To Woo a Wicked Widow

by Jenna Jaxon

He smiled, warming her as the tea could not. “Of course you can. A friendly gift is always appropriate. Besides, they should be together.” He put the miniature into her hand and closed her fingers around it. “Let me insist upon this if I cannot insist upon anything else.”

  Knowing she had been beaten, Charlotte nodded and clutched the ivory disc. She settled it in the left pocket of her riding habit and patted it securely. “Thank you, Nash.” She tried to avoid looking into his eyes, afraid of what she might find there. Instead, she moved from behind the desk.

  “I must go. Georgie will be wondering what has become of me, although with an armed escort, I daresay I’m as protected as she is at home.” Charlotte found her gloves in her other pocket and struggled to pull them on.

  “Allow me.” Nash took the black leather glove and held it open for her hand. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Charlotte slid her fingers smoothly into the glove. This was torture. She stole a glance at him. He seemed absorbed in the task.

  “Thank you, N—”

  “The other one, please.” He held his hand out, and she hesitated before dropping the other glove into it. “You say your escort is armed? Two men or one?”

  “Two.” Charlotte stared defiantly into his eyes, only to find them shining with approval.

  “An excellent move.” Nash pulled the other glove down over her hand, smoothing the fingers one by one. When he’d finished, Charlotte could barely breathe. She longed for escape from him and the fire he’d started in her belly.

  He grasped her hand, raised it for a kiss that seared her through the leather, and said, “I hope all your decisions are as wise.” Then he ushered her into the corridor, calling for Acres.

  Charlotte couldn’t take her gaze from him as he gave orders for her men to be fetched and the horses brought round. It had finally happened. She had declared her independence and won the grudging acceptance of this wonderful, stubborn man. She should be elated. Why, then, did she suspect she’d made the wrong choice?

  Chapter 24

  Almost as if the clock had turned back to August, Charlotte stood in the drawing room once more welcoming her guests to Lyttlefield Park. The only difference seemed to be the chill of the room. Mid-October had settled its cold grip on the countryside. She shivered and drew her shawl closer around her shoulders.

  Fanny had been the first to arrive, this time with Lord Lathbury dancing attendance. They had been quite an item in town this whole time, according to Jane. Charlotte wondered about that. Fanny looked tired, her face pinched. When Lathbury sidled up next to her, she stepped away, chatting with someone else. Ignoring him. A lover’s spat, perhaps? Charlotte hoped it would not escalate into a quarrel this weekend.

  Jane, as she might have expected, seemed determined to be true to her word. She’d been closely attended by several different men in London since leaving Lord Sinclair’s estate in September. During Charlotte’s short stay with her, she’d seen Jane entertain two different gentlemen. And now she’d invited the young man Charlotte had met at Almack’s in June, George Abernathy, for the weekend. Charlotte had no misgivings about the man himself, although she wondered at Jane’s seemingly frivolous acquisition and discarding of these men. Did she change her suitors frequently to keep from forming an attachment or simply because she could?

  Charlotte gave a perfunctory smile and made small talk with her guests, all the while awaiting Lord Kersey’s arrival with real apprehension.

  The last time she’d met the man had been in mid-September—what seemed an eon ago. So much had happened since then—the revelation of her father’s and Nash’s perfidy, the escalation of the robber gang’s attacks, the assault on her and Courtland, and Nash’s unexpectedly loverlike attendance on her. The latter circumstance gave her the most pause.

  Nash had been so kind and attentive of late, Charlotte had become hard pressed to summon reasons why she should not give in and simply agree to marry him. Her father’s involvement, of course, galled her, and she’d love to refuse all thoughts of marriage with Nash solely to set up her father’s bristles. She couldn’t quite convince herself to do that, however. Nash had managed to become rather dear to her.

  Just then, Lord Brack and another handsome young man, with deep brown hair and stormy-gray eyes that danced with merriment, appeared in the doorway.

  “Lord Brack and Lord St. Just.” Fisk turned and gave way to the two striking gentlemen.

  Brack smiled immediately and strode over to Charlotte near the window. “My lady, I am delighted to see you again.” He bowed and his smile broadened. “I am also very pleased to present Lord St. Just. He was at Eton with me and we made a tour of Italy together. Lord St. Just, Lady Cavendish. Our most amiable hostess.”

  The young man with the unusual eyes laughed and bowed. “I am delighted to meet you, my lady. And very grateful for your kind invitation.” He glanced at his companion, then back to her, mischief lighting up his face. “I am to meet the fairest of the fair here, according to Brack. And I see he has told the truth for once.” St. Just took her hand and pressed a not-so-brief kiss onto it.

  Charlotte bit back a laugh and reclaimed her hand. St. Just would make the weekend quite lively, she had no doubt. “You are most welcome here, my lord. I was only too happy to include you in our party.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him boldly. “Even more so now that we have met. I do hope you will enjoy yourself and the company.”

  St. Just’s eyes widened and she chuckled to herself. She’d never have done such a thing, even before her marriage. Independence had given her a new perspective, a new confidence in herself. She had no more interest in this young man than she had had in Fernley, although this one promised to be more fun to flirt with because he knew a game when he saw one. Definitely a welcome addition to the weekend’s festivities. The man was a charmer, through and through.

  “Is Mrs. Easton here this weekend, my lady?” Brack could not disguise the eagerness in his voice.

  Charlotte smiled and gestured toward the sofa. “She is indeed, my lord. Will you introduce your friend or shall I?”

  “That will be my pleasure.” His gaze darted toward Elizabeth and his eyes sparkled. “Come on, Rob. You must meet this most enchanting creature . . .” Brack bowed and turned to shepherd his friend over to the sofa.

  She chuckled softly. Brack certainly seemed smitten. Pray God Elizabeth returned his feelings in some measure. It would be such a brilliant match for her.

  As Brack and St. Just moved off, another arrival took their place.

  “Lord Kersey,” Fisk intoned.

  Charlotte’s heart stuttered, then beat so quickly blood rushed to her face. She glanced up to find the earl, elegantly attired in black, towering over her. My, had he always been so tall? Almost menacing. Why did she not remember that? Nash stood at a comfortable six feet. Had she gotten used to that height? She shook her head and smiled as she extended her hand to him.

  “How lovely to see you again, my dear Charlotte,” he said, bending over her hand and pressing warm lips to her flesh.

  “Y . . . yes, it is wonderful to have you here again, my lord.” She quietly removed her hand from his. It would not do to be rude to a guest, even one she hadn’t wanted to invite.

  The look in his eyes helped not at all. They had fastened on her the moment Brack had moved away, devouring her with the hungry expression of a wolf eyeing a rabbit. Did he think to make her his prey tonight? The thought set her to trembling. His presence had never sent such trepidation through her before, but something in his manner now bespoke purpose.

  “Am I the last to arrive?” He scanned the full room until his gaze rested again on her.

  “Why, yes, I believe you are, although Lord Wrotham will be joining us for dinner.” Charlotte hurried on now that his predatory gaze had softened. “You are, however, in good time. Dinner is at six, as usual.”

  Alan glanced to the clock on the mantelpiece. “Ah. It is but four o’clock. We have time at hand.”

  The
innocuous words sent a shiver through Charlotte. Time at hand for what?

  “Might I claim you for a short tour of the house?” His eyes deepened to darkest blue.

  Oh, no. Her stomach twisted. She could not be alone with this man.

  “I fear I was unable to properly appreciate your beautiful appointments the last time I was here.” A flicker of amusement lit his face. “Would you care to show me what I missed?”

  Charlotte doubted the house held any charms for this rakehell. “I would be happy to accommodate you. Let me see if Lord St. Just would like to accompany us. He has never—”

  “I believe he is otherwise engaged with Lady Georgina.” He indicated the group before the fireplace. Georgie was indeed chatting animatedly with St. Just, whose attention seemed fixed on her with a decided intensity. It would be a shame to interrupt such a promising match.

  Charlotte turned back to Alan, who grinned wickedly.

  “I would love to steal you away all to myself for just a few minutes. I’m sure your guests won’t mind.”

  But she would. Her gaze strayed to the grouping of miniatures on the wall beside the fireplace, three in total now. The third one Nash had delivered earlier this week on his way to London, a beautiful view from the clock tower. Although she hadn’t decided what to do about her feelings for him, she knew she felt nothing for the man before her. Still, she was his hostess, like it or not. She would spare a few moments to show him the house, and perhaps find a way to indicate her lack of interest.

  “I’m sure they will not,” Charlotte said, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her from the room. They headed toward the back of the house, stopping to peep into the formal receiving room, the study, her office. Arriving at the library, Charlotte simply waved her hand toward the open door. That was one memory she wanted to avoid.

  “I’ve sadly neglected the library since I removed here this summer. I’d like to start several collections, one containing works of poetry through the ages, but particularly of the current age. I’d also like to acquire volumes regarding architecture and the decorative arts, a personal interest of mine.” She hurried on, talking as she walked, trying to evade any mention of the last time they had stood together in the library.

  His hand closed on her wrist, he gave a tug, and Charlotte gasped to find herself pulled onto the burgundy carpet inside the library. Alan released her, closed the doors, and twisted the key that stood in the lock.

  “I prefer that we not be interrupted.” He turned to her, that hungry wolf look back in his eyes.

  Startled, Charlotte backed up a step. Her heartbeat raced as he came toward her. “Alan, I don’t think . . .”

  “No, don’t think at all.” He reached for her, captured her arms and pulled her to him.

  Before she could protest further, he sunk his mouth onto hers. She stiffened as he slid his hands down the shoulders of her amber brocade gown to cup her breasts. Dear Lord, this couldn’t be happening. When his thumbs rasped across her nipples, she shuddered and arched away from him, trying to pull out of his embrace. His caresses made her skin crawl.

  He pressed her to him and thrust his tongue between her lips, then ground his hips against her—

  The door handle rattled.

  Charlotte froze.

  Alan moved his lips next to her ear. “Stay still. It’s locked.”

  She nodded, willing whoever stood on the other side of the door to go away. To be caught in this compromising position with him would surely spell disaster for her. Even worse, what if it was Nash? Fear streaked through her like a shot. He was invited to dinner but had no reason to be here yet. If he came crashing through that door, she would die on the spot.

  The door rattled once more, then footsteps sounded on the polished corridor floor, fading into the distance.

  Charlotte broke away from Alan and dropped onto the sofa, gripping the arm so she wouldn’t shake to pieces.

  “This is obviously the last room you should ever come to if you intend to dally, Charlotte.”

  The wretch would try to make a joke of it. She looked up to find him grinning.

  “I believe you may be right.” She tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in her throat like the cawing of a crow.

  “Your bedroom should be safest tonight, my dear,” he leaned down and whispered. “Make some excuse early in the evening. The sooner the better. I’ll follow you as soon as I may.”

  “What?”

  His lips grazed hers and he strode to the door. The key rattled softly as he unlocked it and disappeared down the corridor.

  Charlotte sat stunned, unable to completely comprehend what had just happened—except to understand her tryst with Alan was finally at hand, whether she wanted it or not.

  Chapter 25

  What on earth had given him the idea she still wanted him in her bed? Charlotte stared at the thick burgundy carpet, a feeling of dread closing in on her as she tried to reason it out. When they’d met in London she’d been ready to pursue an affair, had even been the one to bring it up. He’d been the reluctant one, seeking marriage instead. But then he’d asked her what would happen if she wanted more than just one night and she’d said she would accept his proposal and be happy. Dear God. So now he wanted to take her at her word and give her the one night. Only when she’d spoken those words, she’d been thinking of Nash.

  Charlotte dropped her head into her hands. She needed to find Alan now and plainly disabuse him of her interest in a tryst now or at any other time. Perhaps she should marry Nash just to keep from being accosted by other men.

  With a weary sigh, Charlotte rose, intending to return to the drawing room. Her guests should dress for dinner shortly and she would have time to cancel her assignation. She steadied herself with a deep breath and a hand to her stomach. The evening had already assumed an air of unreality.

  As she entered the hallway, hysterical sobbing in the foyer caught her attention.

  Lord, what crisis now?

  Charlotte hurried toward the entry where, to her astonishment, she found Maria Wickley crying brokenheartedly. Fisk stood before her, his unflappable cool shattered as he stared at the weeping young woman, for once at a loss for what to do.

  “Maria!” Charlotte called softly to the girl, who turned to her with stricken eyes.

  “Oh, Charlotte!” She ran into Charlotte’s arms, burrowing against her like a small animal going to ground. “What am I to do?”

  “Hush, my dear. The company is gathered in the drawing room. You don’t want them to see you like this.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around her and nodded to Fisk. “Light a fire in the small receiving room and fetch Lady John, please.” The butler nodded, squared his shoulders, and sped off. Slowly, she walked Maria toward the formal chamber, giving Fisk plenty of time to light the fire and leave before they arrived.

  “I am so surprised to see you, my dear. Your note said you were otherwise engaged this weekend, so I did not expect you, although I am pleased you could attend the party. Did your plans change?” Charlotte peeped into the room. All clear. She led Maria to the chair nearest the fire and gently sat her down.

  The distraught widow clung to her, tears still flooding down her cheeks.

  She disengaged her arms from Maria and sat next to her. What on earth was all this to-do about?

  Maria wiped at her streaming eyes with the back of her hand, her face pinched and miserable.

  Charlotte rifled her pockets and produced a handkerchief. The girl snatched it up, covered her streaming eyes, and bowed her head. “I just want to die, Charlotte. Just die.”

  “My dear, you must tell me what has distressed you so.” Charlotte patted her hand but could not fathom the reason for the girl’s distraught behavior. Had something happened to her family? Had a suitor jilted her? Where was Jane? Surely she would know what to do.

  “I am sorry to appear so suddenly after declining your kind invitation, but I didn’t know where else to go.” Maria wiped her eyes and raised her head to stare
desolately at Charlotte.

  “Well, of course you should have come here.” Charlotte patted Maria’s hands again, peering at the doorway. Drat. Still no Jane. “We are your friends, Maria. If there is something we can do to help you—”

  “No one can help me!” Sobs shook her slight frame as she bent forward, her head on her knees.

  God in heaven, what could be the matter? What had happened that Maria would think there could be no remedy for it? Well, one thing might help the poor girl. Charlotte rose and paced to the sideboard. She removed the stopper from the cut-crystal decanter and poured a good shot of brandy into a tumbler. On second thought, best pour one for herself as well. This afternoon’s events had shaken her. She needed reinforcements before she pried Maria’s problem out of her.

  “Here you go, my dear.” She pulled the young widow into a sitting position and thrust the glass into her hand. “You need to catch your breath. Drink this and then when Jane comes we will puzzle this out together.”

  Charlotte took a sip of the amber liquid, relishing the burn that traced a path down her throat into her stomach. She’d never drunk spirits much, only wine at dinner and a sherry now and then. The popular ratafia she had never cared for. Another good swallow and her muscles began to relax. This brandy seemed to fortify her. No wonder men preferred it. She could deal with Maria and Alan much better now.

  Maria held her glass in both hands, as if a child with a cup of milk. She had not tasted it yet.

  “Here, dear, drink this up. It will make things ever so much better.” Charlotte urged the cup to the girl’s lips. Maria wrinkled her nose and took the smallest of sips. Her grimace told Charlotte she would get no more of the spirits down her. Indeed, Maria pushed the glass into Charlotte’s hand and shook her head.

  “Ugh. That tastes nasty, Charlotte. Please don’t make me drink it.” Maria settled herself in her seat, a measure of calm seeming to steal over her.

  “All right. But I daresay Jane will say the same thing.”

  “What will I say, Charlotte?” Her cousin sailed into the room, going directly to the distressed young woman. “Maria. What a pleasant surprise.” Jane bussed her cheek. “Charlotte said you were unable to attend this weekend.” She took in the red eyes and woebegone face. “But whatever is the matter, my dear?”