The Widow's Scandalous Affair

by Lucy Ashford

  She faced him squarely. ‘But my blackmailer has been paid off. I only wish I could deal with you in the same way.’

  Lefevre actually laughed. ‘You still don’t like my suggestion that you place yourself under my protection? In a very...amicable sort of way?’

  ‘I don’t see the necessity of lowering myself to such an extent, Monsieur Lefevre!’

  By way of reply, Lefevre pointed back the way she had come. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree,’ he said, ‘that we’ll have more privacy to exchange insults in my curricle than we do here. Though we actually make quite a fine pair, don’t we? Your friends certainly seem to think so.’

  Serena’s gaze jerked towards where he was pointing. Oh, no. At one of Joanna’s top-floor windows, she could glimpse three faces peering down at her. And no doubt their eyes were wide with fascination.

  Lefevre indicated his waiting curricle and extended his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘You can go to perdition, Monsieur le Marquis!’

  ‘Perhaps. But I’m afraid it really looks as if you shall have to come to perdition with me. You loved your husband very much. Is that correct?’

  ‘Of course! Of course I did!’

  ‘Well, then. This is the difficulty. You see, I need to talk to you about the rather sordid subject of your late husband’s reputation...as a war hero.’

  So he knew. Oh, God, he knew why Mort was blackmailing her. Feeling as though she’d been trapped into an assignation with the devil himself, she allowed him to help her up on to the passenger seat. Rather dizzily she heard him instruct Jacques to take up his place on the running board at the back, then Lefevre settled himself beside her and gathered the reins. And all the while her hand burned from where he had touched her. Ma chère, he’d called her in front of Silas Mort. My dear.

  ‘Monsieur Lefevre,’ she began as the carriage moved off, ‘I admit I was more than foolish to be in Covent Garden last night. I realise I had put myself in danger and I’m grateful that you rescued me. But please, can this be the end of the matter?’

  She saw his lip curl. ‘I’d love to oblige. But there is another problem. You see, the rumours are running wild that you and I are having a secret affair.’

  ‘No.’ She was panicking again. ‘You must silence them!’

  His gaze locked with hers. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because you took advantage of me!’

  ‘Did I?’ he said softly. ‘Did I really? I think you forget, Lady Serena, that you made no effort at all to resist my embrace. In fact, you settled into it rather nicely, I felt, on recollection of the moment.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘A recollection that I, personally, shall treasure.’

  With a hiss of shock she glanced down at the road, contemplating flight; but his steely voice pinned her to her seat. ‘Jumping from a moving vehicle isn’t the answer, Lady Serena. No—what we have to do from henceforth is to show the world we’ve resolved our differences and are currently enjoying a most pleasant liaison.’

  She closed her eyes. Opened them and said, ‘Dear God. You’re joking.’

  His gaze never left the road ahead. She couldn’t help but notice that he drove with meticulous skill. ‘Actually, I’m not,’ he said. ‘Think about it for a moment. Such a tactic will protect you from further blackmail, since Silas Mort will not come near you while I’m around, nor will he dare to mention the truth about your husband’s death. In addition, our apparent fondness for one another from now on will mean that our kiss last night will be fully explained.’

  ‘Never! I will be a laughing stock!’

  He glanced at her. ‘Really? On the contrary, many people will be charmed by your apparent appreciation of my finer qualities.’

  ‘Of your finer...’ She was shaking her head, almost laughing—because otherwise she would be weeping. ‘Believe me, I don’t need to waste one moment dwelling on your proposal, which can only be a jest. My answer is no. A thousand times, no!’

  ‘Oh?’ he said with polite disbelief. ‘You have other options?’

  At this particular moment, no, she thought bleakly. And then—then, she was turning to face him, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as his fine bays trotted onwards. ‘Monsieur Lefevre, this I cannot believe. You said earlier that we needed to hold a private conversation. Do you call this a situation of privacy, when we’re about to enter Hyde Park at this hour of the afternoon? Do you realise that half the people I know will be here?’

  ‘Half the people I know, too,’ he said cheerfully. ‘A popular spot, isn’t it?’

  Serena stared straight ahead. He would know they’d be seen. He would also guess that the topic of that kiss would be resurrected by all who spotted them and they would be the subject of fresh and salacious gossip.

  He could not have dreamed up a better way to humiliate her if he’d worked on it all night. Dear Lord, he probably had.

  Foolishly, she risked a further glance at Lefevre himself. If she’d been hoping to spot any sign of weakness, she was disappointed. Instead she was reminded of how one of his foolish female admirers had declared he could surely tempt any woman he chose into sin and Serena had laughed dismissively at the time, but now the comment suddenly didn’t seem quite so funny. He was distractingly, devilishly male—and unfortunately he had the arrogance to match his looks. She’d always told herself she was repelled by men like him, yet in his arms last night she’d felt safe. She’d also felt warm and melting and needful in a way she’d never, ever experienced—and that was the most frightening thing of all.

  He was so calm. So confident. And now, watching him control that pair of lively bay mares with the surest touch of any man she’d ever seen, she suddenly imagined his hands on her, just as they had been last night. That strange ache started low in her stomach again...

  No. You must not think like that.

  But memories of yesterday evening’s encounter in Covent Garden kept flooding her mind and body. Memories of that look he’d given her, with his silver-grey eyes almost black in their intensity, his hard face at first forbidding in the ghostly glow of the street lamps, yet somehow so alluring that she’d wanted to reach out and touch his angular cheekbones, his faintly stubbled jaw, his lips...

  For Heaven’s sake! Serena realised that for a moment she’d stopped breathing and her pulse was thudding unevenly. Yes, he was dangerous, to her senses and her sanity. She’d known it since that ball months ago, when he’d asked her to dance for a wager; no doubt he’d also counted on being able to boast to his friends that he’d had one of the Wicked Widows eating out of his hand. And she’d been so ridiculously hurt, because just for a moment she had imagined he might be the hero she’d once dreamed of, in the days when she’d believed fairy tales could come true.

  After that she’d hated him, of course. But how could she shut him out of her life, when he had such power over her? Already they were well inside the Park and men on horseback and ladies in open carriages were turning to stare. Serena could almost hear the sound of jaws dropping. As for Lefevre, the damnable man was at this moment being greeted by a baronet and his wife who were driving by in a barouche.

  ‘Good day to you, monseigneur!’ the man called eagerly. ‘Good day, Lady Serena. It’s a fine day for a drive, is it not?’

  Oh, how their eyes devoured her. She wanted to jump off this carriage and run, but instead she silently repeated Mary’s advice. Serena, you really must show the Marquis that you’re in charge.

  In charge. Right. The words echoed hollowly, as useless as a challenge to an empty room. She suddenly realised Lefevre was speaking to her again.

  ‘The Park,’ he was saying in a leisurely fashion, ‘is surely at its best on an afternoon like this. Don’t you agree, Lady Serena? How splendid it all is. The trees coming into full leaf, the birds singing, the finest of London’s fashionables out enjoying the air...’

  ‘Stop it!’ she hissed. ‘W
hatever game you’re playing, stop it, damn you!’

  He turned to her with a look almost of wounded innocence, but behind it lurked something much darker. ‘I’m living,’ he said, ‘up to public expectation. Since last night people have formed definite opinions about the two of us. And I fear your situation might only become worse if we denied them their enjoyment, Lady Serena.’

  The way he said her name, letting it curl around his mouth. The way he just...looked at her. She felt hot and confused and afraid—yes, afraid, even here with the birds trilling their joyful songs and smiling people all around. Indeed, everyone appeared to be smiling except her.

  He was right, of course. The linking of his name with hers would be the talk of every fashionable drawing room in London. She could imagine the shocked yet delighted voices even now. ‘Have you heard how our French Marquis has made a conquest of Lady Serena Willoughby of all people? Amazing! That he should win over the very woman who is so well known for her scorn of men like him!’

  She said calmly, ‘You would hate for people to be disappointed? Then I have news for you. They’re going to be extremely disappointed, because you are not going to bend me to your will.’

  ‘But we were observed in an embrace, remember?’ His voice was equally level. ‘To fashionable society, that means a great deal. You are also being blackmailed over your late husband’s alleged cowardice, a fact you must be desperate to conceal. Unless you have positive proof that the allegation is a lie?’

  Her silence spoke for her, she knew. The anguish gathered in her throat, almost choking her. What could she do? How could she escape this man’s hold over her?

  ‘Very well,’ he went on. He spoke with a note of strained patience. ‘You wish to uphold the story of your husband’s heroic death. You also accepted my protection last night, a fact you can’t deny. On my part, I want you to stop your denunciations of me in public.’

  ‘I’ve only said aloud what everybody knows!’

  ‘Ah, but coming from your fair lips, I take the insults rather more personally. So let me repeat that, for our mutual benefit, we both appear in public as allies.’ He paused a moment to let his words sink in. ‘Perhaps a little more than allies.’

  Serena felt a fresh and sickening jolt of dismay. She was doomed.

  He was guiding his curricle down to the lake now, where the grass verges were thronged with London’s elite enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. All of them—from elderly ladies in old-fashioned barouches to bachelors on horseback—took it upon themselves to peer at the Marquis and his companion, some even using lorgnettes.

  He doffed his hat to them, politely answering their comments on the weather and acknowledging their compliments regarding his matched bays. After a while, though, he gathered the reins in one hand, put his other very briefly on Serena’s and said quietly, ‘Are you all right?’

  She was almost speechless. Raphael Lefevre—her demon, her nemesis, her ruin—was asking her if she was all right? Rather faintly she remembered how less than an hour ago Beth had said, ‘I’ve never heard any tales claiming the Marquis mistreats women. Indeed, he’s very popular with them, isn’t he?’

  And Joanna’s response: ‘Popular? I should think so. Why, I heard from a lady who knew him in Paris that when he makes love to you, he uses his...’

  Whatever else the lady from Paris might have said it really wasn’t wise to think about, because here the Marquis was, with the touch of his hand still lingering and his body far too close, tormenting her with that indefinable charisma that not even she could deny.

  He represented everything that was dangerous. He threatened her position in society, her belief in herself even. Here, in the Park on this fine afternoon, with the warm breeze rustling the fresh Maytime foliage and children playing on the green turf, she felt sucked into a vortex of fear and shame. But all the same, just the presence of him here beside her was enough to make her unsteady. She could feel the force of his sheer masculinity tearing down her carefully built defences with every moment that went by.

  To be lured into humiliation by a careless rake? Not again. Never again. Desperation made her voice shake as she blurted out, ‘You and I cannot be seen together. You’ve trapped me into this situation, but everyone knows we’re enemies!’

  Judging by the tightness of his jaw, she guessed he was growing impatient. ‘Last night,’ he said, his eyes now on the path ahead as his horses stepped onwards, ‘means you can no longer maintain your enmity. Last night, as I’ve just pointed out, your acceptance of my protection—most willingly, it appeared—will make you seem an utter hypocrite unless you agree to my proposition. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you. I suggest we appear together at whichever events you normally attend, thus showing ourselves to be a happy couple for a specified length of time. Shall we say four weeks, starting from yesterday? It’s true that people will be surprised, since your many caustic comments about me won’t have been forgotten. But I am quite popular in most circles, you know. I believe it will quickly be accepted that you’ve succumbed to my overwhelming charm.’

  ‘I think there’s something you’ve forgotten, monsieur,’ she said bitterly. ‘What about my reputation?’

  He turned his head to gaze at her. ‘You loved your husband, didn’t you? Then you must wish to do your utmost to save his heroic legacy, even if it was a lie. So here’s my advice, Lady Serena. Make it clear you’re enjoying yourself in my company. Show yourself to be revelling in my attention.’ His voice hardened a little. ‘And whatever else you do, you will stop, from today onwards, making intrusive enquiries about my personal life, both past and present. Do you understand?’

  She didn’t mean her voice to come out as a gasp, but it did. ‘Everyone will think we’re lovers!’

  ‘No doubt. But we don’t have to go that far in reality.’ He threw her a sidelong smile that almost shook her from her seat. ‘Delightful as last night’s kiss was, I’m perfectly able to resist your charms, believe me.’

  Her heart bumped to a stop. Last night she’d melted in his arms as if she’d been waiting for the moment all her life. She knew that. He knew that. Dear Lord, her heart still raced in shame at the memory. ‘I detest you,’ she said calmly.

  ‘Then nothing’s really changed, has it? You can continue to detest me, certainly. But for your own sake, I suggest you keep your feelings to yourself. If you don’t agree to my plan, I’d guess it will take Silas Mort about twenty-four hours to contact you again with fresh threats. So we need to let it be known—quickly—that we are more than just friends. This afternoon has been a start, but we must establish something more formal. I’ve been invited to the Duke of Hamilton’s ball in two nights’ time and I assume you have, too. So I suggest we arrive together and I’ll call on you tomorrow to finalise the details. I take it you agree?’

  Devil. Deep blue sea. Lefevre had told her she was too proud and he was absolutely correct. It was her pride that had led her to keep up her pretence of devotion to a husband who was unfaithful and cruel to her almost from the start. And now, that same pride could well be her undoing.

  Serena clasped her hands together and took just a little comfort in the fact that they weren’t trembling like her heart was. Like her very soul was.

  ‘I have no choice, after all,’ she said at last. ‘Have I?’

  ‘You have not,’ he said quietly.

  Chapter Seven

  The Marquis set her down outside her house in Curzon Street where her footman, Robert, was holding the door open for her. No doubt he relished the chance to admire Lefevre’s fine curricle and horses, though now, thank goodness, they were disappearing into the distance. She swept inside the house before she realised Robert was saying something. Distracted, she had to ask him to repeat it.

  ‘You have visitors, milady,’ Robert announced.

  The last thing she needed. ‘Visitors? Who are they?’ By now Martha had hurried forth
to take her hat and pelisse. Serena tried hard to remember if she was expecting anyone, but her brain was still reeling from her encounter with the Marquis.

  ‘Your brother, the Earl of Stainsby, is here, milady,’ explained Robert. ‘And Lady Joanna also.’

  ‘Together?’ She was thrown again, because she knew that Joanna and George clashed whenever they met.

  ‘Your brother arrived first and Lady Joanna a short while afterwards. They are both in the first-floor salon.’

  ‘Very well. Thank you, Robert.’ But Serena’s heart was sinking further—because earlier Joanna had seen Lefevre driving Serena away from her house in his carriage. She would be here to find out more. And George? He heartily detested Raphael Lefevre. What if he’d heard about the events last night in Covent Garden?

  Oh, Lord, what a pickle she was in. And, indeed, on reaching the landing she heard raised voices from the salon—George, exasperated, declaring, ‘I’ve told you, Joanna, I do not consider myself to be a staid old bachelor!’

  Joanna next, cool and teasing. ‘Perhaps to call you a staid old bachelor is a little extreme. But you know, George, you could transform that huge house of yours in Clarges Street! Open up the ballroom and hold parties! Join the fast set!’

  Serena, her fingers on the door, heard George practically exploding. ‘Me? Are you suggesting I should associate with those frivolous, idle creatures who spend their lives wasting their family’s fortunes?’

  Joanna gave her bubbling laugh. ‘But you have no family, George, other than your lovely sister! You rattle around in your London home like a dried pea in a pod. You should either marry and father a dozen noisy children, or become a rake and hurl yourself into society! Just like...’