Page 13 of Never Tempt a Widow

She would. It was most distracting—she was hypnotised by the rise and fall of every breath.

“I was admiring the embroidery on your banyan. Venetian work?” Her voice emerged as a squeak.

Looking down, he tugged at it, exposing more of his muscular chest. She gulped.

“Aye. Vanity comes at a cost. Lavinia chose it for me. My late wife.”

“You must miss her sorely.” She hadn’t meant to sound so sympathetic—he was still too dangerously close.

He gazed at her, startled. Then his expression closed down. “I own much of Hadham, as well as Morden Hall and environs, and act as the local magistrate. I don’t have the luxury of time in which to grieve. If I don’t progress, if I pause to look inward, my tenants will suffer.”

“I detect bitterness. Do you resent your position of power and wealth?”

Curse it—she shouldn’t goad him. She barely knew the man, and provocation of any gentleman was unwise. He stood between her and the door, and there was nowhere she could retreat.

“Forgive me—that was uncalled for. As was my proposal earlier.” She must rescind it, accept employment on his terms, then leave as soon Edgar was weaned.

“I’ve been considering it.”

Her eyes popped wide, and the blood pounded in her temples. “You have?”

“I can see benefits for us both in a marriage of convenience. As there should be. Since you are of noble birth and are now under my roof, your reputation is compromised. Yes, I know.” He waved aside her interruption. “You’re already ruined by having had a bastard babe, but even so, I don’t want your papa, brother, uncle—or anyone at all—challenging me to a duel for completing your ruination. We can be married.”

She put out a hand, but there was nothing to support her except him. Holding her elbow in a firm grip, he pulled her so close that his breath stirred her hair. She could smell the warm musk of his body through his open nightshirt—tempting, intoxicating.

Her fingertips fluttered against his sleeve. He was much, much too close.

“Everyone will tell me that I’m an idiot, of course.”

Everyone would say that she was an idiot if she went through with it. But then, no one here knew her story. She could barely credit that Cavendish was apparently agreeing to her outrageous suggestion.

“I’ll have the banns called in church—let’s do the thing properly. Your true name must go in the church register. I vow not to pry into your secrets, though I shan’t give up hope that you will one day unburden yourself. I promise to take every care of you—as long you stay with myself and Edgar and prove a dutiful wife.”

Her mind snagged on the word “dutiful”. If he meant keeping house for him, organising social functions, and making sure the cupboards were well-stocked and the servants well-disciplined, then, yes—she could be dutiful. She would do her best to ensure that Edgar was brought up as became his status and would herself be a credit to Sir Rowland Cavendish and remain faithful to him. The last would pose no problem—she had no intention of taking a lover. After her experience with Dundas, she never wanted to lie with a man again.

“I’m sure I can be dutiful, sir.”

“I mean, in every aspect of marital relations.”

Her heart dropped like a millstone. “But I said—”

Lowering his head, he rested his forehead against hers. “I know you did, and I don’t agree to it. If I want my wife, I’ll take my wife. I don’t mean to become an object of mockery within my own household. They think me mad enough already.”

“I can’t agree to that.”

“I’d never force you. Not like the blackguard who put that child in your belly.”

Her head snapped up. He thought she’d been raped?

She worried at her lip. Better he believed that than discovered the truth. It would keep him at bay—at least for a while. And she might be able to escape the situation before it ever came to… that.

“You wouldn’t force me?” She injected a tremor into her voice.

His face softened. “Of course not. But a man in my position should never settle for just one heir. You must understand that?”

His hands cupped her cheeks, the heat of his fingers penetrating through his gloves. Then he brushed his lips across hers.

Warm breath feathered her face. “Until you are ready to have me, the occasional kiss won’t go amiss. Particularly if there is a footman watching. And we must appear to be sleeping together from the very beginning. You know how maids are prone to gossip. Or so I assume.”

He moved away then, letting the cool air flood between them, and made for the door.

Turning, he held her gaze. “You could try to look more cheerful, Miss Seraphina Hamilton—your wish has been granted. We are going to be married. I’ll speak to the curate tomorrow if I can make my way through the drifts. The banns will be called thrice, and we’ll be wed before the middle of February. That gives you three weeks in which to change your mind.”

He closed the door, and she stood transfixed, gaping at the panelled wood as the chill in the room gradually seeped into her body. It wasn’t until the log in the fireplace spat explosively that she was spurred into movement, and she crouched before the flames, rubbing warmth back into her arms.

He’d accepted her proposal, a proposal that she never should have made. If she was lucky, she might have the security she craved so desperately. But if she was unlucky, she’d just made the second biggest mistake of her life.