Edward pouted. He had shouted her name, which was likely the height of rudeness. His chance at making a good impression was gone.
“Would you care to dance with me, Miss Abrahms?” asked Lord Covington. He confidently held out his arm, as if certain she would accept.
“I would love to, my lord. Thank you for asking!” When Jane took his proffered arm, Covington led her out to the dance floor. Her other suitors were left behind, sulking, wishing they had been the one to ask her first.
“She's like Aphrodite come to life,” one of her neglected suitors sighed. He and Edward exchanged glances, so Edward gave him a nod of agreement. “Our very own sea foam goddess.”
“And she deserves a better man than Lord Covington!” Mr. Beaumont complained. “The man is a rake!”
With a snort, another man asked, “Aren't you old enough to be her father, Beaumont?”
“No! I am five and thirty! In what world could I possibly be her father, you dastard?!”
Since he had no interest in communing with Jane's other beaux, Edward shuffled a few inches away from them. If their argument was going to get heated, he wanted no part of it. He held his tongue and waited for Jane's return.
When he found her on the dance floor, Edward's eyes swelled. As graceful as she was, she was like the personification of a swan. Every movement of her arms was fluid, as if they were feathers drifting on the air. Her gown swayed around her ankles like a billow in the breeze. He watched her as long as he could, until she disappeared behind a wall of dancers, and he silently lamented the fact that he could no longer see her.
Her absence felt like an eternity. When she finally returned, six gentlemen perked up in an instant.
“You dance so well, Miss Abrahms!” one of her suitors chimed.
“Thank you, Mr. Stevens.”
Though their dance had ended, Lord Covington hovered by her side, as if continuing his claim on her. Edward caught him burying his nose in Jane's hair, inhaling her.
“You put all other ladies to shame!” Mr. Beaumont exclaimed. “There isn't a woman in London who does not pale in comparison to you!”
Jane swatted his arm with her fan, a decidedly flirtatious maneuver. “That's doing it a bit too brown, Mr. Beaumont... but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless.”
Say something! Edward's conscious was begging him. Compliment her!
“M-m-m-miss Abrahms?” The fact that he sputtered her name without shouting at her was a small miracle.
When she turned her eyes on him, he could feel a lump forming in his throat. “Yes, Mr. Harcourt?”
“You l-l-l-l-ook lovely,” Edward stammered. “You have l-lovely h-hair.”
Behind her, Edward saw one of her suitors snickering at his stutter.
“Thank you, Mr. Harcourt.”
“W-w-w-would you...” Edward swallowed hard and tried again. He had to invest every ounce of concentration into every word he said. “Would you like to d-dance with me?”
“I...” When his question was initially met with hesitation, Edward had to frown. If she accepted, it would surely be out of obligation. “Certainly, Mr. Harcourt. How about the next quadrille?”
“O-of course!” Edward seized her arm from Lord Covington, who flashed a threatening scowl. As they lined up for the next set, Edward's poor heart was beating out of his chest. It was his first time dancing with her, and nothing in his life made his pulse race quite as headily as this.
Unfortunately, he was so nervous he could hardly concentrate on the steps of the dance, which meant he ended up making a cake of himself. He sauntered across the dance floor like something undead, like his feet were made of lead. And it was a good thing his feet weren't made of lead, because he tread on Miss Abrahms' feet. Three times.
When the steps of the dance brought them in close proximity, he tried to converse with her. But every time he opened his mouth, he couldn't bring himself to speak.
When the dance was over, Edward sputtered, “S-sorry about your f-f-feet, Miss Abrahms.”
“It is quite alright, Mr. Harcourt,” Jane said. “Now... if you'll excuse me...”
Jane Abrahms couldn't get away fast enough. She ran back to her other suitors as quickly as she could, and she didn't look back.
Chapter Three
Wilomena Worthington was lying naked in his bed, which meant he had to be the luckiest man in the world. Her hair, the color of a raven's wing, was fanned across his pillow. Every inch of her milky white skin was exposed for his perusal. He studied the exquisite curve of her breast, which was topped by a rosy pink nipple. Everything about the moment was perfect, until she had to ask--
“So, Philip, are you going to marry me or what?”
The widow's question caught him off guard. His jaw hung open for several seconds, dislodged by the ridiculous notion. “Um... what?!”
His gobsmacked reaction made her dissolve into a fit of giggles. Willow lifted her pillow and swatted him on the head so hard, a few feathers scattered. “I'm not serious!”
“You're not?”
“No! Of course not!” Willow rolled in his direction and started trickling her fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “I knew what I was getting into when I decided to live with you in sin.”
The last word of her sentence was so prominently pronounced, it actually made him wince. “It isn't a sin to be in love.”
“Aww,” Willow cooed. “Are you in love with me?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, as touched as I am, you will have to forgive me if I don't exactly return those sentiments.” When she saw him grimacing, she added, “That's not to say I don't care for you tremendously. If I didn't, I wouldn't be sharing your bed. But I would be a fool if I did not keep my heart guarded. It isn't as if you'll ever marry me.”
“Marriage again!” Philip groaned. “You've uttered that word two times in the last two minutes. Are you secretly hoping to catch me in parson's mousetrap, minx?”
“No.” Her answer was resolute. “Rest assured, I have no designs on your freedom, nor do I have any intention of remarrying. Ever. Besides, I know what sort of girl you must marry. She will be about eighteen, and as pure as a Christmas snow.”
“Please, let us change the subject! At the moment, I have no desire to marry anyone, chaste or unchaste.”
“I am certainly unchaste,” she added with a grin.
“Furthermore,” he went on, “I may be nearing thirty, but I still have a few wild oats to sow.”
“And you are more than welcome to sow them with me.” Willow rolled on top of him, blanketing him with her naked body. She kissed his shoulder, his neck, his nose. She ran her tongue along his earlobe in a way that was most seductive. As soon as she felt his arousal, Willow leapt from the bed and dashed across the room.
“Get back here, you tease!”
“Not a chance.” Willow found his beaver hat on a chair, so she placed it on her head. She strutted around the room, as naked as ever, and modeled the hat for him. She kept one hand on her hip, and the other hand on the hat's brim. “Do you like it?”
“I most certainly do. My hat makes you look quite handsome!”
“Handsome?!” Willow stopped strutting and whipped the hat from her head. “No woman wants to be handsome! Beautiful and pretty and fetching, certainly... but not handsome!”
“Your brows are quite thick, and your bone structure is slightly... masculine,” he observed. “I think handsome is an accurate description.”
“Grrr!” Willow tossed the hat at him and went to collect her clothes. “You are terrible, Lord Mowbray! You really know how to charm a woman, do you not? Your compliments are practically melting my heart!”
As he watched her shove her legs through her petticoat, Philip grinned. “I am only teasing you, dear. You know you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman. But you left me so painfully aroused, I had to get revenge on you somehow.”
“So I'm not... masculine?”
“No!” he laughed. “Not
in the least! You are as womanly as a woman could possibly be.” Philip held open his arms, beckoning her back to him. “Come to me.”
She shook her head.
“Please,” he insisted. “I want to hold you. I need you in my arms.”
He sounded so sincere, Willow had no choice but to leap on top of him and cover his face in kisses. She was wearing her undergarments now, but that didn't stop his hands from roving over every inch of her. Philip deftly caressed every curve of her body, which had her moaning against his lips.
Willow lifted her head and asked, “Did you really mean it when you said you loved me?”
“I did!” he insisted. “I do! I love you!”
“Liar!” she accused him. “It is infatuation, perhaps, but you couldn't possibly love me!”
“But you're so very easy to love.”
Philip started removing her clothes once again, but before he could get very far, there was a knock on the door. Philip, who had his fingers tangled in the strings of her bodice, erupted with a massive groan.
“Who is it?!” he called out.
“Wilkes, my lord,” the butler shouted at him through the door. “You have a visitor.”
“Damn...” Philip hissed, for Willow's ears only. “Damn, damn, damn.” He dislodged his fingers, rolled out of bed, and collected his clothing, which prompted Willow to follow suit.
“Are you expecting someone?” she whispered to her lover.
“Yes. A friend of mine.” Philip turned his gaze to the door and exclaimed, “Wilkes, are you still there?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Please show Ed to one of the sitting rooms. I will be down there shortly!” As he shouted to the butler, he haphazardly attempted to tie his cravat.
“Ed? Who is Ed?”
“Edward Harcourt. To be honest, I'm not even sure why we're friends, seeing as we have nothing in common,” Philip said with a sigh.
“Will I get to meet him?”
“You want to meet him!?” Philip shoved his feet into a pair of boots and checked his appearance in the looking glass. His hair was a mess, so he made an attempt to tidy it. “Are you certain of that? If he sees you here, he will know you are my mistress.”
“And you think I should have a problem with that?” When she had donned her gown, she went to Philip's side and took his arm. “Do I seem like the sort of woman who would fret about my reputation?”
“Come to think of it... no.”
“Then let us meet with Ed. Together.”
* * *
When Edward saw his friend enter the sitting room with a woman on his arm, his eyebrows shot to his forehead.
“Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-who...?”
Philip started chuckling when he heard his friend stutter. He lowered himself to the settee and patted his lap, so Willow sat on his knee. “I should have warned you about Ed, dear. His tongue has a tendency to butcher every word that comes out of his mouth.”
“You mean he has a stammer?” Willow asked, conversing about the other man as if he wasn't sitting across from them.
“Indeed. And a dreadful one at that.” So his friend wouldn't get offended, Philip met Edward's gaze and flashed a smile. “But I mean no offense, my young friend.”
“N-n-none taken.”
“Actually, I think it can be quite endearing!” Philip continued. “What do you think, minx? Do you think it is endearing?”
For the first time, Willow locked eyes with Edward. She soaked in his appearance, though it was hardly worthy of note. He was dressed rather simply, in scuffed boots and a faded brown greatcoat. He had long, awkward legs and strange, duck-like lips. When he was in the same room as Philip, it was like comparing an ugly duckling to a swan.
“Well...” Willow finally spoke, “I think a stammer would probably denote shyness, and shyness is always an endearing quality in a man.” She smiled at the boy sitting across from her—and a boy he most certainly was! He looked all of nineteen or twenty.
“I am shy,” Edward confessed, speaking clearly for once. Of course, his tongue's clarity didn't last. “S-so, Phil, who is the lady?”
“This is Ms. Wilomena Worthington.” As he introduced her, Philip ran a hand through her hair, which was spilling over her shoulders. Her wild hair, which was hardly suitable for the company of gentlemen, was a bit scandalous. “She is a widow... and she is my mistress.”
“I gathered as much,” Edward said. He watched her toss her hair over her shoulder, which put her low-cut gown on display. The sight of the beautiful woman's decolletage was guaranteed to make him stutter for the rest of the night. “I-I'm E-Edward Harcourt,” he introduced himself. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Worthington.”
“Please, call me Willow.”
Edward shook his head. “I'm not sure that would be p-proper.”
“Well, we're hardly in a situation that demands propriety, Edward,” Willow said, his given name rolling off her tongue like it was second nature. “Should I call you Edward or Ed?”
“E-E...” He squinted his eyes as he tried to overcome his stutter. “Edward would be fine. Or Mr. Harcourt.”
Willow tilted her head as she observed their visitor, which meant her neck was completely exposed to Philip's kisses. When his mouth landed on her shoulder, she gave his head a gentle push. “Not now! Now while Edward is here!” she chided him.
“Aww... and why not?” Philip whined. “Edward is a big boy. I'm sure he doesn't mind if I kiss you.”
Edward started eyeing the door. He was starting to feel like an invader, intruding on their private moment. But it wasn't as if his visit was unexpected. Philip had invited him last week—which was, apparently, prior to the arrival of Wilomena Worthington.
“A big boy...” Wilomena repeated with a chuckle. “And just how old is your friend? He looks quite young.”
“He is quite young,” Philip agreed. “How old are you, Ed? Four and twenty?”
When she saw the younger man nod, Willow's eyes widened. “Oh, really? I actually thought you were a bit younger than that. You're nearly the same age as me!”
“I do look p-perpetually youthful,” Edward agreed, frowning. When he saw Philip nibbling on the widow's neck, he rose from his chair and asked, “Should I excuse myself?”
“No... of course not!” Philip exclaimed. “If you stay, I promise I won't be so amorous with the lady... although, I must admit, she is very difficult to resist.”
“She is v-very pr-pretty. You're a very lucky man.”
Edward's compliment broadened her smile. His stutter, his pitiful eyes, his sweet voice—everything about his timidly delivered compliment was completely and utterly adorable.
“She's the lucky one,” Philip countered, which had his lady love swatting him on the shoulder. “Now, Ed, will you be staying for supper?”
“I... don't know.”
“Yes, you must stay. I will not take no for an answer.” As he spoke, Philip coiled an arm around Willow's waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. “If you don't stay, I won't have anyone to tease. And let's face it, Ed.” Philip flashed a dimpled smile. “You are so very fun to tease.”
Chapter Four
“Have you seen Miss Abrahms recently?”
The cooks delivered the first course, a thick stew. Edward tried to ignore his friend's question; he just stared into the broth.
“Uh... Miss Abrahms?”
“You aren't fooling me with your mock oblivion,” Philip said with a chuckle. “There is only one Miss Abrahms who matters in your world.”
“Sh-she...” Edward's voice trailed off for a moment. His eyes were drawn to Wilomena, who was blowing on a spoonful of soup in an attempt to cool it. “I saw her two days ago. At a ball.”
“Oh? And did you have any success?” Philip asked. “Have you swept her off her feet? Are you giving her a proper wooing?” Grinning, he glanced at Willow, but she looked lost.
“W-we... spoke,” Edward said. “We danced, and I tr-tread all over her feet.”
>
“Ouch. The poor girl.” Philip shoved a heaping spoonful of potato and beef into his mouth.
“And, a-as you know, I cannot string together a simple thought. Whatever you m-might think, m-my stutter is hardly en-endearing. I'm sure it does nothing to impress Miss Abrahms.”
“Who is Miss Abrahms?” Willow asked, though her entry into the conversation was a bit delayed.
“She is the Guinevere to Ed's Arthur, the Isolde to his Tristan,” Philip said.
“The Romeo to his Juliet?” Willow added with a smile. “Well, let us hope that is not the case, as they both ended up dead by the end of the play.”
Philip leaned toward the widow and kissed her on the nose, which made Edward avert his gaze.
“Miss Abrahms, as it happens, is an incomparable,” Philip explained, turning his attention back to his food. “And our boy Ed has set his cap on her.”
“I have n-no chance with her whatsoever. I am completely aware of that unf-fortunate fact,” Edward said.
“Aww! And why would you say that, Mr. Harcourt?” Willow objected. “You seem like a nice young man. You have a pleasant disposition and a friendly face.”
“She will not choose me over her horde of suitors because I have a fr-friendly face.”
“And you have lovely green eyes,” Willow added, which earned her a disapproving stare from the earl at her side. “They're very piercing. It's like they see right to your soul.”
When their eyes met, Edward flashed a smirk at Willow. “R-really?”
“Yes. You have very alluring eyes. In fact, it was the first thing I noticed.”
“Apart from the stutter?” Philip asked with a chuckle.
Willow ignored Philip's remark and continued. “They're very pale... pale green eyes. I've never seen anything quite like them.”
The Wanton Widow - A Regency Novella Page 2
