Page 5 of Never Tempt a Widow

“You mean me to come and live up at the Hall and take your baby to my breast?” Suckle a stranger’s child? Because her own was dead? That made her no better than a cow in the meadow. The answer was no. It had to be.

“You would be saving my life. Edgar’s too. He’s been nursed by a toper, and I fear for his health.”

“Oh.” Bitterness rose up like gall. This man could afford physic for his child, could employ someone to suckle it and care for it. Her income from vegetables in winter was meagre and had brought in nowhere near enough to save the poorly Adelina when the putrid fever struck her.

She shook her head. “I can’t. I need to tend my garden if I’m to pay your rent.”

“I’ll forego the rent. Your cottage will be kept until you’re ready to return to it. Edgar can be weaned in the next few months, I gather, so you can get back to your gardening in spring.”

“You don’t understand. It’s my livelihood.”

“I understand perfectly. I’m offering you an alternative. I don’t mean to trespass upon your grief—the loss of a babe is a mortal blow. I know how I’d feel should I lose Edgar. But I don’t intend to lose him. Take pity on me.”

He was begging, but she could sense the steely determination that underlay his words. He had no intention of leaving without her.

For a duke’s daughter to elope with an untitled ne’er-do-well was bad enough. To bear that murderous man’s child in penury and obscurity was even worse. But to live beneath the same roof as the widower Rowland Cavendish, and suckle his child, would complete her ruin. Her family would be worse than dead to her. If anyone found her out, she could never live down the shame.

“I can’t do it.”

He uncrossed his legs and knelt at her feet, reaching behind her back and seizing her hand. Turning it over, he traced the calluses on her palm with a gloved finger.

“I won’t ask any questions, but I’m no fool. I can tell just by looking at you that you’re highborn. Your voice and way of speaking confirm it. Whatever scandal you’re escaping from, whatever desperation has driven you from hall to hovel, it matters not to me. I swear, I’ll never give away your secrets, whatever they may be. All I ask is a few months of your time, to give my son a good chance in life. He’s the last of my line—”

Cavendish looked away, then got abruptly to his feet and moved towards the door. His face was in shadow, but she could tell by his stance that he was not a man used to begging. She knew how he felt.

“Look.” He spread his hands. “Just come up with me now and meet my son. I won’t constrain you. He may not even take to you, in which case watered cow’s milk will have to do until I can find someone else. But it’s icy, the roads are treacherous, and snow threatens. You understand my need is urgent. Please, just come up to the Hall and suckle Edgar if you can. If it’s a success, I’ll meet your terms, whatever they may be—you have my word as a gentleman.”

She’d never heard of him being anything other than the perfect gentleman in all the time she’d lived in Hadham. But his sex could not be trusted. They all had their desires, their greedy ambitions—why should this man be any different?

And yet… And yet, she would once again have a babe in her arms. A warm, sweet-smelling bundle of miraculous life, an armful of potential, of hope. Something to love unreservedly.

There would be conditions. There must, but he was rich and powerful enough to accede to any of her demands. If she was to be elevated from market gardener to gentlewoman wetnurse, a new pair of shoes would not go amiss—she was almost through her old ones.

“Very well. I will feed your son today.”

He let out a long breath, and his broad shoulders lowered.

“But I don’t promise anything beyond that. And even if we come to some agreement, I have conditions.”

His head went up. “Name your conditions. I’ll meet them.”

“Not yet. Let’s undertake the meeting first. If your son shirks my breast, my terms are immaterial.”

“Time will tell. Get your warmest things on—the air smells of snow. Is there anything I can help you with? Put a curfew on the fire?”

“I’ll tell Alder Betts I’ll be out today. That’s my neighbour. He’ll mind the cottage for me if need be.”

There was little else to do. In a matter of minutes, she had her woollen cloak around her shoulders and a basket on her arm. Cavendish stood waiting for her outside, next to his mount.

Saxon. He’d ridden over on Saxon. Her heart jolted—this horse had saved her life. Because Dundas had filled her jewel box with rocks, she’d been forced to sell her clothes and other belongings in order to put a roof over her head, but she’d clung onto Saxon. When she was too big with child to tend the vegetables she grew for market, she’d been forced to sell the horse, as well.

Would Saxon know her again? No, he mustn’t be given the chance. If Cavendish didn’t know Saxon had once been hers, it was for the best. She didn’t want the man to surmise any more about her than he already had.

Her eyes were moist as she pulled her hood across to hide her face.

Not waiting for permission, Cavendish seized her around the waist and hoisted her onto Saxon’s back, then leaped up into the saddle in front of her.

“Hold tight to me. I’d not have you fall.”

Too late. She had already fallen as far as she could go. She clutched at the folds of his greatcoat.

“I meant, hold on to me. My coat could pull free, but my body won’t. Saxon likes to travel quickly.”

She knew he did. And it thrilled her that Cavendish had kept the horse’s name. A crumb of comfort in a sea of unknowing.

After some fumbling and a renewed flush of heat to her face, her chilled hands found their way beneath the coat and locked around the man’s waist, pulling her close against his back. Her feet dangled awkwardly, and she clung on as Saxon lurched away towards the high road.

The power of Cavendish’s body as he controlled the horse did curious things to her equanimity. This was the first time she’d touched a man in many months, and after what she’d been through, she expected to be repelled.

But she wasn’t. She liked holding him.

And that was even worse.