To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  The man spun toward her, his expression wooden, his mouth pinched. “Good evening, Lady Cavendish.” His voice, though stern, fell pleasantly on her ear.

  A memory tugged at the edges of her mind. Something about his intense blue eyes . . . “Lord Wrotham.” Charlotte’s smile widened as she curtsied. He had come after all. Her heart gave an odd little beat.

  He nodded and his mouth pinched tighter. “We have been formally introduced, albeit briefly.” Something in his eyes flared. “I received a letter from your father, asking me to call on you.”

  “My father?” Strange news indeed. Other than that brief, curious visit in June, she had not seen him at all in six years. Her smile slipped. “Why would my father do that? I thought you had come in response to my invitation.”

  She scowled, at once wary. Any time her father tried to involve himself in her welfare, she ended up the worse for it. If the earl had come from her father, she’d have nothing else to do with him.

  * * *

  The transformation of her face from lovely to outraged took all of two seconds. Damn, if she had such animosity toward her father, he’d better find a way to explain the man’s interest and do it quickly. “I beg your pardon, my lady. What I mean is, I received word from the earl that he wished me to see about your property. If you do not know, we have a band of robbers in the area. Neither your father nor I would wish to see you harmed.” Well, that was true as far as it went.

  Her eyes flashed green fire. “I see. Well, thank you, Lord Wrotham. You may report to my father that I am perfectly safe here on my estate.”

  “I certainly hope so, my lady, for the threat is real.” He stared sternly at her, waiting for her to break her gaze first.

  She raised her chin and continued to glare at him.

  Damnation. When the earl had said she was stubborn, he’d meant it. “Because I bear an action to discharge for the earl, does that mean I am not welcome at your house party?”

  “That depends on how involved with the earl you are, my lord.” Lady Cavendish stepped backward, her cool stare chilling his innards.

  Not a good sign.

  “I wish for no contact with my father whatsoever, my lord.” Her eyes bore straight into him, as if searching out his secrets.

  “I believe he said he would not be in the county until the hunting season, so you need have no fear that he’ll come knocking on your door in the near future.” Nash forced a pleasant smile and tone. Grafton hadn’t mentioned her animosity toward him, curse the man. One more hurdle to overcome.

  “How do you know him, if I may ask?” Her eyes narrowed, a calculating gleam flaring there.

  “The Lords, for the most part. Although—” Nash paused. Redemption in her eyes lay close at hand if he dared take it. Well, faint heart never won fair lady. “I believe we met originally six years ago.”

  She cocked her head, her brow still puckered in a frown.

  “At the tollbooth in Whetstone.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. Her head straightened and her brows rose to an impossible height on her forehead as her eyes widened alarmingly, the green dots swimming in a sea of white. Blood drained from her face, leaving it as white as uncooked pastry and she staggered toward him. She grasped his arm, fingers digging into him with a death grip.

  “You?” The word came out a croaked whisper.

  “Yes, my lady.” Damn, he didn’t want her to faint. “Here, you must sit.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and sat her gently on the chaise. “I wondered if you had recognized me before, but I suppose not.” The warmth of her against him felt amazingly familiar and disconcertingly pleasant.

  She shook her head, but her gaze searched his face. “It was dark and you had a hat pulled over your eyes.”

  “I was a naval officer at the time. A mere lieutenant does not want his commander informed of his more unsavory activities. A discreet shadow over the face works wonders.” Nash removed his arm, suddenly aware of the impropriety. The loss of contact left him unaccountably sad, although she still clutched his arm.

  “Your voice.” She sat straighter and leaned toward him. “It sounded familiar at the ball, but I didn’t quite recall. . .” Her hand clamped down on him. “Oh, God. What happened to him? What happened to Edward? Please, for pity’s sake, you must tell me.” Then she burst into tears.

  Nash fumbled for his handkerchief and thrust it into her hand, then returned his arm to her shoulders. Dash it all, he hadn’t meant to upset her so. “Hush, my lady. It’s all right. He is fine; at least he was when last I heard from him.”

  Her sobs intensified. “Thank . . . you,” she hitched out at last. “I lived in . . . fear this last six years that my father had followed you and managed to kill him anyway.”

  Her body shook with weeping and he tightened his hold.

  “I promise you, I believe he is well and happy.” He settled her more comfortably against his chest, her warmth seeping through his jacket. Touching his heart. “I would have kept him with me, as servant to my captain, although he was a bit old for it. I thought it best he stay away from London and your father. Unfortunately, Thrush proved an appallingly bad sailor.”

  Her crying had ceased and she gazed up at him, drinking in every word.

  “To this day, I cannot describe the shades of green he turned when we made a short run into the Channel.”

  She smiled at that and charmed him all over again. “Then where did he go?”

  “I sent him to Devonport, near Stoke in Devon. My mother’s family is there and he became head groom at her brother’s stable.”

  A light shone in her eyes, although she tensed as if expecting a blow. “Did he marry?”

  “Yes. With three sons now, I believe.”

  She raised her chin and swallowed, then leaned away. “I am glad he found the happiness he deserved.” Her face took on a fierceness found in mother animals defending their young. “He was the best man I ever met. Kind, gentle, loving. What did it matter that he was a groom?”

  “Nothing at all, my lady.” Nash could imagine the insults she had endured regarding her affection for a stable servant. Her defense of the man, even now, spoke volumes to him. Had he misjudged her at the ball and fete? “I knew him but briefly, but I saw in him all you claim. I am very happy to have been of service to him. To you both.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, her gaze now on the floor. “I cannot thank you enough, Lord Wrotham, for your kindness that night. Many would simply have paid the toll and been on their way.”

  “But they are the ones with no taste for adventure, I’ll wager.” That particular adventure continued still, with surprises all along the way.

  The clock on the mantel chimed three and Nash reluctantly rose. “I should be going, my lady. I have discharged my duty to your father, although if I can render you any service regarding these plaguey robbers, please send to me at once. At times they seem more a nuisance than a danger, although I do not like that they have lingered here in Kent so long.”

  She turned those sea-green eyes on him and he caught his breath.

  “Will you not stay for the house party, Lord Wrotham? There is ample room here at Lyttlefield Park and I would consider it an honor to have you as my special guest.” She grasped his hands and heat danced along the tops of his forearms. “I can never repay you for the kindness you did for Edward. But please allow me to offer some entertainment to you this weekend. I am sure you would like a rest before returning to London.”

  Nash couldn’t repress a chuckle. “Not quite so far, I’m afraid. Your invitation followed me from Town to Wrotham Hall, scarcely a mile down the road from your estate.”

  “Oh, dear, yes, of course.” She released his hands and her cheeks pinkened prettily. “The village is Wrotham. Why did I not realize it was you?”

  “I am sure you had many other things on your mind, my lady, than my name.” He missed the warmth of her hands. “And I was situated in London when we met in June.” Nash recalled
that evening and some of his lightness dimmed. “I understand you are widowed?” There must be a story there. Why marry if she had been in love with another man?

  “Yes. My husband died just after Waterloo.”

  “My condolences.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded curtly, although her countenance did not seem grieved.

  “Was Almack’s your first venture into society after your mourning?”

  “Yes.” Her hands tightened in her lap. “My cousin and I thought it fitting to emerge from mourning at the ball to commemorate the anniversary of that dreadful battle.” She sent him a fleeting smile, then dropped her gaze back to her lap.

  “I was sorry not to have had the benefit of your company longer that night, Lady Cavendish. I had hoped to partner you for one of the dances.” Nash waited, keen for her response.

  “Oh, Lord Wrotham.” She clasped his hand once more, and Nash was hard put to stand still. “I am truly sorry for that inexcusable breach. I assure you I had given Mr. Garrett no cause to believe I had promised him that dance.” She hung on to his hand as though it were a lifeline. “I would never have accepted you if I had. Please, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, especially as we are to be neighbors.”

  He raised her hand and kissed it, the soft, rose-scented skin intoxicating. “Consider it forgiven and forgotten, my lady. I will therefore live in hope of another opportunity to claim you for a dance.”

  She nodded, another brilliant smile lighting her face. “I will look forward to it, my lord.”

  As would he.

  “Look forward to what, my dear?” Lady John Tarkington’s voice startled them both. Nash jumped back and Lady Cavendish rose to greet her cousin.

  “Jane! May I present the Earl of Wrotham?” Her eyes sparkled, darting her gaze from him to her cousin.

  Overly excited for a mere introduction. Had his confession made such an impression on her?

  “I have just discovered his lordship is our neighbor.”

  “Indeed? His lordship and I met at Almack’s in June, my dear. How do you do, my lord? I am so glad you have turned up after all. Dear Charlotte was quite in a dither that she had not heard from you. It is excellent news that we have you close to hand if we ever require assistance.”

  “Jane!” Lady Cavendish gasped and blushed for a third time. The lovely color in her cheeks was even more becoming, although he feared she might overheat at any moment.

  “I was just telling Lady Cavendish I hoped for another chance to dance with her.”

  “Splendid, Wrotham. You shall get your chance at the party this weekend.”

  “Indeed I had hoped so.”

  “So you will attend, Lord Wrotham?” Lady Cavendish’s face glowed with happiness.

  How could he deny that face? “It will be my pleasure, my lady. Although I beg to be allowed to reside at home, for tonight at least. I have several matters that must be seen to first thing tomorrow.”

  “It will be as you wish, my lord.” Lady Cavendish took his arm, steering him toward the entrance hall. “I enjoy keeping country hours, therefore dinner is at six.”

  “Lady Stephen will be in directly,” Lady John called after them. “She insisted on repairing herself before her entrance.” She peered around. “Is she the first to arrive other than Wrotham?”

  “Yes.” Lady Cavendish leaned toward him, conspiratorially. “We are celebrating our move to the country, you see.”

  “So let the celebration begin. Oh!” Another young woman, a trifle older than Lady Cavendish, had flounced into the room and stopped dead, obviously not expecting his presence.

  Nash bowed. “Indeed, my lady, a joyous sentiment that all can agree with.”

  Lady Cavendish dropped his arm and reverted to the role of staid hostess. “Lady Stephen Tarkington, may I present the Earl of Wrotham? The earl is my neighbor, Lady Stephen. Lord Wrotham, Lady Stephen is my cousin’s sister-in-law.”

  The lady curtsied as he bowed and remained standing. There was no telling how many more women might come bounding into the room.

  “If I am to return in good time, I fear I must say au revoir for the moment.” Odd, but he suddenly felt reluctant to leave. Lady Cavendish had surely beguiled him this afternoon. Perhaps he had misjudged her at Almack’s. Who was to say Garrett hadn’t dragged her off against her will?

  “Until then, my lord. We will look forward to it.” Her generous smile sent a warm thrill through him.

  “As will I, my lady.” Nash bowed again and left, relieved, excited, and puzzled at the turn of events. Such an intriguing woman. Dinner tonight should prove enlightening indeed.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh, my dear Lord.” Charlotte sighed and plopped onto the sofa beside her cousin, completely spent.

  “So Lord Wrotham has accepted your invitation, Charlotte.” Jane sipped her tea, eyebrows raised. “Well, well. I believe he has a certain admiration for you, dear. He seems to have forgiven your rudeness at Almack’s.”

  “I was not rude, Jane. Mr. Garrett was. Should I have made a scene instead? And Wrotham said he came only because Father asked him to.”

  “Indeed.” Jane leaned closer to her. “And why, pray tell, would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. Lord Wrotham said he’d received a letter from Father asking him to call on me.” Charlotte shook her head. Such behavior by her odious parent was baffling. “Father has not taken a smidgeon’s interest in me for six years. Then, the day after Almack’s, he appeared and invited himself to dinner. He spent two hours admonishing me about my behavior the night before and threatening to take a hand in my affairs if I became embroiled in a scandal.”

  It had not been an idle threat. Given the opportunity and enough of an excuse, her father would find a way to take over her life again, she had no doubt. “Now he’s asking strangers to look after my welfare. Trying to rule my life again.” She would not brook his interference. Not this time.

  “For once I am grateful not to have parents to interfere with my life.” Fanny smoothed her hands over her light blue mull gown. “It’s bad enough to have Theale forever questioning me.”

  “Fanny, you should be thankful he’s not as high a stickler as some would be about his sisters-in-law.” Jane turned back to Charlotte, idly swirling the tea in her cup. “At least Wrotham seems to have forgiven you.” She chuckled to herself and sipped. “Most important because we are now neighbors and may be much in company.” A mischievous smile played over her face. “He’s a very eligible parti, you know.”

  “I know, Jane. You have not ceased to remind me of that since the invitations went out.” Charlotte laughed. “He is almost good enough to make me throw away my resolve never to marry again.”

  “Really, Charlotte.” Jane sniffed and jammed her cup down in the saucer with a vicious clink. “You should pitch that resolution into the middle of the lake. Lord Wrotham would be the perfect match for you.”

  “Perhaps.” Charlotte remembered his deep blue eyes, the warmth that tingled through her whenever she touched him, and sighed. “I have already made my choice, Jane. I will not have men control me as they have in the past. Not even one who—” She bit back the words about Lord Wrotham’s startling revelation regarding his involvement with Edward. She would treasure that secret for herself alone a while longer.

  “’Not even one who . . . ?” Jane leaned forward, all ears.

  “Not even one who seems perfect on the surface.” Charlotte sipped her tea and leaned back, trying not to smile. Lord Wrotham might not be a man to marry, but he would certainly be one with whom she’d enjoy having a discreet affair. A thrill of excitement shot through her, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A vision arose of them together, tangled in the sheets, his strong arms around her, his heat pressed against her . . .

  “Charlotte. Whatever is wrong?”

  As if a shower of cold rainwater had doused her, Charlotte shivered as Jane’s face swam into view. “Wrong? Why would anything be wrong
?” Drat. Had she said something whilst thinking of her and Lord Wrotham?

  “Your face is splotched, as if you’ve got a fever. Are you well?”

  Fever indeed.

  “I am fine, little mother hen.” Charlotte felt her cheeks, which did seem quite warm. “I suppose the tea was a trifle too hot for me.”

  “Tea. Yes, of course, that must be it.” Jane lifted her cup, scrutinizing Charlotte all the while.

  “Charlotte,” Fanny broke in from her perch on the Queen Anne armchair opposite the sofa, her brows puckered. “Isn’t this the same furniture as in your town house? Sir Archibald’s town house? I know this is the chair you always sat in . . . and the sofa is the same.” She glanced around the room, her frown deepening. “It’s all the same.” Her gaze fell on the fireplace and she gasped. “Even the Adams mantel. You must be mad. It had to have cost a fortune to gather all the pieces.”

  Charlotte laughed and patted Fanny’s hand. “No, it cost me only the transportation from London to Lyttlefield. These are the same pieces that were in the town house.”

  “Dear God.” Fanny leaned forward, her face pale. “You stole them, Charlotte? What possessed you? Your rotter of a stepson will have you clapped in irons!”

  Charlotte laughed and caressed the sofa’s beautiful floral upholstery. “Edgar may have some choice words to say to me, but he can do nothing. I was completely within my rights to take them. They are mine.” She surveyed her sweet revenge, fruit of a scheme begun before her marriage.

  “You are looking at a master chess player, Fanny.” Jane nodded toward Charlotte. “She planned her strategy six years ago in her marriage settlement.”

  “I had Father insist that anything—clothes, furniture, cattle—that I brought to the marriage would revert to me upon Sir Archibald’s death. Then I took a small inheritance from my grandmother and furnished everything in the London town house with the exception of Sir Archibald’s private office, library, and the master chamber. All the furniture, linens, bedclothes, my trousseau. Everything. Including my horse and carriage. When Edgar takes possession of the house, he’ll have one cracked leather chair, a desk, a library table, two straight-back chairs, and a rickety old bed.” A thrill of satisfaction washed through her every time she thought of the look on her stepson’s face when he realized he barely had a place to lay his head.