Page 1 of Seduction of a Widow

The Marriage Maker and the Widows

Virgins are overrated. Women of experience. Women who know what they want. Women who don’t need a man—at least for nothing more than the pleasures only a man can provide. These are the women men desire.

It takes a man of worth, of steel determination, to capture one of these beauties…especially when she doesn’t want to be caught, and I know from experience, they take great pains to avoid the marriage trap. Why give up her freedom, nights spent with lovers who worship her body as only a lover can? Nae. The man who sets his sights on one of these women must forgo conventional wisdom. Poetic words of love fall on deaf ears, for many men have confessed their devotion in brilliantly lit ballrooms and under moonlit skies. This female creature has no desire to be tamed beyond the pleasures of one night.

A man who loves this woman must be ready to give his soul to save hers.

Fate often watches in perverse glee when these women pass within a hair’s breadth of these men, blithely unaware of their hero’s existence.

But fate didn’t plan on me, The Marriage Maker.

Chapter One

Something in the way the woman dipped her head and smiled stopped Evan MacLaren in his tracks. The breeze from the ballroom’s open terrace doors caught one dark ringlet and ruffled the lock against her long, elegant neck. From her pure Grecian profile to her lithe, narrow waist to the softly rounded flare of her hips, she embodied perfection.

She turned in her chair to face the turbaned matron she addressed, and her eyes met his. He caught his breath. Clear pools of honey-brown fringed by gold lashes seared his very soul. She was a goddess. He grimaced inwardly at the turn of his thoughts and offered a rakish grin in hopes of hiding his attraction. The touch of a smile on her rose-hued lips betrayed only tolerant amusement in the instant before she returned her attention to the woman at her side.

Thank you, but no.

The swift dismissal heated his blood with challenge.

A low laugh arose from that graceful flower, then she and her matronly companion rose and strolled toward the refreshments table. The rich, olive-green velvet of her skirt swayed with the subtle shift of her hips. He quashed the desire to chase her. She was just another woman, in a chamber filled with luscious beauties.

Evan wound through the crowd to the quiet cardroom, where a man might find a better suited drink than the sweet lemonade served in the ballroom. A sideboard laden with decanters and bottles sat against the left wall. He crossed the room and filled a tumbler with whisky. Glass in hand, Evan wandered past the table of card players. Sir Stirling James looked up from his cards and nodded. Evan nodded back and took the final three paces to the hearth, where sat half a dozen other gentlemen. He leaned one shoulder against the mantle and savored the liquor, waiting for its mellowing effect to take hold.

“She is looking for a new interest, I hear,” Lord Smith said.

The Duke of Holmes’ eyes lit with devilry. “Her interests have always been wide and varied.” The portly gentleman leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against his vest, embroidered in bright jewel tones and gold lace. The style echoed the flamboyance of his youthful days, yet still suited his shoulder length, faded red-gold locks.

Lord Smith nodded. “Aye, her interests have always been adventurous.”

Evan wondered which woman present was the object of their discussion. Did he know her? Was she someone who would make this trip to the country brighter?

“Ah.” Holmes gave an exaggerated sigh. “Were I only twenty years younger…”

The younger man leaned over and slapped the elder’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, Your Grace? Afraid you’re not up to the—ride?”

Holmes broke into loud guffaws. “Her first husband wasn’t up to the deed, and died in her bed.”

Had he heard correctly? The lady in question killed her first husband on their wedding night?

Lord Bumbleberry clapped a hand to his chest. “Oh, to be clasped by those firm, ivory thighs.”

Holmes shook his head. “Now, what would a scapegrace like you know about the lady’s thighs? I said she was adventurous, not lacking in taste.”

Lord Bumbleberry’s reddish brows drew together sharply. “Keep your opinions to yourself, thank you very much.”

The duke slapped the table. “Told you he had no idea of the lady’s secret charms.” His eyes sparkled with a wicked light. “Remember how she raced her phaeton?”

“Such a daring girl.” Lord Parker almost sighed the words.

The duke grinned. “Carr came up from London like a fury. Her papa was helpless to do aught but agree to Carr’s demand that the wedding take place immediately.” He sobered. “She quieted for a time after that. Perhaps, if he had been able to sire a child on her, she would have remained quiet.”

“She’s an excellent horsewoman,” said Lord Parker.

“A reckless hoyden of a horsewoman, if you ask me,” said Lord Smith. “Of course, her thighs would be long and lean from all that wild riding.”

“Wild riding, ho!” Holmes said.