To Woo a Wicked Widow by Jaxon, Jenna (2)

Chapter 2

 

Lady Charlotte Cavendish squeezed into the upstairs retiring room at Almack’s, shaking in her new yellow slippers, half in excitement, half in terror. The parlor was already crowded with gaily dressed women eager to show their patriotism for the Waterloo veterans. She, on the other hand, attended for an entirely different reason—a reason that gave her joy for the first time in six long years.

Charlotte glanced around, unnerved by the crush of people. She was unused to such crowds after five years of marriage and a year of mourning. Surely she could find a bit of unclaimed wall where she could wait for her cousin, Jane, Lady John Tarkington, and contemplate the freedom she’d celebrate tonight. Not the normal return to society by a grieving widow. Then again, she had never grieved one day for the odious Sir Archibald. Considering she was still a virgin, she could hardly be called a normal widow at all.

She danced out of the way as two portly matrons hurtled past her.

“And then she said Lord Fairfax dragged her into the library . . .” The ladies moved off, heads still together, oblivious of the others around them.

Charlotte ran her hands over her skirts, checking for tears. She had never seen so many people here before. Had half of London turned up? Spying an open spot, she hurried toward it, tread on the hem of her gown, and stumbled against the cream-colored rear wall.

Drat. She turned her back to the wall and inspected the edging of the garment. The modiste had apparently cut it a little too long despite her exacting measurements. Why hadn’t she noticed this at home? The lace wasn’t torn, however. She sighed in relief, relaxing just a little. There was no reason to be nervous about rejoining society, yet she was on pins and needles. She must compose herself and wait right here for Jane so her clothing would not be further mussed.

She glanced down, smiling in satisfaction at her gown, which the seamstress had delivered yesterday. The fresh confection, cut daringly low in both front and back, in the most delectable shade of deep primrose yellow, boldly announced her eagerness to engage in life anew.

Time now to re-emerge, like a bright butterfly from a twelve-month cocoon, to stretch her wings. Charlotte fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, full of pent-up energy after years spent suffering through an empty marriage to a man she had never loved. I’d have better spent the past twelve months grieving the loss of Edward. Or perhaps I should have mourned my stepson Hal. He set me free.

Harold Cavendish, her husband’s second son, had died at Waterloo. When the news had reached Sir Archibald, he’d suffered an attack of apoplexy and died. His elder son, Edgar, now Sir Edgar, held the title to the baronetcy. What a pity the fates of the sons had not been reversed. Charlotte had always gotten along well with Hal. Edgar was another matter entirely.

Near the entrance, the press of women seemed to thin a bit. She strained to see through the throng that still surrounded her. Drat. Had the dancing begun before her cousin arrived? She didn’t want to miss a moment of tonight. Cocking her head, she strained to hear through the soft din of voices. Snatches of discordant notes drifted in from the ballroom as the orchestra tuned up.

Why hadn’t Jane arrived? Charlotte eyed the doorway, willing her cousin to appear. As the first social function Charlotte had attended since her mourning ended, this fete represented her bid for freedom and she did not intend to miss a moment of the ball.

Thanks to her father’s treachery, not since her ill-fated flight to Gretna Green had she experienced one moment of love or tenderness with a man. Her aging husband had made it quite clear on their wedding night that he would not demand his marital rights. He’d never given her a reason for his disinterest, although she had her suspicions. During the next five years, however, he’d been as good as his word, never so much as putting a foot over the threshold of her bedchamber. A circumstance for which she gave thanks to God nightly—Sir Archibald had been short, potbellied, with breath like an old chamber pot. Charlotte had often wondered who she despised more, her husband or her father.

What she wouldn’t give to just once know the long-denied pleasure of a man’s attentions. She imagined herself on the dance floor, held in the arms of a dashing gentleman who would sweep her around the room as if they trod on air. He would smile for her alone and perhaps hold her a bit more tightly than was proper. She would laugh and flirt with him, without a care in the world beyond who her next partner would be. Yes, she had dreamed of this night for years.

Her blood beat a quick rhythm in her veins. The air had grown quite stifling. Alarmed, Charlotte pulled out her fan and plied it vigorously. She simply could not faint here! Not before setting a foot on the dance floor.

Had she known Jane would be this tardy, she would have accompanied her to Lady Darlington’s crush. Instead, Charlotte had preferred to have more time to dress, to perfect her first impression after so long an absence. If Jane didn’t arrive soon, however, she might give in to desperation. Might even be tempted to go into the ballroom alone. A dreadful way to call attention to herself, but she’d been waiting all her life for this moment.

As if summoned by Charlotte’s frantic need, her cousin rounded the corner into the retiring room. Panic receded. Charlotte breathed deeply and waved to her. Ever since they were children, Jane’s presence had had a calming effect on her. Though truly sorry for the loss of her cousin’s husband, she had been grateful when Jane had moved into the London town house with her and provided her with advice on widowhood.

“Oh, Jane!” Charlotte hugged her slight frame. “I thought you would never arrive.”

“I told you to come with me, Charlotte. Then you wouldn’t be in such a state.” Jane straightened the topaz and gold necklace around Charlotte’s neck. “You seem ready to fly to pieces.”

“I am.” Charlotte laughed, so giddy now the flickering candlelight spun. “I’m so tired of waiting.”

“Well, you likely will still have your share of that once we enter.” Jane nodded toward the ballroom. “We will probably have a devilish time attracting any attention at all from the gentlemen.” She frowned and flipped open her fan. “That is a major concern, my dear. The Season is all but over.”

Charlotte nodded. Now that they could accept any invitation they liked, the invitations had ceased to arrive.

“Our mourning ended at such an unfortunate time of year.” Jane started toward the doorway. “What few events remain will not likely be well attended by gentlemen seeking to marry. The most eligible have either been brought up to scratch already or have managed to escape and think themselves safe for another year.” She stopped and nodded to an acquaintance. “Despite the numbers drawn to the fete tonight, I fear we will find dancing partners scarce.” Jane sounded miffed, but Charlotte smothered a smile at her words. She doubted her cousin would sit out a single set unless she chose to. Jane had always had a way with men.

“Then by all means, let us hurry to make our presence known.” Charlotte bit her lip. Prickles of excitement coursed down her glove-encased arms. The moment she had waited for had arrived. Once again she would enter the giddy world of the ton. Shoulders straight, a pleasant smile carefully gracing her lips, Charlotte swept toward the glittering ballroom, ready for life to begin again.

* * *

“Demmed slim pickings this late in the Season, eh, Wrotham?”

Blandly surveying the crowded ballroom, Nash, twelfth Earl of Wrotham, had to agree with his friend, George Abernathy.

“Well, none of them showed great promise, even when out in full force in April. Too young and too silly if you ask me.” A shame too, as Nash had determined he would do his duty and marry this year. He’d come into his title unexpectedly, only eighteen months before, and at thirty had no time to waste putting an heir in his nursery. Life was a chancy thing.

“You may be right at that.” George surveyed the room, his usual look of boredom unchanged.

“I suppose we must wait and hope for a better crop during the Little Season.” Nash sighed as several young ladies, dressed in all manner of frothy pastel gowns, congregated not ten feet from where he stood. He smiled pleasantly to acknowledge them, all of whom he’d stood up with before, but none of whom had drawn his interest for more than a dance or two. “I do hope at least one or two here tonight can dance tolerably. Such a shame Miss Benson is now betrothed.”

Abernathy cocked his head and produced a quizzing glass, through which he seemed to study Nash. “You cherished hopes in that direction?”

“Not a bit.” Nash chuckled. “The chit is as flighty as they come, but she moved like a sprite. I’ve not had a partner such as her in ten years.” He shook his head. Not that he had indulged in dancing much at all in that time. “Fortunately, the ability to dance well is not my highest criteria for a wife.”

“Now there we can agree.” Abernathy settled himself to gazing about the room, likely looking for a suitable candidate for the opening reel. “Fortune is the primary consideration when seeking out a wife. Fortune and good breeding.”

Nash shook his head. “A consideration perhaps, but not the highest one. I’m much more interested in a pleasant woman, a good companion. A lady who will not insist on dabbling about in my business affairs, although she must be an outstanding hostess.” He looked expectantly at two young ladies entering; then he recognized them as Miss Olivia Sanderling and Lady Catherine Dole. Neither one old enough for his taste. “She should also enjoy living in the country and sharing quiet pursuits. I seek a woman I will want to sit across the breakfast table from, which means she can’t be some miss right out of the schoolroom, fortune or not.”

“Humpf.” Abernathy swung around toward the ballroom entrance, where some sort of commotion had erupted.

Had the press of people entering become too great, creating a stoppage? The organizers should have foreseen that with this particular ball and fete. Everyone must want to attend this evening.

Nash peered at the little knot of people now filing through the doorway, his attention immediately drawn to a lady in yellow who chatted animatedly with another woman. The bright hue of her gown riveted his gaze on the elegant figure, an arresting, almost fierce expression on her face, as if determined to enjoy the evening no matter what.

“I say, Abernathy, do you know that lady there in yellow, just come into the room?” Nash had never seen her at any other ton event. Of course, this was his first full year on the Town and he certainly had not met everyone. One of the disadvantages of inheriting his title with no warning had been his lack of preparation for the duties expected of him. Including attending all these blasted functions and remembering names and faces.

George once again raised his quizzer. “Well, well. Lady John Tarkington. She was widowed last year. I suppose this means her mourning is finished.” He smiled and licked his lips. “Lady John is quite the figure of a woman, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is she the one in yellow?” Nash couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“In blue. With blond hair.”

Nash shot his friend a sideways glance. “Bit older than your usual conquest, isn’t she?”

George let the quizzing glass drop and straightened his jacket. “Yes, but ever so much more fun. She led Tarkington a merry chase before and after their marriage, so I’m told. Always a breath away from scandal was Lady Jane Munro before she married. And now she’s apparently back on the market.” He started across the dance floor. “Come, let me present you so I can ask her for the first dance. Perhaps she will introduce you to her companion.”

“But who is the lady in yellow?” Nash followed, frowning. He hated when things went on the fly. Fifteen years in the Royal Navy had taught him that lack of organization usually led to disaster.

Abernathy shook his head. “No idea. Didn’t get a good look at her.” He nodded toward the two women, talking and laughing together with several ladies they had joined. “But Lady John obviously does.”

Nash trailed behind, weaving his way across the floor, where the first set was making up. If fortune shone on him, an introduction would be forthcoming in time to ask the lady in yellow for the honor of the first dance. If not, he’d ask for the second set and admire her during the first.

They arrived at the little knot of ladies and George’s acquaintance turned toward them.

“Mr. Abernathy. How wonderful to see you again.” The woman’s eyes lit with pleasure and perhaps a touch of amusement. She turned her penetrating gaze on Nash, and he swallowed hard, unnerved by her bold assessment of him.

Managing a smile, he bowed as George made the introduction.

“My lady, may I present the Earl of Wrotham? Late of His Majesty’s Navy. Wrotham, this is Lady John Tarkington, widow of the late Major-General Tarkington.” Abernathy beamed at her. “I am so pleased this special light of the ton has reemerged.”

“Delighted, my lord.” The widow’s low-pitched voice managed to convey a touch of the suggestive in just those three words.

“Actually it’s pronounced ‘Rut-am,’ my lady.” He sent George a scathing look that was ignored. “Abernathy here has never said it correctly.” He bowed to Lady John. “My pleasure, entirely.”

Her eyes narrowed seductively, and an uncomfortable flare of heat touched his face. Well, George had intimated she’d had her share of scandal. So his friend had best beware this woman didn’t sink her claws into him, although the man appeared unconcerned. Instead, he continued an avid conversation with her, leaving Nash at sixes and sevens and without an introduction to the intriguing younger woman.

From the corner of his eye he watched her, deep in conversation with two other ladies. She stood out among them, brilliant as a peacock among doves. Her laughter sent a little thrill down his spine. He clenched his fist. Would George never inquire about the blasted introduction?

“Wrotham.”

Nash jerked his attention back to his friend.

“I told Lady John you wished an introduction to her friend.” Abernathy picked up the quizzing glass once more and gestured toward the lady.

“My cousin actually, my lord.” Lady John’s broad smile dimpled her cheeks for the first time.

“I had hoped to ask her for the first dance, my lady.”

“Splendid. Charlotte.” Lady John stepped toward the entrancing figure in yellow, who turned at the sound of her name.

She smiled at her cousin, then glanced inquiringly at him. He held his breath.

The face he now saw close at hand confirmed his instincts. A vision of loveliness on the outside, with an energy that pulsed under her skin, making her the most animated person he had ever seen. Her eyes glinted green, sparkling in the candlelight like the sun reflected off the jeweled waters of the Mediterranean. The slight smile on her perfectly bowed lips made her appear both secretive and joyous, filled to the brim with anticipation of something long awaited.

With a rush of desire, Nash wanted to be the one to inspire that feeling in this lovely creature.

“May I introduce the Earl of Wrotham, my dear?” Lady John nodded and stepped back, her gaze darting between the two of them. “A friend of Mr. Abernathy’s. My lord, this is Lady Charlotte Cavendish, my cousin.”

Lady Cavendish stepped forward quickly, a smile curling her lips. “I am pleased to meet you, my lord.” Her eyes widened, her gait faltered, then she pitched forward with a little cry, arms flailing.

Reflexes honed from years in the Navy, Nash stepped in neatly, catching her under her arms. She landed with a thump against his chest, sending a whiff of jasmine all around him and a thrill of lust straight to his loins. He paused, savoring the soft body pressed against him, the shining hair brushing his chin. With regret, he got himself under control and reluctantly set her on her feet.

Her neck and face had flushed, turning the color of the deep red roses that adorned the terraces at Wrotham Hall. She kept her eyes downcast and stepped back.

“The pleasure is certainly all mine, my lady.” Not the most appropriate response, perhaps, but a heartfelt one surely.

Lady Cavendish gasped and raised her head, her green eyes flashing.

“Are you all right, Charlotte?” Lady John stepped forward, her lips puckered as if trying to hide a smile.

“Yes, I am fine, Jane. I stepped on the hem of my gown is all.” She cut her eyes at Nash and her lips thinned to a line. “Thank you, my lord, for coming to my rescue.”

Nash smiled. Even angry, the woman was a vision to behold. “Not a’tall, my lady. Glad to have been of service.”

She seemed to collect herself and returned his smile, albeit tentatively.

There would be no better time to make his request. “My lady, I would be honored if you would dance the first set with me.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you, my lord. I would enjoy that.”

He’d enjoy having her in his arms again too.

“Lady Cavendish?” A blond young man in elegant evening dress had approached so stealthily behind her, neither he nor the lady had noticed. He touched her elbow and she whirled around.

“Oh, Mr. Garrett. You startled me.” The pink had returned to her cheeks.

The buck immediately grasped her hand and had the audacity to kiss it. “My sincere apologies for that, my lady. It is nice to see you again.”

“As it is to see you as well.” Her voice had a high pitch, but a sweet tone, lilting and light. It suited her down to the ground. “Do you know Lord Wrotham?”

“I have not had the pleasure, I believe.” Garrett nodded his head briefly, his eyes still on Lady Cavendish.

“Nor I, Mr. Garrett.” Nash bowed, then straightened to his full six foot three, pleased to see he looked down on Garrett by a couple of inches.

“It has been several months since we met, I think, Mr. Garrett?” She clutched her fan, but smiled politely.

“March, I believe it was. And I am come to claim my dance as promised.” His eyes glinted when her jaw dropped.

“Your dance, Mr. Garrett?” Her brows puckered and she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. “I don’t recall we spoke about a dance.” The lady shot Nash a fleeting look, but he was unsure if it was a plea for help or an apology.

“I remember it distinctly, my lady.” Garrett claimed her gloved hand and squeezed it gently. “You said you would be glad when you could once again be out in society and that you couldn’t wait to dance.”

“Well, yes, I may indeed have expressed such a sentiment. But that did not mean—”

“To which I replied that I would be honored to partner you at the first opportunity. Then you smiled and nodded and thanked me.” The blackguard raised his eyebrows, affecting an innocent air. “What else was I to assume except that you had given me permission to seek your first dance?”

She fidgeted, almost dancing now. Her eyes had the wild look of a horse ready to bolt.

Well, if she didn’t want to dance with the man, he’d make sure she didn’t have to. “I’m afraid her ladyship has just engaged herself to me for the first set, Garrett. Perhaps her second is still free.” Nash took Lady Cavendish’s hand from the man and turned them toward the floor, where the orchestra was tuning up.

“The thing is, my lord,” Garrett stayed him with a touch on his wrist, “I have the prior claim.”

Nash stared into the insolent blue eyes and forced himself not to call the man out. He’d really like to pummel him into the floor, but such tactics were for the battleship, not the ballroom. He shook off the man’s hand. “The lady has not acknowledged that, sir. I think I will take her version of the events.” Nash glanced at Lady Cavendish, whose face had paled. “Are you all right, my lady?”

She started, as though coming out of a dream. “Yes, I am fine. Something reminded me—”

“That I am supposed to be your partner. There, Wrotham, the lady herself has said it. Are you satisfied?” Garrett nimbly plucked her hand out of Nash’s grip and before he could protest, whisked her out to the area where couples were making up the first set.

Stunned, it took Nash a second to register what the rogue had done. He started toward the dance floor, mayhem in his heart. He’d show the scoundrel how they took care of such slights in the Navy.

A hand on his shoulder made him swing around, his own hand coming up to fend off this new menace.

“Steady, Wrotham.” George Abernathy held on to him and turned him away from the eyes that were beginning to take notice of him. “He’s not worth starting a brawl that will get you banned from Almack’s.”

Nash exhaled sharply, hot blood still pounding through his veins. Another breath and he was closer to control. His friend was right. He didn’t need to start a scandal that would help neither him nor Lady Cavendish. He glanced at Lady John, who had paled, a wan smile pasted on her lips.

“I am certain Lady Cavendish would be very agreeable to partnering you for the second set, my lord.” She fluttered her fan and tried to meet his eyes.

“Perhaps I will ask for that dance when this one is concluded.” Like hell he would. Nash snapped a bow to Lady John, took his leave of Abernathy, then turned on his heel and strode out of the ballroom.