To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

  Her breathing quickened until the sound of her panting shut out all else.

  He closed the distance between them so slowly she could swear she could see the ripple of each muscle as he approached. She could fend him off if she so desired, but his eyes held her mesmerized. She would gladly drown in those blue depths. When he cradled her head, the silky touch of his fingertips on her scalp almost drove her mad. How could such an innocent touch arouse such a passion within her? Her belly ached as it had in the library, with a painful longing she must deny. Could not deny.

  When he urged her lips toward his, her legs weakened, and it took all her willpower to simply remain standing. His incredible softness was the perfect antidote to Fernley’s rough assault. He molded their lips together, compelling hers to open. Her willingness to do so frightened her, yet she could no more deny him than she could stop breathing. Warmth stole through her, loosening muscle and bone, until she leaned fully against his hard, magnificently aroused body. Completely uncaring who came by or what they saw.

  After what seemed a lifetime, he leaned her away from him. She let his lips go reluctantly, sad that the blissful interlude had to end. As always, once she had lost contact with his body, her senses returned to normal.

  Fernley.

  She stepped back from Wrotham, shook her head, groggy as if coming out of a deep sleep, and glanced over the railing. The young man in question sat nursing several deep scratches that had bled onto his ensemble. In the poor light she could not tell which circumstance pained him the most, the scratches on his person or the ruination of his suit. Had he seen her and Wrotham? Did it matter? The earl’s actions would certainly make him think twice before spreading scandalous gossip.

  She stared at Wrotham, his face as enigmatic as she had ever seen it. What was he thinking, blast him? He obviously desired her as much as she did him. Could they resolve their differences enough to allow them to act on them?

  The French windows opened with a lurch. Jane, Fanny, Sinclair, and the others crowded out onto the terrace. How would the earl explain?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for rushing to our aid.” A hum of questions sprang up at Wrotham’s words and he moved toward the nearest stairs leading to the garden. He glanced at her, and the wretch had the audacity to wink. “Lord Fernley, I am afraid, has succumbed to a slight misadventure.”

  A general murmur of surprise rippled through the assembled crowd.

  “On a bet of some sort, I suppose, or perhaps a request to show some skill at balancing, Fernley attempted to walk along the balustrade. A misstep occurred and the poor man tumbled into Lady Cavendish’s rosebushes. Can one of you gentlemen give me a hand righting him?” With that, he picked his way through the grass to stand above the fallen nobleman. He extended a hand, but his eyes glinted with an emotion that was not sympathetic. “Let me assist you, my lord. You have a nasty scratch across your cheek.”

  By this time, Sinclair, scarcely containing his mirth, had reached Wrotham’s side. “Are you otherwise injured?”

  They grasped Fernley under the armpits and hoisted him to his feet. “If you feel unable to continue downstairs this evening, I am sure Lady Cavendish will be most forgiving. The last thing any of us wants is for someone to be hurt.” Wrotham seemed concerned, yet he squeezed the man’s arm unmercifully.

  “I believe it may be prudent if I retire, my lord.” Fernley’s voice certainly sounded pained. “If Lady Cavendish will forgive me, I will remove to my room.” He glanced at Wrotham and winced. “Indeed, my arm is beginning to ache.”

  Wrotham suddenly released the viscount. “It may be that, if it is no better by morning, you must needs seek medical attention in London. The local apothecary is still firmly of the bleeding-with-leeches school of medicine. It is the one area where I believe I need to lend a firmer hand concerning change.”

  He clapped Fernley on the back. “Allow me to follow your progress, my lord, once you return to the city. I cannot tell you how much I will hang upon word of your recovery.” Wrotham nodded to a servant, who assisted Fernley into the house. “Now,” he said, gazing about the stunned company, “shall we continue at cards or is dancing in order again?”

  Charlotte stared at him, as startled as anyone at how Wrotham had smoothly taken charge of the evening. Could she ever hope he would bend to her will? Despite the desire that raged through them both, she wouldn’t wager a brass farthing on it.

  Chapter 14

  Charlotte came down early to breakfast Sunday morning, yet found Elizabeth there before her, sipping tea and looking thoughtful. A smile curled Charlotte’s lips at the pleasant prospect of a chance for private conversation. She and her friend had scarcely had time to speak this weekend, much less have a comfortable coze. Now, unless the other ladies appeared in the next half hour or so, she’d have time to learn Elizabeth’s impression of the gentlemen she’d met.

  “I might have known you would be here before me, Elizabeth,” Charlotte said, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek, then signaled for the footman to bring her plate. “Have you always been an early riser?”

  Elizabeth smiled and put down her cup. “Not until Colin and Kate were born. We didn’t have a nursemaid at first, so I tended them night and day.” She chuckled. “And early morning. Once they were older, that was the best time to play with them, before the routine of the day called me away.” Her smile faded. “Dickon used to say we made the prettiest picture, down on the nursery floor playing with blocks and toy animals. I wish,” her mouth trembled, “I wish they’d had more time with him. They were only five when he . . .” She glanced at Charlotte with pain-stricken eyes. “I wish I’d had more time with him.”

  Charlotte grasped her hand. “I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you, my dear. And for the children. But you will help them remember their father always.” This was not the path she’d hope this conversation would take. How to change to talk of the future instead of the past?

  “Are you finding yourself more at home with your parents these days?” Charlotte settled to her plate, waiting to hear the latest in her friend’s struggle. Lord and Lady Wentworth adored their grandchildren and had welcomed their grieving daughter back to their estate in Dorset. They had, however, also assumed the right to give unwarranted advice on child-rearing to Elizabeth. A kindly gesture that had driven her friend to distraction when she had first taken up residence there.

  “It’s still a struggle.” Elizabeth frowned. “They mean well, they truly do. But Mama is so used to getting her way about everything, I feel badly when I have to tell her I must raise the children as I see fit. As Dickon and I agreed.”

  “Of course, that will be more easily accomplished when you are in your own home again.” Charlotte rushed on past the reference. “I couldn’t help but notice you seemed to enjoy Lord Brack’s company this weekend. The short time I have spoken to him, I have found him a very amiable gentleman. And he’s so kind to Georgina. Do you like him, Elizabeth?”

  Her friend smiled briefly and shook her head. “I know what you are about, Charlotte. And the short answer to your question is yes, I do like Lord Brack and find him to be, as you said, both amiable and kind. I cannot, however, know on such short acquaintance if we would suit for more than friendship.”

  “Have you told him about the children?” That might be a bone of contention Charlotte had not planned on. Some men did not like to raise children not their own.

  Elizabeth picked up her tea and set it down again. “Georgie took care of that revelation the first night. Lord Brack knows all about Dickon and the children. And I must say, he seemed very sympathetic. He knows how hard a time Georgie’s had.” She sent Charlotte an intense look. “And that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “About what?”

  “Georgina.”

  Charlotte poured tea and reached for the sugar. “Georgie? Has something happened?” Bizarre images of Georgina being accosted by Fernley surfaced. She shook them away. The man would
not dare do such a thing after last night. But perhaps earlier in the weekend?

  “Well, not happened exactly, but Charlotte, it’s her circumstances. Lord Brack, in thanking me for taking Georgie under my wing, also confided how desperate her situation is.”

  “He may have mentioned something of it to me as well, though it did not sound as dire as all that.” Charlotte’s conscience smote her. She had not taken in all of Brack’s conversation about his sister because she’d been too busy thinking about Wrotham. “He did say she was miserable, but I thought he referred mostly to her missing her husband.”

  “There is of course that burden.” Elizabeth sighed. “However, he told me that the tension at home is very bad indeed. Mr. Kirkpatrick’s daughter, a Mrs. Reynolds, blames Georgie completely for her father’s dismissal of the vicar.” Elizabeth wiped her tearing eyes with her napkin. She seemed to weep at any provocation since her husband’s death.

  “Well, that is hardly fair,” Charlotte said, settling to her breakfast. “Mr. Kirkpatrick married them. He must have known the risk in going against the wishes of the marquess.” Georgina had been guilty of nothing but falling in love.

  “Oh, Charlotte, Mrs. Kirkpatrick had to actually beg her daughter to take poor Georgie in when Isaac died. She agreed, grudgingly, but the daughter has treated Georgie horribly, more as a servant than a guest in her home. Every day she makes sure Georgie knows she’s there only out of Christian charity.” Elizabeth sniffed. “If that’s what you want to call it. The Kirkpatricks can’t say much to her, though, because they have nowhere else to go. The vicar is still without a parish.”

  “I am so sorry, Elizabeth. I truly had no idea. Georgie never said a word.” Charlotte’s conscience smote her. Why had she not realized her friend was suffering so? Georgina had apparently tried to hide her circumstances and succeeded very well in doing so.

  Elizabeth ducked her head. “I had several of my old dresses made over for Georgina to wear this weekend. She has had no clothing allowance for over a year. One reason she wore full mourning for so long is that those were the best clothes she had.”

  Lord, Georgina had certainly never let on the situation was so dire. How appalling she had not known this. No wonder Georgie had been trying to catch Lord Wrotham’s eye. Marriage to any decent gentleman would be preferable to such an existence. And Wrotham had the makings of an excellent husband . . .

  Charlotte stopped as anguish flooded her heart. The idea of Georgie marrying Wrotham was both wonderful and terrible. It would be a brilliant match for Georgina, one that, as her brother had pointed out, might reconcile her with her family. She and the earl had rubbed along well all weekend. Had she not known of Wrotham’s desire for her, she’d have been convinced his affections lay with the younger woman. Who was to say that they might not if given time?

  “So, Charlotte,” Elizabeth’s voice jerked her back to the breakfast table, “I thought perhaps you could invite Georgie to stay with you here at Lyttlefield Park.”

  Charlotte froze, her mind racing. If Georgie lived here, she would be in close proximity to the earl and could continue to pursue his courtship. In which case, if Charlotte truly wanted to help her friend, she should relinquish her budding tendre for Lord Wrotham.

  That thought sent a pang to her heart. Even though the man was a new acquaintance, his charm and physical attractions had captured her interest. And he had rescued Edward. How could she not feel warmly toward him for that act of bravery?

  She sighed, then glanced at Elizabeth. It might all be a tempest in a teapot. She had no idea whether Wrotham would choose to woo Georgina or not. However, if he showed any interest in her, she would steel herself to bow out gracefully. Although she’d enjoyed his attentions, it wasn’t as if she’d set her cap for him.

  “Georgie would be good company for you and Jane,” Elizabeth continued, so eagerly Charlotte’s conscience smote her again for even hesitating.

  “Of course I’ll ask her. That is the perfect solution, isn’t it?” A lead weight tried to settle in her stomach, but she disregarded it. Georgina would be infinitely happier here than in London and she would love her company. “I only wish I had thought of it first.”

  Elizabeth’s shoulders dropped, as if a heavy burden had fallen from them. She sipped her tea and smiled broadly. Charlotte hadn’t seen her this content in months. If she could bring about the happiness of two of her friends, she would count herself fortunate, no matter the cost to herself.

  Gay chatter down the hall turned her attention to the doorway. “Perhaps I can broach it to her this evening. Let me figure out how to put it so that she does not feel she will be an imposition on me.”

  “Excellent.” Elizabeth relaxed back into her chair as Jane and the rest of the ladies swept into the breakfast room.

  “What smells so delectable this morning, my dear?” Jane sailed over to the sideboard and began removing the covers. “Oh, I adore kippers.” She grabbed a plate and began to pile her plate with herring fried to crispy perfection. “Maria, child, you must try some. They look quite scrumptious.”

  As the ladies filled their plates, Charlotte sipped her tea, biding her time until she could speak with Georgina alone. Now if she could only get the image of the Earl of Wrotham out of her mind . . .

  * * *

  During the church service, Charlotte pondered her predicament once more. She tried to focus on Mr. Moore, but when he took his sermon from the story of the Canaanite woman, her mind drifted back to Georgie’s plight. Her friend was very proud. Would she agree to whatever aid Charlotte could offer?

  She continued distracted on the ride home and throughout luncheon.

  Surreptitiously, at the table, she studied Georgina and found her friend sparkling and vivacious in her conversation with her brother and Elizabeth. She had even spoken pleasantly to Lord Fernley, on his best behavior today. He hadn’t even dared look at Charlotte.

  Yet now Charlotte looked for strain in Georgie’s face, she found the signs. When Georgina listened to the other guests, her attention sometimes seemed to wander. A wistful look came over her face when Elizabeth talked about her home and family. Once she smoothed down her dress, a lovely white and blue sprigged frock, although Charlotte recognized it as one of Elizabeth’s garments from two years ago. Yes, she must extend the invitation immediately.

  “Do you hunt here in Kent, Lady Cavendish?”

  Charlotte started, then smiled politely at Lord Sinclair. “I have never done so, my lord, although my father has a hunting lodge in the eastern part of the county.”

  “Jane has told me you are an excellent horsewoman. I would have thought you had ridden to the hounds at least once. Do you not enjoy the chase?” The tall, handsome man with a distinguished touch of gray in his hair, grinned at her, then back at Jane. His own gaze had a predatory gleam when it rested on the woman by his side.

  “Sadly, my lord, neither my father nor my late husband approved of ladies joining in a hunt, although I do know those who relish the pursuit. Perhaps this year, as I am no longer constrained, I will join in the chase.” A freedom she might be forced to forgo should she marry, only to find her husband also disapproved of such activities for ladies.

  She glanced away from Sinclair, who had already turned his attention back to Jane. As she stared at her plate, her situation clarified itself in her mind and new resolve made her straighten in her chair. Independence had been given to her, a great gift she would make the most of. To marry and relinquish it, even to the perfect man, would leave her wondering for the rest of her life. If that meant forgoing a husband and a family, then that was simply the price she would have to pay.

  * * *

  The afternoon wore on interminably. After luncheon her guests were free to walk about the grounds or chat at will. Charlotte had planned that in order to give any newly formed couples some time alone together. The only couple conspicuously absent were Jane and Lord Sinclair. Charlotte assumed they had retired to one or the other’s room for
a private conversation. Georgie and her brother had gone out to walk in the gardens. Maria and Fanny were playing cards and Elizabeth had opened a book beside the fire.

  Hearing a step on the stair, Charlotte left gazing out at the sunlit roses and turned, expecting to see Jane. Instead, Lord Fernley entered and stopped when he saw her. He glanced around the room; then some of the stiffness went out of his shoulders.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Cavendish.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Fernley. We were sorry you could not attend church with us this morning. And we missed you at luncheon as well. Your arm is no better?”

  Fernley flinched and turned pale. He rubbed the offended appendage and shook his head. “I am afraid not, my lady. I think it best that I return to London, as Lord Wrotham suggested.” He peered around the room again, and Charlotte had to bite back a laugh.

  “We are certainly sorry to lose your company, my lord. I wish you a speedy recovery.” Charlotte dipped a curtsy as Elizabeth and the others gathered around. “Lord Fernley is taking his leave, ladies.”

  They murmured their farewells, Fernley bowed, narrowly escaping putting out an eye with his high-pointed collar, and left.

  “Did Lord Fernley seem a trifle nervous to you, Charlotte?” Fanny had returned to the card table. Her grin as she shuffled the cards belied the need for her question.

  “He did seem to be looking for someone,” Elizabeth said, a smile touching her own lips.

  “Lord Wrotham apparently made quite an impression on him last evening,” Charlotte ventured. He’d certainly made an impression on her. She rubbed her arms and went back to the window. She had no idea if he would turn up today or this evening. He’d not been at church this morning, even though he’d made such a point of wanting to see her there. Perhaps he’d grown tired of the party. Charlotte sighed. The cheerful afternoon sunlight masked the perpetual chill in the outdoor air. If they were lucky, however, there would be some warmer days ahead.