Page 2 of To Tame a Wicked Widow

Rather than investing in modern equipment, treating his tenants fairly, and listening to sound advice on crops, dear Papa had bled every estate dry to pay for his horses, lavish house parties, and expensive mistresses. And the family considered him some kind of saint that could only be spoken of in reverent and hushed terms. The only thing more ridiculous was these same numbskulls pressing Ethan to find a pious, well-bred virgin so he might sire sons and ensure the line.

Naturally ladies everywhere would leap at the chance to marry a near-bankrupt viscount who detested London and its trappings…oh yes, and hadn’t quite got around to losing his own virginity. Surely at least one in the marriage needed to know what they were doing, and his vast knowledge of sexual acts was entirely theoretical and based on the rather colorful practices of the ancient world. So he’d finally put his pride in his pocket and approached Sally Yardley, a kind, happily married baroness who together with her husband not only played matchmaker but arranged discreet initiations for young lords like himself. Of course, the day the momentous occasion arrived, he’d had to cancel to come to damned bloody Guildford instead.

“Do you think,” said the vicar suddenly, his beady eyes brightening, “that Lady Upcott should be beaten, and restricted to a diet of bread and water? From what Miss Faith and Miss Winifred told me, the lady requires purging of her sinful ways so she may again walk a virtuous path.”

Ethan held onto his temper by the barest of threads. He was tired, hungry, had a headache only getting worse, and was many miles from the warm, willing, experienced woman he’d planned to spend the night with. “As head of the family, I alone will assess such matters. Should anyone take it upon themselves to act independently, there will be grave consequences.”

The vicar shrank back in his seat. “Of course, my lord.”

Faith frowned. “I believe—”

“Ah look, Lady Upcott’s home,” said Ethan. “Once you’ve greeted our hostess, no doubt you’ll want to rest and refresh yourselves before supper.”

“And what will you be doing?” asked Winifred with a suspicious sniff.

“I will be starting my, er…interrogation.”

All three smiled, and Ethan’s jaw tightened. Spite did not sit well on prune-faces.

Fortunately the traveling carriage came to an abrupt halt outside the three-story building. The red brick exterior and small diamond-paned windows with dark wooden shutters suggested Tudor. This usually meant beautiful but poorly lit, and with door frames low enough to ensure he would leave with goose eggs decorating his forehead. Sometimes being over six feet in height was not a blessing.

Ethan climbed out of the carriage and offered a hand to the two ladies, while his footmen attended to the small mountain of rosewood trunks roped to the back and roof. Well used to minimal packing, he had two large satchels with all he needed. His companions clearly didn’t know the meaning of travelling lightly.

“Lord Dare?”

He froze. Only two words, and yet the sensual, husky voice behind him practically caressed the air. Politeness insisted he respond, but then the unknown woman would see exactly how form-fitting his buff trousers were. Swiftly, he removed his hat to cover his hardening erection and turned.

As if Atlas had abruptly failed, the world tilted wildly.

Faith had called Lady Upcott a garish, red-headed whore of Babylon. In reality she appeared Aphrodite reborn, with titian curls piled high on her head to expose an elegant neck made to be kissed, gray eyes like a stormy sea, and such ample breasts and hips that not even a plain blue gown could disguise them. The one thing missing was an enchanted girdle.

Hell.

He could only imagine that sultry mouth swallowing his cock as he tangled his fingers in her fiery curls and thrust deep. Or how she might look in bed, large nipples jutting proudly, thighs spread wide, like the women he’d seen in so many erotic drawings and etchings.

Damnation.

Sir Josiah’s sisters thought he’d come here to demand Lady Upcott remarry in order to preserve their so-called good name. In truth he had to confess that because of his father’s profligate wastage together with some indifferent stewardship, she must cut expenditure at once. But right now his only thoughts were of bedding his second cousin’s beautiful widow until they both couldn’t move.

Fuck.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Lady Upcott. I am indeed Dare.”

Somehow Madeline managed to curtsy, a truly amazing feat while her mind reeled.

Why had no one told her the truth about the viscount? She had assumed the head of the family would be a contemporary of Sir Josiah’s, perhaps a little younger. Not a gentleman barely past his majority. And certainly not an extraordinarily attractive gentleman: tall and broad-shouldered, with chocolate-brown hair, exotic, amber-colored eyes, and the bronzed skin of someone who had spent a great deal of time under a sun far harsher than England’s.

Oh God. He could be tanned all over. One of those exhibitionists who regularly discarded clothing and frolicked in streams, before draping himself over boulders to dry and taking his thick cock in hand, idly stroking himself to orgasm…

“Lady Upcott?”

Her cheeks flushed at the realization she hadn’t answered him, instead just staring like he was a six-course banquet and she a starving woman. What the hell was wrong with her? “Do forgive me, my lord. You are…not what I expected.”

Lord Dare smiled crookedly, the expression revealing faint lines around his eyes and a dimple in his chin. Damn him twice! “My inheritance is fairly recent; it has been just over two months since my father passed. Were you not informed?”

Madeline glanced at Faith and Winifred’s smirking faces. “No, I wasn’t.”