A Lord for the Wallflower Widow

by Ann Lethbridge

‘Us.’

  Her gaze slid away. ‘There is no us. Our personal arrangement is at an end.’

  Was he really going cast his pride aside to profess his love like some callow youth or would he be better off appealing to her practical side and work on gaining her trust?

  The latter might be more successful, since there was nothing to suggest she held him in any great esteem and certainly there was nothing to suggest her heart was involved.

  That was something he would work on. If she would allow it.

  ‘Why not extend our arrangement? It was profitable for us both.’ He grinned. ‘On more than one front.’

  She clearly caught his meaning because her frown deepened. ‘Westram wouldn’t like it. He has made that very clear.’

  ‘He made it clear, he expected a wedding. Perhaps a betrothal would satisfy him for the nonce.’

  She looked unimpressed. ‘I had no intention of marrying and nor did you until Westram arrived on the scene.’

  ‘I have missed you.’ Hell, where had that come from? She’d been gone barely a week, but the subtle change in her expression told him this might a better tangent. He recalled his first impressions when he stepped into the room and—‘I think you have been missing me, too.’

  She dropped her gaze to the counterpane and picked at a non-existent thread. ‘Nonsense. Why would you think so?’

  He leant forward and tilted her chin with one finger. ‘Haven’t you?’

  Slowly she raised her gaze to meet his. No coward, this woman. It was what had impressed him from the very first, the way she squared up to him.

  ‘I’ve missed some things about our liaison,’ she admitted bravely.

  He couldn’t stop himself. He kissed those luscious lips and, after a small resistance, a slight stiffening of her body, she made a low groan in her throat and kissed him back, pulling his head down with feverish gasps and moans that had him hard in an instant.

  He flung the covers back and shrugged off his dressing gown, aware of her greedy gaze on his already responding erection. A feral triumph filled him at the heat in her gaze and the evidence of her arousal, the flush of her cheeks, the hardened peaks of her breasts lifting the soft cotton of her gown.

  A growl rumbled up from his throat and in seconds he had the nightdress over her head and flung aside so he could feast his gaze on his sensual Amazon lover.

  She opened her arms to him with a smile so seductive and welcoming a breath caught in his throat. Unable to resist the invitation, he fell upon her like a ravening beast.

  Apparently, he had not merely missed her, he had been starving for her, for this. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and he slid into her slick heat in a dizzying rush. Ready. She was so damned ready.

  His mind darkened. His lips found her full ripe breasts and he latched on, suckling as her bucking hips urged him to drive home deeper and harder.

  Her cries of pleasure were sweet music to his ears and her urgent desire for his body sent a hammer beat of blood through his veins.

  For a brief moment, he tried to pull back, to slow things down, but her sheath was so tight around his shaft, and the feel of her hands wandering his skin so very urgent, that he followed her lead, drove into her in time with the upward thrust of her hips and, when he felt her come apart, only a long-honed instinct for self-preservation had him withdrawing at the last moment before he followed her into bliss.

  He wasn’t exactly sure how he managed it. Likely because he’d been more ready for the onslaught that had completely ambushed him last time.

  Thrills rocked him, drained him and lasted for ever, yet was over far too soon. He rolled clear and cleaned off her belly with a corner of the sheet. Replete and overwhelmed by the power of the orgasm that had ripped through his body, he basked in the warm haze of satisfaction. Never had he been so shattered.

  Or felt so good.

  He pulled her close, nuzzling her ear, stroking whatever part of her he could reach. ‘Lovely,’ he murmured. ‘You are lovely.’ Warm darkness enveloped him as he heard her sigh.

  ‘Oh, Avery.’

  With her firmly entwined in his arms, positive she could not leave him before he had a chance to have his say, he let himself drift.

  * * *

  A slight shift of Carrie’s arm drew a sleepy sound of protest from Avery. He tightened his grip. She abandoned the thought of getting up and tried to process what had just happened.

  Whatever it was, it was her fault. She had no doubt if she had told him to leave he would have done so. Instead, when he had slipped through her door, all she could think of was that she had not worn her pretty nightgown.

  What on earth was the matter with her? Did she have no sense when it came to men? First, she married a totally unsuitable man because her father had wanted it so badly. Only to discover Jonathan had only married her to pay off his debts and to have him reject her as a person. Now she was considering marriage to one who had the power break her heart. One, for that matter, who seemed in no hurry to leave her bed. Good lord, what would the maid say if she found them? Or, worse yet, what would her sisters-in-law think.

  Well, they wouldn’t mind the bed part, that had been agreed to, but the fact that she was so very tempted to let him convince her to marry him, that was a whole other story. She could not be married after she had sworn to stand by them through thick and thin. She certainly could not marry a man who—

  Dash it. Why did he have to be a gambler?

  Her heart sank. If she was honest with herself, that was the real reason she had rejected his offer. The only reason. Because her sisters-in-law would understand. And even him being forced up to the mark wasn’t an impediment. Because even if he didn’t love her the way she loved him, they liked each other and it was possible that it could grow into something stronger.

  No, it was the gambling, the recklessness of it that held her back.

  Yet the thought of not accepting his offer and imagining him going off and finding another lady on whom to lavish his affections had her heart in a permanent spasm.

  ‘What is going on in that head of yours?’ Avery yawned. ‘I can hear the wheels turning.’

  For a moment, she considered blurting out her fears. How he would laugh. After all, everyone gambled. It was de rigueur. Only the merchant class frowned upon wagering.

  She turned on her side to face him. ‘You said you came to talk.’

  ‘I did, chérie. Somehow I got sidetracked.’

  He flashed her a wicked grin and her insides tightened. Oh, he really was a naughty man. Not at all the sort of man her far more serious nature needed. ‘I hope you are not here to try to convince me to marry you.’

  ‘I am here to explain why it would be a good idea.’ He kissed the tip of her nose and brushed a strand of hair back from her face.

  At least he wasn’t spouting poetry and other such nonsense. But oh, she could understand why women fell for his charm.

  ‘If you must say your piece, I will listen, but do not expect me to change my mind.’

  He gave her a look of admonishment. ‘Please do me the courtesy of hearing me out before you decide.’

  She pressed her lips together, determined not to let him charm her into doing something she would most certainly live to regret.

  ‘Think about it, Carrie. If you were married to me, you could continue operating your shop and your sisters-in-law could continue selling their wonderful hats and Westram could say nothing about it.’

  She thanked heaven she and the others had already had this conversation. ‘They will not go against Westram’s edict. The millinery business is not an option. So we are right back where we started.’

  ‘Surely Westram wouldn’t object to a hands-off approach? Provided your names are not known, what could possibly be his objection?’

  The dear man, he really wanted to help. She placed a
hand flat on his cheek. ‘He is adamant.’

  ‘So how does he expect his sisters to maintain themselves?’

  ‘He doesn’t. He wants them to marry again.’

  ‘Understandable.’

  ‘Is it?’ A little flash of disappointment took her by surprise. Why would she have thought he was different to any other male of the species, thinking that all women needed a man to rely on.

  He gave her enquiring look.

  ‘The reason we came here was that none of us wanted to marry again. We wanted our independence.’

  He frowned. ‘Then why did you ask me to be your lover?’

  ‘You know why. I was curious about something that had been denied me. Besides, the three of us had agreed that being widows meant that we were free to enjoy lovers if we so wished.’

  ‘Lovers.’ His tone was heavy.

  ‘Surely you are not judging me when you flit from one lady to another on a whim.’

  He had the grace to look chagrined.

  ‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘I have no intention of taking any other lovers.’ She could not even think about it, not when there would only ever be one man she loved.

  He rose up on one elbow, looking down into her face, his gaze searching her face intently. ‘Am I to understand from that admission that you do care for me? At least a little.’

  ‘Of course I care for you,’ she almost snapped at him. ‘You don’t think I would do this...’ she waved a hand to encompass them, the bed, the room at large ‘...if I did not care for you.’

  He lay back down. ‘Good. Very good.’

  She frowned, but he seemed to be thinking and it was a long pause before he spoke again.

  ‘So now you can no longer gain income through the shop, apart from selling it to me, how do you plan to support yourselves on an ongoing basis?’

  ‘We haven’t come up with a solution yet.’ She sighed. ‘And if we do not solve the problem, Westram will solve it for us.’

  ‘By marrying you off.’

  ‘Yes. And that is not an option.’

  He did not seem disturbed by her vehemence. Indeed, he seemed almost pleased.

  ‘Then why not pre-empt the fellow and marry me? We get along well. We like each other. And to be brutally honest, I have never enjoyed a lover the way I enjoy you.’

  A marriage of convenience in other words. ‘You plan to support a wife on your earnings from gambling when you do not make enough to afford decent lodgings?’ She didn’t mean to sound scornful, but she could not keep her feelings out of her voice. ‘I have nothing to bring to such a marriage. I am honour bound to continue to pay my portion into this household. Without my contribution, they would have no choice but to return to Westram. We worked it all out very carefully. I cannot do that to them.’

  He stiffened. ‘If I can support my sister, I cannot see why I cannot support a wife and her sisters-in-law.’

  ‘You support your sister?’

  ‘I did until recently. Very handsomely, too, I might add. Thankfully, her husband can take up the reins now that his clientele has picked up.’

  ‘You supported her with your winnings at the tables?’

  ‘That and... Well I have given up my other source of income.’

  ‘Your special ladies.’

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t all that profitable and I only started it to help out an old friend. It added a bit to the coffers, but I won’t miss it.’

  The man was nothing if he was not resourceful, but... ‘I cannot see myself relying for room and board on the results of a game of vingt-et-un.’

  ‘Pooh. That is a game for novices. I don’t play games of luck. I play whist. It is a game of skill and I rarely lose.’

  ‘But it also has an element of chance. You must lose sometimes.’

  ‘Of course.’ He sat up, forearms resting on his bent knees. She ran a hand over his lovely naked back. How would it be to have this lovely man in her bed all the time? As her husband. Oh, she wanted to say yes so badly it hurt.

  A hot hard lump rose in her throat. ‘I can’t do it.’ She hated how weak she sounded. She swallowed, hating the burn behind her eyes. ‘I cannot marry a man who risks everything on the turn of a card. My first husband spent all my money paying off gambling debts and then he died because of some stupid wager and I cannot live day to day wondering if you might do the same.’ She sniffed.

  He was looking at her over his shoulder, his eyes grave, his lips unsmiling. He said nothing.

  ‘There. Now you have it. The truth. I am a coward. Please do not ask me. I am sorry.’ She buried her face in her hands. ‘You must think me such a plebeian to concern myself with such things.’

  ‘I did not know that about your husband.’ His voice sounded cold. Remote. ‘I knew he went off to war and got himself killed, but I did not know it was because of a wager.’

  ‘Hardly anyone knows and Westram asked us not to speak of it. No one actually seems to know the full details, but what is undeniable is that all the money from my settlements was used to pay Jonathan’s gaming debts. They were huge. Westram was nearly ruined keeping us out of debtors’ prison. The day after our marriage Jonathan made some sort of stupid wager, I presume to recoup his losses, and went off to war and got himself killed, along with his two best friends. No doubt he lost the bet into the bargain. How can I place my future in the hands of another man who lives by taking those sort of risks?’

  He stared at her. ‘You think he got himself killed because he didn’t want to be married to you or because he lost the bet?’

  She flinched. Pain twisted in her heart. ‘Probably both. What am I to think when...when he did not even come to my bed before he left?’

  His mouth became a thin straight line. ‘I beg your pardon for asking you to take such an unwarranted chance on marriage to me.’ He got up and threw on his dressing gown in silence. ‘I fully understand your reticence and can quite see why you think we might not suit.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘You cannot be sorrier than I.’ He bowed.

  Only Avery could bow while wearing a dressing gown and make it look like the most elegant movement in the world.

  She was still warmed by the thought when he left the room and closed the door behind him.

  Then, cold, alone and lonely, she let her tears run free until she was too exhausted to remain awake.

  In the morning, she learned he had left at first light.

  * * *

  It had taken Avery two days to get an appointment to see his father. Finally he knew exactly what he had to do to ensure Carrie’s happiness. Heavens, her first husband had been an absolute bastard. Now he understood some of the things that had puzzled him about Carrie. Her withdrawals. Her frowns. They’d all occurred when the subject of gambling had come up.

  And no wonder.

  He’d sent Westram a note rescheduling their meeting. Westram’s reply had been stiff, bordering on insulting, but Avery had swallowed his pride.

  Westram was simply doing his duty, protecting the women of his family, no matter how much the idea stuck in Avery’s throat that the other man had the right to protect Carrie while he did not.

  Pride swallowing was the order of the day, apparently, for he was now in the company of a man he’d sworn he would never again have anything to do with.

  Shadows lurked in the corners of the room, because the curtains were drawn against evening drawing in. The chamber smelled like old dust and old man. With his brother standing at his shoulder in a show of support, Avery tried not to stare at the father he’d not seen for five years. To his dismay, the Duke had shrunk in on himself in the intervening years, grown older, his dark hair completely white now. He hunched into a shawl someone had placed around his shoulders as if he felt cold, despite the heat from a blazing fire. Yet the old man still had the same piecing glare
that had always made a youthful Avery feel like an insect under a microscope.

  ‘So, finally, you decided to do your filial duty,’ the old man grumbled, sipping at his glass of port. He groaned and shifted the bandaged foot propped on a padded stool.

  Avery gritted his teeth, both in sympathy at the old man’s obvious pain and annoyance at the truculent tone. Ah well. He’d sworn to Bart he would not let the old fellow get under his skin. ‘I came to tell you to stop interfering in my business.’ Damn, he’d meant to approach this a little more tactfully.

  ‘Hah,’ the old man said, rolling the stem between gnarled fingers and watching the way the light played on the ruby liquid. ‘Why would I bother?’

  ‘You bothered before, remember.’

  The old man shot him a glare from beneath white bushy eyebrows. ‘I was right, wasn’t I?’

  Avery hesitated. If his fathered hadn’t interfered, he would have been married these past five years. To a woman only interested in his money whom he’d barely given a thought to in a very long time. And he would never have met Carrie. But that was beside the point.

  ‘I know it was you who went to Westram. Telling tales.’

  The Duke glanced at Bart and back to him. ‘You should know better than to lift the skirts of one of the nobility. Even if she is widow.’ He glowered at his port. ‘I hear she’s a cit, to boot.’ There was a slyness in his gaze when he lifted it to meet Avery’s glance.

  Damn him. ‘You will speak of the woman I intend to marry with respect.’

  His brother moved to his father’s side. Took the glass of port from his shaky hand and set it on the table.

  ‘Why would you marry the girl?’ the Duke asked. ‘Seems you are getting what you want without it?’

  ‘I am marrying her because that is what she deserves. And I do not care what you have to say about it, quite honestly.’

  ‘And how do you plan to support a wife? She happy about your philandering with every married woman in town? Likes the idea of being married to a man who spends his nights in London’s hells, does she?’

  ‘I will support her by way of my birthright.’ Hell, this was coming out all wrong.