To Woo a Wicked Widow by Jaxon, Jenna (15)

Chapter 15

When Charlotte had read this missive for the tenth time, the once-crisp cream-colored stationery, edged in black and crested with the embossed image of a lion couchant, had become creased and bedraggled. She still did not know quite what to make of his words.

She had been surprised to receive a letter at all. Astonished, in fact, as she’d given Mr. Garrett—rather, Lord Kersey now—no encouragement whatsoever, unless one could call a perfunctory letter of condolence encouraging. So she had read the missive with some trepidation the first time and sighed in relief to find it rather straightforward. A new sense of responsibility seemed to have been instilled in the earl, as Jane had predicted. A dutiful letter sent to acknowledge hers.

Until that final sentence.

To what unfinished business did the man refer? There could only be one. That outrageous question he had asked while they danced in August. Shall I come to your room this evening? Why would he still want to pursue a dalliance with her after all this time? His other words echoed eerily in her mind as well. I usually get what I want.

Surprisingly, the more Charlotte thought about the possibility of an affair with Lord Kersey, the more appealing it became to her. She did long for the excitement of male companionship, especially since Jane and Sinclair’s liaison had put the matter right before her face, so to speak. Warm arms and hot kisses, like those in the stairwell at Almack’s, would be much more welcome now she knew very well what she was missing. She had even gone so far as to daydream—scandalous images of her entwined in bed with Lord Kersey had played tantalizingly in her mind ever since she had received his letter. The daydream, however, had the unfortunate habit of changing to one of her entangled with Lord Wrotham instead. Oh, Lord, but she had tried more than once to rid herself of the thought of the man.

She had done her best to put Georgina forward as a replacement candidate, although so far her strategy had met with little success. An invitation for both her and Georgie to dine at a neighboring estate had seemed promising when Lord Wrotham turned up as part of the party. He had, fortunately, not been seated with her, and when the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner, she had latched onto an elderly relative of the hostess, asking all manner of questions about the neighborhood and the harvest, ignoring everyone else.

Georgie had taken the opportunity to engage Wrotham in conversation instead. Several times, Charlotte had caught them laughing out of the corner of her eye. On the carriage ride back to Lyttlefield, she had pounced on her companion, demanding to know everything about the evening and her conversation with Wrotham.

According to a very enthusiastic Georgina, they had touched on her move to Lyttlefield, those awful robbers who still remained uncaught, books they’d read, her brother. . . and Charlotte.

“What did he want to know about me, Georgie?” Charlotte fought against the agonizing leap her heart took at that statement. Drat the man.

They climbed the stairs to the first floor and headed to Georgie’s room.

“Just the usual polite questions. He asked after your health. If you’d been riding out, and whether or not you had an escort.” Georgie chatted gaily as Charlotte helped her off with her stays. They had found they enjoyed assisting with each other’s toilettes since Georgie had come to stay at Lyttlefield.

“The gall of the man.” Charlotte jerked the laces.

“I’m sure he’s just concerned for your welfare. Ouch! I want them off, Charlotte. You’re tightening them.”

“I’m so sorry. Here.” She unthreaded the laces, and the stays loosened. “That should be better.” She took the stays and shift and handed Georgie a nightgown.

Slowly, she folded the garments, lost in thought. Lord Wrotham still asked after her. The notion filled her with both longing and resolve. She laid the clothing on the dresser for the maid to attend to the next day. She’d hired a local woman, Martha Grant, to see to Georgie.

“Did Lord Wrotham ask anything else?”

Georgina began brushing her hair, avoiding Charlotte’s eyes. “He did ask if you’d been up to London yet.”

Hmmm. He was still interested in her. Interested, perhaps, in who she would see in London. Part of Charlotte thrilled to the idea that he was still attracted to her. Yet her mind insisted nothing could come of an affaire de coeur between them. The best thing to do was put him out of her mind and try to move on. If she set her cap for another man and let Wrotham know about it, hopefully he would take the hint, put her out of his mind, and pay his attentions to Georgie instead.

That dinner party and the ensuing conversation had been two weeks ago. As soon as Lord Kersey’s letter had arrived, she’d begun to plan for a rendezvous.

He would call on her at the Marquess of Theale’s London home, where she would be staying with Jane. They obviously could have no assignation there. Perhaps his town house would be more discreet. Or they could go to an inn outside Town. Outside of a country house, she had no idea where people usually went to conduct illicit affairs. The problem with being innocent was a lack of knowledge about so many very important things.

Since she’d emerged in June, she’d lived from one exciting event to another: the Almack ball, the move to Kent, her house party, Lord Wrotham’s proposal. The culmination would be this chance for the physical intimacy she’d been denied with Edward so many years ago.

Charlotte folded the letter and put it in her escritoire once more, thoughtful. If the new earl had indeed turned over a new leaf, as Jane suggested, then he might also be in search of a wife rather than a mistress. Who would have thought it so difficult to find a man who wanted a night of passion without it being followed by an offer of marriage? She’d believed men were in dire dread of being leg-shackled. That they considered widows safe women with whom to indulge their passionate natures. She had obviously not found those particular gentlemen. Except for Fernley, who disgusted her. Was there no middle ground when it came to taking a lover?

Charlotte stood, wandered over to the window, and gazed down the driveway, playing with the small locket at her throat. Only two miles to Wrotham Hall. It might as well be a thousand.

Worse, she had to admit she missed Lord Wrotham’s company. She had come to admire him for so many more reasons than just his physical attributes. His intelligence attracted her more than she would have suspected. Conversations with him had never been dull and often she had to focus, as much as in a game of chess, to stay abreast of his wit. His interest in his land and its people too had struck a deep chord with her. With the harvest finally approaching, she hoped she could work half so well with the tenants as he. The only area where he had not succeeded was with the capture of the robbers, who still plagued the countryside. Still, given time and his determined nature, she had faith that Wrotham would triumph there as well. Truly a man to be admired.

Unfortunately, no matter how much she esteemed Wrotham, she still refused to agree to marry him. The horrors of her first marriage made her value her hard-won freedom too much to consider relinquishing it.

So Alan—she’d best learn to use his first name now—remained her best choice if she simply wanted a dalliance. He had agreed to call on her and that was a start. She must set Rose to begin packing for her departure. If only she could as easily set herself to the task of seducing her rake.

* * *

Almost a week later, on her first night in London, Charlotte made ready for bed in the comfortable chamber allotted her at the Marquess of Theale’s town house. She and Jane had had a long, comfortable coze to catch each other up and her cousin had just risen to retire when she grasped Charlotte’s hand and asked, “Why do you not wish to marry, Charlotte?”

Charlotte sank onto the bed, amazed at the question, which came from nowhere. They had just been talking about Lady Havercourt’s invitation to dine tomorrow evening, certainly nothing to do with marriage. Once the question sank in, Charlotte’s shoulders slumped. Why did she have to keep answering that question?

“You have had a declaration from one of the most eligible men in England.” Jane gave her arm a shake. “Why did you not accept him?”

“Other than the fact that I have no wish to marry?” The hair on the nape of Charlotte’s neck rose.

Jane shrugged. “I do not believe that. I think you are afraid to risk being hurt again. Mind, you have every right to be wary. Between your father and Sir Archibald, you have had a miserable life. However, as bad as it has been, it will be that much more wonderful if you find the right man. I can assure you, Wrotham’s interest in you is genuine. I’d wager my fortune on it. You should have seen his face that night at Almack’s. He looked ready to throttle Lord Kersey for stealing you away.”

“I have been married.” Charlotte sniffed and stared into Jane’s narrowed eyes. “It is not an experience I wish to repeat.”

“You were married to a man much older than you who may not have been kind, but—”

“He was definitely not kind, Jane.” Charlotte twisted her handkerchief. Perhaps, at last, she needed to explain how horrible her life had been to her cousin, to make her understand why she feared losing her independence so much. It was a tale she had told no one.

“Sir Archibald made the five years of our marriage a living hell for me, Jane. I don’t know if he was under orders from Father or if he simply hated me from the moment we wed. From the beginning, he would insult me at dinner, whether we had guests or not. He would tell me I had no intelligence, no grace, no manners. That I was ugly. That I never did anything right.”

She took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. She refused to cry over his insults any more. “He kept me buried at a cottage in Itchingfield most of the year, a small property with only one servant. I had little allowance for clothing and I had to be frugal just to eat and stay warm.” She fisted her hands, then slowly unclenched them. “All the while he kicked up his heels here in London. He and Edgar. I was brought to Town only when it suited him, when he needed a hostess for some political dinner or party. I’m not sure which I despised more, the lonely months in the country or the loathsome weeks in his company.”

As she spoke, Jane’s face had paled. She swallowed several times and clutched her throat. “My dear! I had no idea . . .” She grabbed Charlotte into her arms, tears trickling down her cheeks, falling onto Charlotte’s back. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I told no one.” Charlotte sniffed and blinked back tears. “No one knew, unless Sir Archibald told someone, which is unlikely.”

Jane sat back. “Was he . . . did he ever physically harm you?”

“No, he never struck me.” She kept her eyes on her lap. “He never touched me at all.”

“What?” Her cousin’s eyes rounded. “You mean he never once came to your bedchamber?”

Charlotte shook her head. She still thanked God every night for that. “I don’t think he was capable. To my knowledge, he never dallied with anyone else either.”

Jane sniffed. “He may have been very discreet. If you were so often in the country, you may not have known of it.”

“Humph.” Charlotte snorted. “Do you think Edgar wouldn’t have known? The slightest thing he could have said to hurt me, he would have shouted it gleefully—in the most public place possible.”

Jane shook her head and sat up, staring into her face as if searching for something. “All the more reason, my dear, to think before throwing away this new chance for happiness. Charlotte, you have the opportunity to make a good marriage now. A marriage with a man near your age, who you yourself have said you are drawn to. Why not accept Wrotham? You cannot seriously believe he will behave as Sir Archibald did?”

Charlotte had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. “No, Jane. I truly do not believe Lord Wrotham would be anything but a good husband. But why should I tempt fate and leap into another marriage when I need not? He may not have Sir Archibald’s faults, but he will certainly have some of his own. As it is now, I can do as I please, run my estate as I see fit, and find male companionship as I like.” She gave her cousin an arch look. “Considering your declaration never to marry again, I would think you understood my reasons.”

Jane nodded but grasped her hands. “I do, my dear, but my situation is much different from yours. I had a satisfying marriage, children, and financial reasons not to marry again.”

“As have I.”

“But you do not have children, Charlotte. If you do not marry, you will end up alone. Or worse, you will not be careful and be forced into marriage with a man who seemed delightful in the dark but less so in the light.”

Charlotte blotted away her tears. Why could she not have it all as she wished with no fuss? “I do want a husband and children, but not so badly as I want to make my own decisions. And mistakes. For the first time in my life, I have that ability. If I cannot have the man I loved, at least I will have a choice in what I do.”

Jane’s kind blue eyes looked sad, but she nodded. “I believe I do understand, my dear. Now, what may I do to help you?”

* * *

“You look positively ravishing, Charlotte! But then, that is the idea, is it not?” Jane remarked as Charlotte entered the drawing room of the Theale town house.

She smiled and flushed, nervous that at last she would see the Earl of Kersey. Ostensibly she awaited with her cousin for the fashionable callers now in town to make an appearance, but they both knew one particular caller was the reason for her grand appearance.

Her white sprigged muslin, so sheer it left little of her shape to the imagination, dipped down low over her breasts, inviting male attention. Unsuitable for afternoon? Definitely. She cared not a fig. When the earl arrived, she wanted to be sure his gaze would be only on her.

“Exactly the point, Jane.” Charlotte paced about the room, glancing out the window as she passed by. One o’clock in the afternoon. Alan had written yesterday, asking permission to call today. If only he would arrive, this panicky feeling might subside and she could once again be the gracious, flirtatious woman he had kissed in June.

“Do sit down, Charlotte.” Jane sipped her tea and frowned. “You look ready to fly to pieces. Not the effect one wants to project when one is angling for a lover.”

Giving her cousin a speaking glance, Charlotte dropped into a Queen Anne chair.

“Take this tea, my dear. It will fortify you.”

“Only if it has a large dollop of brandy in it.” Charlotte grinned and sipped the hot, sweet beverage. Her hands shook, and she forced them to steady. He would appear eventually. Pray God, no one else did.

As the long-case clock struck the half hour, Fisk appeared. “The Earl of Kersey, my lady.”

Charlotte sat straighter, which pushed her bosom straight out, jutting like the prow of a ship. She licked her lips, then bit them slightly to deepen the color. Her cheeks were already blooming, thanks to the Attar of Roses she had applied. Setting the teacup on the table before she spilled it, she turned toward the doorway and smiled broadly.

Lord Kersey swept into the room and she caught her breath, for the change in him was immediately evident. The handsome blond looks were still there, curly hair still charmingly riotous, blue eyes alert and sensual. His clothing, as fashionable as ever—deep brown coat, cream silk embroidered waistcoat, and fawn-colored trousers—save the addition of a mourning armband. He looked to be the same man who had earned her the reputation of wicked at Almack’s.

Yet his demeanor had changed. He moved with the presence of his station rather than the relaxed devil-may-care attitude that had proclaimed him unconcerned with anything save the next wager or woman to be won. Before, his eyes would have sought her out hungrily. Now he strode toward her cousin, avoiding Charlotte’s avid gaze entirely.

He spoke to Jane and bent low over her hand, his countenance poised and respectful. Her cousin had been correct. The rake was gone. In his place a man of purpose stood, one who might also insist on a more permanent arrangement between them.

Plague take him.

At last, he turned to her, and his eyes warmed.

That warmth at least was encouraging. With luck, it might be all right after all.

“My dear Lady Cavendish. I am so pleased to see you once more.” He lifted her hand and his lips grazed her knuckles.

Delightful shivers shot up her arm. That certainly boded well.

“I truly regret the necessity of having to quit your house party so early in August. Indeed nothing would have persuaded me to leave your excellent company except the sad news of my uncle’s impending death.” His gaze searched her face, a mocking lift to his eyebrow. “I do hope you have forgiven me?”

“Of course, my lord. Such an event must take precedence over any other engagement. I am sorry for your loss.”

He continued to hold her hand, and Charlotte’s heart pounded in her chest, almost visible, she’d wager, due to her extreme décolletage.

“You are kind, my lady.” He squeezed her hand and she returned the gesture. Looking deeply into his eyes, now darker and wider than just moments before, a fleeting thought arose that he might sweep her into his town house this very evening.

“Will you be seated, Lord Kersey, and have tea with us?” Jane asked, interrupting their heated gaze. “You must give us the particulars about your uncle’s funeral and all the fascinating things one must do to take over an earldom.”

“I beg your pardon, Lady John, but I am, as usual these days, pressed for time.” He continued to stare into Charlotte’s eyes. “I had hoped to have the pleasure of Lady Cavendish’s company in my curricle for a turn around the park, if she is willing?”

Charlotte clutched the arms of the chair. She hadn’t expected a drive alone with him, although it should not draw attention if she rode with him in an open carriage. If she was going to do this, they would need to be discreet above all else. He must understand that. She allowed him to assist her as she rose.

“I would enjoy becoming reacquainted very much, my lord. And a ride in the fresh air is always welcome.” A quick glance at her cousin showed her nod of approval, though she also noted Jane’s silent sigh. “Let me prepare for the outing and I will meet you in the hall shortly.”

He nodded and released her hand, giving it another squeeze as he did so.

Charlotte kept a sedate pace until she exited the room, then picked up her skirts and ran for her chamber. She had no idea what this ride would lead to, but considering the man’s reputation, she needed to be ready for anything.