

  With a rush of desire, Nash wanted to be the one to inspire that feeling in this lovely creature.

  “May I introduce the Earl of Wrotham, my dear?” Lady John nodded and stepped back, her gaze darting between the two of them. “A friend of Mr. Abernathy’s. My lord, this is Lady Charlotte Cavendish, my cousin.”

  Lady Cavendish stepped forward quickly, a smile curling her lips. “I am pleased to meet you, my lord.” Her eyes widened, her gait faltered, then she pitched forward with a little cry, arms flailing.

  Reflexes honed from years in the Navy, Nash stepped in neatly, catching her under her arms. She landed with a thump against his chest, sending a whiff of jasmine all around him and a thrill of lust straight to his loins. He paused, savoring the soft body pressed against him, the shining hair brushing his chin. With regret, he got himself under control and reluctantly set her on her feet.

  Her neck and face had flushed, turning the color of the deep red roses that adorned the terraces at Wrotham Hall. She kept her eyes downcast and stepped back.

  “The pleasure is certainly all mine, my lady.” Not the most appropriate response, perhaps, but a heartfelt one surely.

  Lady Cavendish gasped and raised her head, her green eyes flashing.

  “Are you all right, Charlotte?” Lady John stepped forward, her lips puckered as if trying to hide a smile.

  “Yes, I am fine, Jane. I stepped on the hem of my gown is all.” She cut her eyes at Nash and her lips thinned to a line. “Thank you, my lord, for coming to my rescue.”

  Nash smiled. Even angry, the woman was a vision to behold. “Not a’tall, my lady. Glad to have been of service.”

  She seemed to collect herself and returned his smile, albeit tentatively.

  There would be no better time to make his request. “My lady, I would be honored if you would dance the first set with me.”

  Her smile widened. “Thank you, my lord. I would enjoy that.”

  He’d enjoy having her in his arms again too.

  “Lady Cavendish?” A blond young man in elegant evening dress had approached so stealthily behind her, neither he nor the lady had noticed. He touched her elbow and she whirled around.

  “Oh, Mr. Garrett. You startled me.” The pink had returned to her cheeks.

  The buck immediately grasped her hand and had the audacity to kiss it. “My sincere apologies for that, my lady. It is nice to see you again.”

  “As it is to see you as well.” Her voice had a high pitch, but a sweet tone, lilting and light. It suited her down to the ground. “Do you know Lord Wrotham?”

  “I have not had the pleasure, I believe.” Garrett nodded his head briefly, his eyes still on Lady Cavendish.

  “Nor I, Mr. Garrett.” Nash bowed, then straightened to his full six foot three, pleased to see he looked down on Garrett by a couple of inches.

  “It has been several months since we met, I think, Mr. Garrett?” She clutched her fan, but smiled politely.

  “March, I believe it was. And I am come to claim my dance as promised.” His eyes glinted when her jaw dropped.

  “Your dance, Mr. Garrett?” Her brows puckered and she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. “I don’t recall we spoke about a dance.” The lady shot Nash a fleeting look, but he was unsure if it was a plea for help or an apology.

  “I remember it distinctly, my lady.” Garrett claimed her gloved hand and squeezed it gently. “You said you would be glad when you could once again be out in society and that you couldn’t wait to dance.”

  “Well, yes, I may indeed have expressed such a sentiment. But that did not mean—”

  “To which I replied that I would be honored to partner you at the first opportunity. Then you smiled and nodded and thanked me.” The blackguard raised his eyebrows, affecting an innocent air. “What else was I to assume except that you had given me permission to seek your first dance?”

  She fidgeted, almost dancing now. Her eyes had the wild look of a horse ready to bolt.

  Well, if she didn’t want to dance with the man, he’d make sure she didn’t have to. “I’m afraid her ladyship has just engaged herself to me for the first set, Garrett. Perhaps her second is still free.” Nash took Lady Cavendish’s hand from the man and turned them toward the floor, where the orchestra was tuning up.

  “The thing is, my lord,” Garrett stayed him with a touch on his wrist, “I have the prior claim.”

  Nash stared into the insolent blue eyes and forced himself not to call the man out. He’d really like to pummel him into the floor, but such tactics were for the battleship, not the ballroom. He shook off the man’s hand. “The lady has not acknowledged that, sir. I think I will take her version of the events.” Nash glanced at Lady Cavendish, whose face had paled. “Are you all right, my lady?”

  She started, as though coming out of a dream. “Yes, I am fine. Something reminded me—”

  “That I am supposed to be your partner. There, Wrotham, the lady herself has said it. Are you satisfied?” Garrett nimbly plucked her hand out of Nash’s grip and before he could protest, whisked her out to the area where couples were making up the first set.

  Stunned, it took Nash a second to register what the rogue had done. He started toward the dance floor, mayhem in his heart. He’d show the scoundrel how they took care of such slights in the Navy.

&nbs
p; A hand on his shoulder made him swing around, his own hand coming up to fend off this new menace.

  “Steady, Wrotham.” George Abernathy held on to him and turned him away from the eyes that were beginning to take notice of him. “He’s not worth starting a brawl that will get you banned from Almack’s.”

  Nash exhaled sharply, hot blood still pounding through his veins. Another breath and he was closer to control. His friend was right. He didn’t need to start a scandal that would help neither him nor Lady Cavendish. He glanced at Lady John, who had paled, a wan smile pasted on her lips.

  “I am certain Lady Cavendish would be very agreeable to partnering you for the second set, my lord.” She fluttered her fan and tried to meet his eyes.

  “Perhaps I will ask for that dance when this one is concluded.” Like hell he would. Nash snapped a bow to Lady John, took his leave of Abernathy, then turned on his heel and strode out of the ballroom.

  Chapter 3

  Drat. How could this have happened? With a sinking heart, Charlotte allowed Mr. Garrett to lead her onto the dance floor.

  In less than fifteen minutes her triumphal return to society had dissolved into a complete disaster. Not only had she tripped and fallen into Lord Wrotham, but she had been unable to stop Mr. Garrett from stealing her away from him. To protest would have created another huge scene. She also resisted the urge to turn and took at Lord Wrotham, the partner she had actually chosen. What must he think of her? Well, she could at least give Mr. Garrett the rough side of her tongue.

  “Mr. Garrett, you have taken unfair advantage of the situation.” She dropped his hand and turned to face him. “I recall no conversation that would permit you to believe I had promised you the first dance at this or any other ball.”

  “My dear Lady Cavendish.” He laughed, making his handsome face even more attractive. “I have built my reputation by taking unfair advantage of women. Did you think yourself immune?”

  “I thought you a gentleman when we met at your aunt’s home. Despite your reputation.” A hum of voices had set off around the room the instant his lips touched her, singling her out. Lord knew what they would make of his stealing her out of the very hands of Lord Wrotham. The ton forever whispered about such things, especially when one of the parties enjoyed the reputation of a rakehell the likes of Garrett’s.

  He grinned and took her hand again. “I am a gentleman, my lady. However, being a gentleman attracts fewer women than being a rogue. Don’t you long to be scandalous after a year of mourning?”

  “Certainly not.” The wretch was bad. How could he know she yearned to do something at least a little wild now that she was her own woman?

  “You may say no, but a yes lurks in your eyes, my lady.”

  Charlotte gasped and dropped her gaze. Dratted man. Could he read her thoughts?

  Jane had warned her about how wicked the man was. He existed barely within the pale—Mr. Garrett’s reputation for affairs of the heart and ill-considered wagering of large sums at the worst gaming hells made him the bane of every matchmaking mama and the desire of each one of their daughters. His fine physique—broad at the shoulders, narrow at the waist, hard muscled all over—had caused many a maiden’s desperate sigh.

  Charlotte might have sighed right along with them, for he had made an impression on her in March. He had been gravely respectful of her loss and sweetly attentive—bringing her tea, listening raptly to her banal conversation ranging from the weather to her deceased husband. Yet, when he’d assisted her with her wrap, his fingers had brushed the skin at the back of her neck, lingering just a bit too long. Promising more. And more was what she so desperately wanted.

  Jane’s revelations, however, had acted like a cold bath to her budding longings for Alan Garrett. She’d had enough threat of scandal held over her head; she wouldn’t likely heap more on herself. Now the rake was back and seemed to have set his sights on her. Well, she would nip that in the bud. One set and she could refuse him the rest of the evening. Hopefully, Lord Wrotham would ask her again.

  “Lady Cavendish.” Mr. Garrett leaned toward her. His blue eyes deepened and flickered with hunger.

  “Yes, Mr. Garrett?” She stepped back, trying to keep a decent distance between them. Was the man trying to compromise her for some perverse reason?

  “Are you afraid of me, my lady?” His laugh, utterly charming, gave him an innocent, boyish air. “I promise if you dance with me, I won’t bite.” He held out his hand.

  A wave of heat rose to her face. “I will hold you to that promise, Mr. Garrett.” Cautiously, she placed her hand in his.

  He leaned toward her slightly and spoke sotto voce. “Very good. Perhaps we will also talk after our dance.” He squeezed her hand and drew her closer. The scent of his spicy cologne—bergamot and something with a deep musk—tickled her nose.

  Lord, she had to sneeze! Rubbing her nose to prevent the disaster, she stepped back and nodded. “Perhaps we will, Mr. Garrett.” Why did he have to wear so much scent?

  Mr. Garrett straightened and offered his arm. “The musicians are about to commence. Let us take our place in the set.”

  Charlotte slipped her arm through his, aware that they were causing a stir. She glanced around the room and noted several women darting inquisitive looks their way. Their countenances were anything but kind. The threat of incipient gossip about her made her shudder inside. She would never again dance with a rake.

  They had almost reached their places on the dance floor when she caught sight of Jane talking to a young man Charlotte had seen several times at functions her late husband had taken her to. Her cousin stared at her and raised her chin, a summons Charlotte knew all too well.

  “A moment, please, Mr. Garrett. I must see my cousin.” She steered him around a group of young women and between two sets of young men who seemed to be gathering up the courage to ask them to dance.

  Finally, they reached Jane and, as Charlotte feared, her frown and firm lips spoke of her displeasure. What on earth had happened now?

  “Lady John, I am sure you remember Mr. Alan Garrett?” Charlotte smiled bravely, although Jane’s glare did not waver. What had she done? Certainly Jane could see she had no choice but to dance with the wretch. “As you may remember, we all met at Lady Burrows’s house? Mr. Garrett’s aunt.”

  Squeals from instruments being tuned attested the orchestra would be ready shortly. Perhaps they would miss the dance. Of course, the perverse Mr. Garrett would likely try to claim the next one as a forfeit. She might not be able to get rid of him until supper.

  “I remember you quite well, Mr. Garrett,” Jane said with icy civility. “How lovely to meet you again.”

  Lord, judging from that tone, her cousin was in rare form tonight. Jane had the unfortunate habit of causing scenes in public places when trying to protect someone. The embarrassing incident during Charlotte’s come-out always came to mind. Lord Reardon had ever after pointedly avoided speaking to her after experiencing Jane’s scathing set-down in the middle of the hall. Just because he’d tried to claim a third dance.

  “You are kind, Lady John. To be remembered by you is to gain immortality.”

  Jane chuckled.

  The false tinkle told Charlotte her partner was in for it indeed.

  “You have a silver tongue, Mr. Garrett. I trust you will not allow it to tarnish my cousin?”

  “Lady Charlotte is in no danger from me, my lady.” He patted Charlotte’s hand. “Although the reverse may certainly prove true. She could well prove my downfall.”

  Charlotte cut her eyes toward Jane. What in the world did the man mean by that?

  Jane gave her head a slight shake, then fingered her necklace of perfectly matched pearls. “Charlotte, allow me to present a dear friend of mine, Mr. George Abernathy. Mr. Abernathy was friends with Stephen once upon a time. He is also, quite suddenly, the heir to Lord Romney.”

  Jane’s gaze took the man in from head to toe, slowly and sensually, all but undressing him as she spoke.


  “Jane!” Charlotte whispered, scandalized at her cousin’s behavior. She’d never have thought she would do such a thing in public.

  “Mr. Abernathy, this is my cousin, Lady Cavendish, and Mr. Alan Garrett, with whom I think you are already acquainted?”

  George smiled at her, a rather lopsided though charming sight. “My lady. I am so pleased to meet you at last.” He then turned and inclined his head almost imperceptibly. “Garrett.” The single word did not disguise the animosity in his tone.

  “Abernathy. It has been too long.” Mr. Garrett seemed amused at the other man’s enmity. Charlotte glanced from one to the other, wondering what lay between them.

  The music changed, signaling the dancing would commence soon. Mr. Garrett took her arm. “If you will excuse us, Lady John?”

  They turned to go to the floor. By all means, let them get this dance over with.

  “Charlotte.”

  Good Lord. They would never make this dance. “Yes?”

  Jane glanced from Charlotte’s face to Mr. Garrett’s, settling on the latter with a determined stare. “Please return Lady Cavendish to me directly after the dance, Mr. Garrett. Lord Wrotham would like to have her for the second set, if I’m not mistaken.” And with a sharp look at Charlotte, “You know he had particularly asked for that introduction, my dear.”

  Memory of the man’s intense eyes, dark and fathomless, coupled with his blatantly sensual mouth caused Charlotte to swallow hard. She recalled vividly being pressed close against him, breathing a clean citrusy scent when her face lay against his jacket front. A riot of butterflies stirred in her stomach. And his voice. There had been something in his voice when he had argued with Mr. Garrett. Something familiar.

  Charlotte surreptitiously scanned the area, but no tall, dark man of his description appeared. She hoped he would return at the end of the first dance and ask her for the second.

  “It will be as you wish, Lady John; however, we must go now or miss the set.” Mr. Garrett peered inquiringly at her. She nodded, and he finally led her onto the ballroom floor. All eyes seemed to fasten on them, though she tried to ignore them and smile.