To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  He grasped her hand as they assumed their places in line. Heat baked her palm and she almost snatched her hand back. This would be the most agonizing set she had ever danced in her life.

  “Shall we see if we can be scandalous enough to be banned from the ballroom?” Mr. Garrett spoke lightly, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as the music began.

  Good Lord. Was the man mad? Did all rakes act like this? Well, she’d have to brazen it out until the end of the dance. Likely he was all bluster anyway.

  “I am certain much more scandalous behavior has occurred within these halls than we could display in this one dance, Mr. Garrett.”

  He hissed as he tugged her into the correct position for a Scottish reel. “So you wish to play the game with me, Lady Cavendish?”

  “And what game would that be, sir?”

  “Bait the tiger, my lady. Shall I see just how much scandal it would take for the ball and fete committee to demand our removal?” He drew himself up, his spine even straighter than before, his eyes glittering and hard.

  He wasn’t bluffing. He would destroy both their reputations in the face of such a challenge and think it a great lark. Charlotte’s pulse quickened. For the briefest of seconds she imagined herself looking him in the eye and saying, “Do your worst.” Then sanity returned. Rash behavior on her part could jeopardize more than just her own reputation merely in the name of exercising her freedom. Besides, she’d already made enough of a spectacle of herself tonight.

  “As I have just emerged from a different form of exclusion, perhaps it is best we not undertake that particular experiment.” She grasped his hand and stole a glance at him as they marched down an aisle formed by the other dancers.

  A knowing smile played about his lips. “As you wish, my lady. However, if you ever care to pursue that particular avenue, please let me know.”

  When hell freezes over, Mr. Garrett.

  “Did you know I would be here tonight?” Had he made inquiries about her? Such attention from him would bode ill indeed.

  They spun in a cogwheel, their eyes locked until the pattern of the dance reversed.

  “I wasn’t sure. But I hoped.”

  Those words, in his deliciously deep voice, sent chills trickling down her spine. They joined both hands and turned.

  “Although you gave me to believe that your obligation to your deceased husband would be strictly observed, I trusted you would return to society as soon as you had fulfilled your duty.”

  He chuckled, and they moved into the grand chain.

  “I am actually out of mourning a day early,” she confessed when they finally met again, staring straight into his sinful blue eyes. “Scandalous, don’t you think?” She couldn’t help but smile at this, her first rebellion. “My husband did not receive word of his son’s death until June 19, then was taken in a fit of apoplexy and so died the day after the battle.”

  “Then this is a grave breach of protocol, Lady Cavendish.” He tried to look scandalized, but the playful twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.

  “My marriage was arranged. While he lived, I did my duty to my husband. After his death, I mourned appropriately, as is expected of a devoted wife.” She pursed her lips and shuddered. “Now, my life is my own.” And, by God, she would at last live it as she pleased. “I thought it fitting that I rejoin polite society at this ball in particular. If that shocks everyone, so be it.”

  “I see you wish to become a rebel.” Mr. Garrett laughed as Charlotte went into the center for her turn.

  She tossed her head as she set and turned first with her partner, then with the other gentlemen in the circle. Much as she hated to admit it, she was enjoying her dance with this rogue. Did that make her wicked? When she finally regained her position next to Mr. Garrett, he resumed their conversation.

  “A rather difficult role for a woman, although for a widow it may be more possible. I would certainly wish to be part of your rebellion, my lady. Given my many activities over the years, I am certainly not afraid of public censure. Are you willing to risk your reputation to seize the prize for which you lust?”

  His voice deepened on the final word, sending a wave of fear through her.

  She stopped in the middle of the last ladies’ cogwheel, her gaze riveted on his face. Dear God, was he about to shock the ton with some public display? Her heart thudded. Had she baited this tiger unknowingly?

  He pressed her onward, however, moving into the last grand chain and bowing to her with a flourish when the music stopped.

  Relief swept through her and she valiantly curtsied, then took his arm as he led her from the floor. She actually leaned on him, for that last fright had turned her legs weak. Thank goodness that dance was over, although she must admit Mr. Garrett had proved a good dancer and a very exciting partner. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Jane would no doubt scold her anew for dancing with Mr. Garrett, but she thought she had managed to scotch any scandal brewing.

  A shadow crossed her face and Charlotte opened her eyes to find they had entered a dim stairwell, with a flight of dusty stairs leading to the attics. Her mouth dried as though she’d eaten sand.

  Before her eyes could adjust, he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her against his granite-hard chest. When his hot mouth found hers, she gasped. Oh, drat. She should have known he would try something like this.

  He darted his tongue through her open lips and she squealed, then quieted. The last thing she wanted was for someone to find them so engaged. His hands cradled her head as he explored every inch of her mouth with a gentle thoroughness she had not known for years. Had anyone ever kissed her thus? With an intensity designed to kindle flames in her soul? Perhaps Edward. But that had been so long ago, she’d forgotten how good it felt, except . . .

  That blasted cologne of his. Pressed right up against him, Charlotte couldn’t help but breathe in the overpowering scent of bergamot. Lord, don’t let me sneeze.

  That thought broke the spell. She pushed Mr. Garrett away from her.

  He panted as if he had run a race. “Devil take it. Are you trying to get us thrown out, Charlotte?”

  “Me?” Her voice rose and she stopped and lowered it. “You’re the one trying to ruin my reputation. And do not call me Charlotte. I haven’t given you permission.”

  “After that little interlude, I don’t need permission.” He grinned at her in the faulty light. “You can’t deny you enjoyed it.”

  “I can and do deny it.” She pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart still hammered. She hadn’t enjoyed it. Not really. But it had been exciting. More exciting than anything in her life for the past six years. Pray God he couldn’t see her face. It must be the color of ripe cherries.

  “Methinks ‘the lady doth protest too much.’ May I call upon you tomorrow?” He grabbed her hand and placed his lips on the palm. The kiss burned even through the glove.

  “I don’t think that would be wise for either of us.” She must hold on to what little sanity was left to her.

  His eyes darkened and he ran his finger over her swollen lips. “Allow me to be the judge of what is wise, my dear. Come, I will escort you to Lady John before we are lost entirely.” He took her hand, stuck his head around the doorframe, then pulled her quickly into the room.

  Blinking in the suddenly bright lights, she stumbled after him as he made his way toward her cousin.

  “Here you are, my dear. Safe and sound again.” Mr. Garrett bowed, his eyebrows arched in innocence. “Lady John.”

  Charlotte finally focused on her surroundings enough to find Jane staring at her darkly, from beneath lowered brows. Oh dear. What on earth must she look like after such an encounter?

  Dumbfounded, she stood before her cousins, quite at a loss for words or actions. Dazed by the overwhelming pulse that still throbbed through her, she could only glance from one to the other of them, praying one would be her savior.

  “I will look forward anxiously to our next meeting, Charlotte.” H
e kissed her fingers, the warmth of his lips like a banked fire. With a final flourished bow, he turned and strode into the crowd.

  Stunned, Charlotte simply stood still, the chatter of the ballroom subsiding into one sound—the pounding of blood in her ears.

  “Charlotte,” her cousin said, grasping her arm until it hurt, “we must remove at once to the retiring room.”

  Distantly thankful that someone had taken charge of her, Charlotte followed docilely as Jane towed her back the way they had come. They descended on an empty corner and her cousin pushed her into a chair.

  “Sit there. I must find a footman”

  “Whatever for?”

  “To send for some lemonade from the refreshment table. I’ll go wet my handkerchief to repair your face and see if I can do something with your hair.” Jane fired off the strategy as efficiently as any general, then picked up her skirts and hurried away.

  Charlotte leaned back against the chair and sighed. She had managed to survive her first encounter with a rake with few people the wiser, thank God.

  Jane reappeared, clutching a glass of lemonade.

  “Tark would be proud of your martial skills, Jane.” Charlotte grinned, although Jane seemed not to enjoy her compliment.

  “You hold your tongue.” She thrust the glass into Charlotte’s hands. “Dear lord, he’s mussed this whole section on the left side. Here.” Jane dug into her own coiffure and produced two pins. “What on earth were you thinking, Charlotte? To be ravished at Almack’s on your first night out!”

  “I was just congratulating myself that it wasn’t worse. At least no one knows what happened.”

  Jane looked daggers at her, then produced a wet cloth and pressed it to Charlotte’s mouth. “Wha ah oo doing?”

  “Your lips are swollen, dear. You have that delectable, very well-kissed look.” Jane’s eyes took on a distant aspect and her lips curved into a nostalgic smile. “Excellent after an evening in bed with your husband.” The smile vanished, replaced by lips pressed into a thin line. “Disastrous in the public rooms, however. You’ll be lucky if it’s not being discussed over every breakfast table in the morning.” She blotted Charlotte’s swollen lips once more. “Now, the lemonade. The sugar will guard against shock and the astringency of the lemons may help the swelling.”

  Jane plucked the glass from Charlotte’s hands and shoved it against her full lips. She drank deeply, savoring the cool, sweet liquid. She had no idea being seduced was such thirsty work.

  “You must pull yourself back together and return to the ballroom in all haste. You will set the tongues to wagging even worse if you do not.” She gave Charlotte a withering look. “As I feared, it is more difficult to secure a partner and hold his attention this evening. Yet you must attempt to do so in order to divert everyone from your unfortunate behavior.” Jane pressed the sodden scrap of linen to Charlotte’s temple. “I am particularly concerned that Elizabeth and Georgina did not attend tonight.”

  She shook her head and Charlotte sighed. Two of their friends, also widows, had not quite gotten over their husbands’ deaths.

  “Where is Fanny? I would have thought she would be here, certainly.”

  “She had a last-minute invitation to Lady Beaumont’s masquerade. She said it suited her better to make a dramatic unveiling.” Jane dropped into the chair next to Charlotte. “I doubt she will lack partners during the night.”

  Charlotte cut her eyes toward her cousin. Her arch tone spoke for itself. However, she did not doubt it either. Her other friends were another matter. “If we could have the men to ourselves somehow we might have a better chance of Elizabeth and Georgina making an impression on them.” Charlotte took another sip of the lemonade as she turned her mind to the problem of her friends.

  “Yes, these gentlemen who are left on the marriage mart have had the most beautiful girls fawning over them all Season. We need to get them alone.” Jane paused and grinned. “Not alone that way, although I for one would not turn down such a tryst if offered.”

  “Jane!”

  Her cousin had the grace to blush. “You have no right to say anything at the moment, Charlotte. In any case, we need to spend time with these gentlemen and make them see how our sterling qualities surpass those of the younger ladies. As we would at a house party.”

  “But who of our circle is able to host such a thing?” Charlotte slumped. Their situation seemed more doubtful given the reality of their situations. “Neither Elizabeth’s nor Georgie’s circumstances will allow it.” Upon her husband’s death, her best friend Elizabeth and her children had returned to her parents’ home. Georgie had fared even worse. Currently, she was housed only by the grace and charity of her complaining sister-in-law, Mrs. Reynolds.

  “I suppose I might be able to persuade Theale to allow me use of one of his estates,” Jane said. “He was quite affected by Tark’s death. He and his brother were very close. Of course I couldn’t tell him why I need the use of it.” She sighed and looked sad for the first time that day. “I do miss Tark, you know.” She glanced around the almost empty room. “I will not marry again. He made some canny purchases in real estate. As a result, I’d be a fool to relinquish my jointure.”

  Charlotte tried to fix her cousin with a stern stare. The woman who had been her dearest friend and companion all her life had taught her well that all women were not conventional. Despite Jane’s sweet face and soft, womanly body, her heart and soul thrived on breaking society’s rules whenever she could. She had done so for most of her thirty years. “Then why do you wish to meet gentlemen again? Surely nothing can come of such attentions if you have so made up your mind?”

  Jane patted her arm. “For the same reason you indulged in Mr. Garrett tonight.” She smiled sadly. “Tark is dead, not I. And male companionship is so . . . stimulating, wouldn’t you say?”

  Charlotte clamped her hands over her burning cheeks.

  “I am not adverse to a little dalliance, if given a quiet, secluded place to dally.” Jane’s face had taken on a faraway look.

  Wishing for something a bit stronger, Charlotte sipped her lemonade and gathered her wits, trying to resolve the problem. A place for a successful house party was the very thing they needed. Such a secluded spot, however, could hardly be attempted here in London, under the scrutiny of their families. If they wanted true seclusion, they needed an estate in the country. None of them, however, had such a place to hand . . .

  She sat straighter in her chair as Jane chatted on. An inkling of an idea presented itself as if a gift from the gods. She needed time to think about the organization of it, but yes, this notion just might do.

  “Jane, are you free tomorrow morning?”

  Her cousin glanced quizzically at her but nodded.

  “Can you please send messages to the ladies of our circle and ask them to call upon us at ten o’clock? I believe I may have the answer to all our prayers.” She stood and looked around the now-deserted retiring room, satisfaction welling up in her chest. “We shall have a formal meeting of the Widow’s Club and plan our strategy to snare the gentlemen of our choice.”

  Chapter 4

  Nash sat down to a breakfast of toast, kippers, and eggs, in a better mood than when he’d come home last night. He sipped black coffee, savoring the rich drink. It had been a luxury all the years he’d served in the Navy, so now it had become a morning staple.

  He tucked away the note that had arrived earlier from Lord Grafton and smiled. The earl was coming to call upon him this morning. That had to mean he had finally decided to lend Nash his considerable support on the upcoming Yeoman Warder bill. One less matter he had to worry about as the parliamentary session ground on.

  Next, he perused The Times, searching for news of the fleet, always his first interest. Then turned over to the marriages and obituaries. After several months as a member of Brook’s and all the social outings this Season, he had some hope he knew the grooms; occasionally, he found he had danced with the brides before their betrothals.
Nash sighed. He’d hoped to have his own engagement announced by now. How difficult should it be to pick a woman to marry?

  He’d attended every soiree, ball, rout, crush, and musical evening he’d received invitations to this Season. Theatre parties, outings to Vauxhall, driving or riding in Hyde Park. Any potential way to meet young ladies of good family, he had tried. Was he truly so particular?

  Nash savored the rest of his coffee and folded the paper. In all his perambulations, only three ladies had piqued his interest. Miss Bolton, a pretty brunette who danced well and smiled a great deal. A sweet girl, with whom he had been able to converse on a number of subjects. She had, however, developed a tendre for the heir to the Marquess of Ainwick.

  Then there had been Lady Grace Knowlton, a daughter of the Earl of Braeton, who had held Nash’s interest for quite three weeks. An elegant blonde who played the pianoforte beautifully, she’d been a touch reserved, but he believed they might suit. He’d been on the verge of offering for her when he’d opened the newspaper one morning to see her engagement to Lord Longford.

  The last was Lady Cavendish from last night. He’d never been so attracted to a woman on such a brief acquaintance. The sum of his knowledge of her amounted to almost nothing: She was a widow, her given name Charlotte, she moved more gracefully on the dance floor than off it, and she had a propensity to carry on with unsavory men. He clenched his jaw at the memory of his last sight of her.

  After he’d cooled his ire in the refreshment room with weak lemonade, he’d returned to the ballroom bent on asking the captivating Lady Cavendish for the next set. Instead, he’d spied her emerging from the stairwell, her hair mussed, her eyes glazed, in the company of that young buck. Had Nash been closer, he’d have planted the man a facer on principle alone. The woman, however, was none of his affair now. A lady that brazen in a public place could hardly be one he wanted for his countess.

  Why then could he not stop thinking about her?