Page 16 of To Tame a Wicked Widow

“She likes me just fine,” he bit out. “But she likes money far more. And older, experienced gentlemen.”

“Really?” said Sally, frowning. “That doesn’t sound at all—”

“I’d rather not discuss the lady any further. Actually…I’m hoping you might instead allow me to reschedule my appointment. Men are supposed to have dozens of lovers before they settle down, are they not? Perhaps one of your lovely widows could assist.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Of course, lad,” said Yardley abruptly, exchanging yet another glance with his wife that somehow appeared an entire conversation. Remarkably, Sally relaxed and smiled. “Are you free tomorrow evening?”

Hell. That soon? He’d been thinking in a few weeks’ time, when Madeline no longer resided under his roof, tormenting him with too-polite conversation and form-fitting gowns just begging to be torn off. It was incredibly fortunate they would be meeting with his banker to discuss the jointure property and possible austerity measures in the morning. After that, there would be no reason for her to stay. And no reason for him to lie in bed, aching to be with her, next to her, inside her…

“Yes,” Ethan said eventually, firmly suppressing a sharp twinge in his chest. “I’m free.”

* * *

“For heaven’s sake, Madeline, stop pacing. You are giving me the headache.”

Curling her fingers into fists to stop herself strangling her sister-in-law, Madeline instead walked over to the parlor window of Ethan’s townhouse that overlooked Manchester Square. The oval-shaped expanse of grass and trees reminded her a little of Surrey, something to soothe amongst the disagreeable hustle and bustle of London.

In truth, after this morning’s meeting with Ethan’s banker, she needed the calming effects of nature more than ever.

It had been horrid to learn that Mark’s gossiping cronies were correct for once, and that the viscountcy teetered on the brink of ruin. The banker Mr. Giles, whom she’d liked instantly for his brisk, thoughtful manner, had chosen not to openly criticize the previous Lord Dare for his recklessly lavish spending and the incompetent stewards he’d employed, but the implication was unmistakable. Ethan had remained so stoic throughout the meeting, even as he apologized for his inability to absorb the losses and outlined some possible measures of austerity for her to incorporate, but she’d seen the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. And her heart had ached for him. How well she knew the anger and frustration at being landed with the responsibility of financial messes caused by those who lived well beyond their means.

Then again, her heart hadn’t stopped aching since they’d left Guildford.

She missed Ethan’s company terribly, in bed and out. No one she’d met at various parties since coming to London held a candle to him when it came to intellect or conversation. And no matter how many glasses of wine she drank, or waltzes she danced, not a single gentleman even vaguely tempted her. In fact, the thought of one of them attempting to spank her, or fuck her in a carriage, or pleasure her with that lovely leather dildo was decidedly nauseating.

“You still haven’t told us how the meeting went,” said Mark from where he lounged on a chaise, helping himself to a plate of sugar cookies. “I hope they advanced you some extra funds. Eating at the Clarendon or Grillon’s is frightfully expensive.”

Madeline glared at him. “No, they did not. As a matter of fact, I strongly advise you learn to enjoy pasties from a pie cart.”

Her brother blanched, as though she’d just suggested skipping naked along Rotten Row. “Excuse me? A pasty? Those are for cits and servants.”

“They are for people like us without the money for fine dining.”

Penelope gasped. “What a dreadful thing to say! Fancy comparing us to the common poor.”

Hell and damnation. If she ground her teeth any harder, they would be powder. “You are right. Such a comparison does a grave disservice to the poor.”

“Here, now,” said Mark, sitting up and looking rather bewildered. “That’s uncalled for. If the coffers are depleted, the solution is simple. Marry a wealthy man, and we’ll all be happy.”

Penelope nodded. “Oh, yes. That marquess you danced with last night at the soiree seemed quite taken with you, Madeline. Perhaps a little older than you hoped, but I’m sure he would be generous with an allowance, and think of the jewels and gowns you could loan me. Well, I’d have to take in the gowns of course...”

“Quite,” added Mark gravely. “You are getting a little rounded, sister. Gentlemen prefer slender ladies. Much more refined. I recommend a few days of fasting—”

A knock sounded on the parlor door, and a footman walked in, which was incredibly fortunate for the continuation of her brother and sister-in-law’s existence. Never had she been closer to disemboweling them both with a cake fork.

“Excuse me, Lady Upcott,” said the footman with a bow. “But a runner has arrived with an urgent message. He’ll wait for your reply.”

Startled, she hurried from the parlor and across the ostentatious ground floor entrance hall. Knowing that the ridiculous gilt furnishings and near-new Italian marble floor would have added a great deal to Ethan’s burden, she scowled at the click-clacking of her slipper heels on the cold, pale surface.

“Lady Upcott, ma’am?” said a neatly dressed young lad waiting just inside the front door.

“Yes,” she replied, a trifle breathlessly. Was the message from Ethan? Surely no one else would have urgent news. Oh God. He’d had an appointment with a law clerk after the banker. Had it gone very badly?

The lad handed her a note sealed with a drop of red wax. “A private message from Lady Yardley.”

Madeline frowned. Sally Yardley? How peculiar. The older woman was delightful, but it would be a stretch to say they were friends.