A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Excellent. You will stay for dinner, of course,’ Marguerite said calmly. ‘I have asked the housekeeper to prepare a room for you, where you may refresh yourself.’

  Carrie stared at her, mouth agape.

  Avery also looked bemused, but he recovered in an instant. ‘That is most kind of you, my lady.’ He glanced at Carrie as if seeking her agreement. ‘I would not wish to impose, however?’

  What could she say? It was getting late. He would never make it back to London before dark and there wasn’t an inn for miles. Not a decent one, anyway.

  ‘It is no trouble at all,’ she said, but her tone was a little terse and he grimaced.

  She had not meant to sound unwelcoming. Indeed, her heart was thumping so loudly at the very sight of him, she was sure he must hear it. But having made up her mind to never see him again, having him here, under the same roof, was just too unsettling. The longings she was sure she had under control were now struggling to the fore, doing battle with all the good reasons she had lined up to defend her decision to refuse his offer of marriage.

  ‘Naturally, it is no trouble,’ Marguerite said. ‘If you would care to follow me, I will take you to our housekeeper who will show you up. We keep country hours here and dinner will be ready in an hour.’

  Again, Avery glanced her way, as if seeking guidance, but she gave a little hitch of her shoulders. Clearly Marguerite had something in mind and, until Carrie knew what it was, there was nothing she could say.

  Perhaps she intended to tackle him herself about their idea. Indeed, it might be the best way to get him to agree. A man who was well fed and content was more likely to be accommodating.

  She just wished she knew what his intentions were in coming here. Surely he did not intend to pursue his suit? She didn’t think she could bear it.

  * * *

  Despite Carrie’s obvious discomfort in his presence and monosyllabic answers to his questions, Avery found himself glad he had come. Her sisters-in-law were lovely women and thoroughly charming. How could their husbands had gone off to war and left them to fend for themselves? Idiots.

  Likely that was why Carrie seemed so averse to marriage. Well, she needn’t worry. He would never abandon her, if that was her fear. He would make her understand this. Somehow.

  If only he could get a few minutes alone with her.

  He had talked to Laura and John before leaving to come here. John’s clientele had picked up remarkably over the past couple of weeks and he had been very clear he and Laura no longer needed anyone’s financial help. John had also given Avery a bit of a bear-garden jaw about finding sensible employment and settling down.

  You would think the man was a saint instead of the cheeky blighter who had run off with a duke’s daughter. Still, Avery was pleased to see his sister so happy and his brother-in-law finally finding his feet, leaving Avery free of the financial burden of his sister.

  ‘Would you like another helping of compote, Lord Avery?’ Petra asked.

  He leaned back in his chair. ‘No, thank you. I could not eat another bite. Your chef has excelled himself.’

  ‘Oh, we don’t have a chef,’ Marguerite replied.

  ‘Then you have an excellent cook.’

  The woman seemed to swell with pride. Good. He needed these women on his side. ‘And may I say that the hats you ladies produced for your shop were amongst the most well made and creative any of the ladies of the ton have seen for a long time.’

  Marguerite beamed.

  ‘Lady Marguerite designed them,’ Carrie said. ‘She has a great deal of talent in that regard.’

  ‘It is a great deal too bad her talent is to be wasted,’ Petra added.

  ‘Westram is determined the shop is to be closed, then?’ Avery asked.

  ‘He is determined that none of his sisters shall become shopkeepers.’ Carrie was looking at him oddly. She glanced around the table. ‘I suppose now is as good as any time to put our proposition to you.’

  The other two ladies nodded their agreement.

  Avery straightened. Another proposition? His body heated, remembering her earlier proposition. The one he’d initially turned down. But this could not possibly be that sort of proposition, this was something else entirely. He forced his mind to focus.

  Carrie blushed and hung her head as if she’d guessed his thoughts and was ashamed.

  Dash it, that was not what he wanted at all.

  ‘Tell me,’ he urged.

  She straightened her shoulders as if bracing for a rejection. ‘We wanted to offer you the chance to buy the shop and the millinery business.’

  She wanted him to become a shopkeeper.

  Why was he surprised? She would likely see shopkeeping as infinitely preferable to his current modes of making a living. And it would provide the ladies with some additonal finances.

  It would certainly infuriate both the Duke and Westram. Just for that reason alone he was tempted.

  Carrie was watching him closely, as were her sisters-in-law.

  Was there something here he was missing? He’d learned to study his hand closely before he made a wager. ‘I need to think about it.’

  Carrie looked disappointed, but Marguerite smiled sweetly. ‘You can let us know your decision in the morning.’

  He frowned. ‘Why the rush?’

  ‘We employed women in the village to make more hats and nightgowns because we were not able to keep up with the demand by ourselves,’ Lady Petra said. ‘We have paid them for their work, but they are relying on the future income. We have to inform them one way or the other.’

  ‘I see.’ If he did this, he would have to come down to Kent all the time and would likely see Carrie, too. See her and be kept at arm’s length, the way she was keeping her distance now. No, he would not be able to live with that.

  He needed her answer to his proposal, if he could ever get her alone. Unfortunately, he had a feeling he already knew what her answer would be. She had not been pleased to see him. Not one little bit. He would simply have to change her mind.

  ‘If you do not wish to buy the business,’ Carrie said, tightly, ‘perhaps you might know of someone who will.’

  That did not bode well. Something in Avery’s chest gave an unpleasant squeeze.

  ‘Carrie,’ Marguerite interjected. ‘It is perfectly reasonable for Lord Avery to request a little time to think about our offer.’

  She nodded, but her jaw hardened. ‘Very well.’

  Had he been wrong about her having deeper feelings for him?

  Damn it all. Why was he surprised at her indifference? Or hurt? She had been quite clear that she wanted to use him right from the very beginning and the only reason she was entertaining his presence now was because he could be of further use.

  The pain of that knowledge went far deeper than he would have expected. Could he really feel that strongly about a woman who wanted nothing to do with him? It seemed so. And yet he couldn’t really blame her. He was a man who lived by his wits. Did she think he could not provide for her adequately? It was ironic, after he had been providing for Laura these many months.

  ‘I will also try to think of who else might be interested,’ he said, smiling despite the pain in his chest.

  Lady Petra and Lady Marguerite exchanged glances.

  ‘I think it is time for us to retire to the drawing room and leave you to your port,’ Lady Marguerite said, rising.

  ‘I think I would prefer to take tea with you in the drawing room, if you ladies would not object,’ Avery said, standing. ‘I plan on leaving early in the morning.’

  And before then, he needed a private word with Carrie. No matter how much it hurt, he wanted to hear her answer when he laid all of his cards on the table.

  Avery followed the ladies to the drawing room. At the door, Carrie hung back. ‘If you don’t mind, I will not join yo
u. I seem to have a headache.’

  She walked briskly away.

  Oh, this was not going well at all.

  * * *

  Carrie paced up and down her bedroom. Why on earth had Marguerite put Avery in the chamber next to hers when there were two other guest rooms to choose from.

  Once the maid had left, Carrie had been indulging in a good cry as a way of saying goodbye to Avery—again. A painful never-ending endeavour, when the sound of men’s voices had penetrated her wall. First Jeb, then Avery.

  The words were indistinct, but since no doubt Jeb was there to ready him for bed, Avery must be undressing.

  Her mind’s eye imagined his coats coming off. Jeb hanging them over a chair, ready for him to take away and brush while Avery disposed himself on the sofa in that masculine sprawl she so adored. Now attired in his shirtsleeves, he looked deliciously informal.

  Jeb knelt, removing Avery’s boots and rolling off his stockings.

  The manservant’s voice rumbled again. ‘Been a fine summer so far, my lord,’ Carrie imagined him saying.

  ‘It has indeed.’ Avery’s charming smile would be in full effect as he held out his wrists for Jeb to remove his cuff links. Avery lifted his chin and Jeb removed the ruby pin that had winked and glittered in the candlelight at dinner.

  A light metallic tinkle made her think of the tray on the dressing table. No doubt Jeb placing the valuable items there.

  Avery, meanwhile, unwound his cravat from around his throat and tossed it on top of the coats, white on black.

  Avery’s tenor now, quite distinct from Jeb’s baritone. ‘Have you always lived on the Westram property?’ She imagined him saying in that polite charming way he had.

  ‘I have, my lord,’ Jeb replied. ‘Born in a cottage not far from here.’

  ‘It is a lovely corner of England.’

  Jeb grinned, looking pleased. ‘Ah, that it is.’

  He reached out to help with the shirt buttons, but Avery waved him off with a genial smile. ‘Unpack my valise, would you, there’s a good chap. I’ve a couple of clean shirts in there.’

  While Jeb emptied the valise, Avery pulled the shirt off over his head, revealing that mouthwateringly broad torso.

  Carrie collapsed on the sofa, breathing fast at the image her mind was so vividly recalling. A pair of wide shoulders, a smattering of crisp dark hair and the heavily muscled arms of a horseman—or a swordsman.

  His strong large hands went to the buttons of his falls. He paused, looking at her from beneath lowered lashes, tempting and teasing with his eyes.

  Her breasts became full and heavy, the place between her thighs tingled and pulsed. Unable to help herself, she cupped one breast and her other hand drifted between her legs, gently circling, imitating the way he had touched her on their last night together. Heat rippled along her veins.

  Her eyelids drooped, her body warmed, breaths became shallower, faster. She wanted...

  The voices next door silenced. A door closed. Footsteps whispered along the corridor in the direction of the servants’ stairs. Now alone, Avery lounged on the sofa in the glorious dressing gown he’d worn the day she went to his chambers looking relaxed, at ease yet as lithe as a cat.

  She moaned softly, imagining kneeling beside him, untying the belt. Letting the robe fall open to reveal the strong column of his neck and the dark hollow at the base. The bones a sharp contrast to the smooth male skin displayed so openly.

  She leaned forward to kiss that tender spot, feeling the warmth of his skin against her lips, his cheek resting lightly on the top of her head while he stroked her back.

  Her lips cruised from his throat to his neck to the shell of his ear. He sighed with pleasure at her kisses. She stroked her hands over his chest, revelling in the heat of his skin against her palms, the rough texture of the hair, the tight little nipples beading beneath her touch, the way hers tightened now beneath her fingers.

  She pulled the dressing gown down over his arms and he helped her take it off, leaving him naked to her view. His wide chest and narrow waist and jutting erection.

  She collapsed back on to the sofa, her fingers delving into her core, stroking and circling and... A wave of gentle pleasure and heat rippled outwards, leaving her limp and panting and...disappointed.

  She dragged herself out of her trance. Emptiness filled the space behind her ribs. How foolish to have thought that, in discovering what every wife should know, she would find some contentment with her lot as a widow. Instead, she had found only greater longing and deeper despair than ever she had felt at the loss of her husband.

  His death had only left her feeling cheated and angry. This new loss made her feel sad. And alone.

  She sat up, clenching her hands in her lap. This must never happen again. She had to stop her foolish imaginings about Avery. She had her sisters-in-law to think about now. They had made a pact to support each other in their bid for independence. They had agreed none of them wanted marriage. She would not go back on her word.

  Certainly, Avery, no matter how much desire she felt for him, was not the sort of man she would ever wish to marry. He spent his life taking risks at the card tables or on the throw of a dice or—she shuddered—on the ability of a man to swallow yet another sword.

  With a man like him, a wife would spend her life expecting the bailiff at the door or, worse yet, discovering he’d died risking his life for some nonsensical wager.

  She had to do what she’d promised herself she would do and put him out of her mind.

  For ever.

  She climbed up into bed and pulled the covers up under her chin. She would not think about Avery sleeping in the bedroom next door.

  She definitely would not.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Finally, Avery was alone. He’d thought the lad assigned to assist him would never cease his chatter and go. At least Lady Marguerite had pointed out Carrie’s chamber, so Avery didn’t need to go prowling around trying to discover her whereabouts. He could have kissed the woman when she let that bit of information fall from her lips, though why she had done so, he was not exactly sure. If it was to trap him into making an offer to Carrie, she needn’t have bothered. It was the first thing on his agenda.

  And if she would not see him alone, then he was damn well going to do it with a house full of sisters and servants looking on. Because he wasn’t leaving here until she agreed to their marriage. Or until she gave him a good reason as to why she would not. He poured a glass of the brandy someone had thoughtfully left on the dressing table and swallowed it down. He shrugged into his dressing gown, pulled the belt tight and squared his shoulders.

  Now to accost the lioness in her den. Hopefully, she didn’t have her door locked.

  Having checked there was no one lurking in the corridor, he strode the few steps to Carrie’s door. The handle turned easily and the door swung back at a push. He breathed a sigh. One hurdled crossed.

  Once inside, he closed the door behind him. The air in here seemed warm and somehow sultry. Sensual enough to stir his blood. A slight whisper of air caught his attention. There. In the bed, half-hidden in shadows, propped up on her elbows. Carrie. Watching him. Yes, a lioness in her den. He could not help but recall her magnificent anger the last time they’d met when her voice came to him in a fierce whisper. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  Not the welcome he’d hoped for, certainly, but at least she wasn’t screaming or running to the bell pull to summon a servant. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I came to talk.’

  She muttered something under her breath.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ he asked, stepping further into the room.

  ‘I said, how like you to take such a risk.’

  He frowned. ‘Don’t tell me you have a pistol in your hand and were about to shoot me for a burglar.’

  ‘All righ
t, I won’t.’

  ‘Won’t what?’

  ‘Tell you—’

  ‘Never mind that. Will you give me leave to talk to you?’

  She heaved a sigh. ‘I don’t suppose you would leave were I to say no?’

  He winced. Apparently, her mood was no better than it had been at dinner. He lit a candle from the banked fire in the hearth and moved nearer the foot of the bed. She blinked at the light.

  She looked warm, deliciously flushed, almost as if... Could she have been...? A surge of hot blood made him lose focus. He reined in his lust. If she preferred to seek solace alone, that was her right.

  But dammit all...

  He stepped back. ‘I beg your pardon. I assumed this might be a good way to catch you alone, since your sisters-in-law made it impossible downstairs. Perhaps you will grant me an audience tomorrow?’

  She grimaced. ‘Not like you to be so formal, my lord. Now you are here, I suppose it is as good a time as any other.’

  She swept a glance over him. ‘I hope Jeb made a satisfactory valet?’

  Off balance at the change in topic, he glanced around for somewhere to sit. There was a chair beside the window, but it was a little far away. He opted for perching on the end of the bed. ‘Jeb was most attentive.’

  She glared. ‘Give me that candle, before you drip wax all over the counterpane or set the bed curtains afire.’

  He handed it over and she put it in the candlestick on the bedside table.

  Now he could see her properly. Her hair neatly plaited and laying over one shoulder. Her plain cotton nightgown buttoned up to her chin. Her eyes wide and unfathomable.

  Clearly aware of his assessing gaze, she folded her arms across her chest and shot him a glower of what looked like resentment, but not before he noticed that her nipples had tightened and pressed against her nightgown in a most interesting way.

  ‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked.