Page 8 of Never Tempt a Widow

Chapter Four

Darkness descended early at this time of the year. Fina could ask for a carriage to take her home, as it would be too cold on horseback now that the sun had set. Sir Rowland hadn’t returned—nor had Mr Ainsworth. The latter was a handsome gentleman, but nothing like the taller, broader, more solemn Rowland Cavendish. He was peerless.

She shuddered. When her affianced, the father of her child, had left her to drown, she’d vowed never to trust a man again. She’d been relieved—once she’d got over the shock of Dundas’ betrayal—to escape the murderous clutches of that devilishly attractive fellow. Now, she had inadvertently fallen within the sphere of two more.

Gazing through the window into the twilight, her mind barely registered the falling flakes beyond the glass. Her thoughts dragged her relentlessly back to the time when she’d shown such enormous naivete. For weeks after the accident, she’d told herself that the sound of hooves galloping away had been Dundas riding off for help. Why he had never returned, she couldn’t fathom but feared he must have met a mishap himself in his race to get assistance.

Mercifully, she’d found another rescuer. Her faithful steed Saxon had slithered and staggered to the edge of the vertical bank where she still clung desperately to the tree root. He’d dipped his head, nosing at her. She’d understood, caught hold of his trailing reins, and scrambled upward as he pulled back.

Once her breathing and heartbeat had calmed, she’d wrung out her skirts as best she could, re-mounted, and steered Saxon onward in the hope of meeting Dundas coming back for her.

Dundas had not returned for her. She had travelled on alone, her only certainty the noble beast that carried her into a strange and fearsome new life.

The tears slid down her face as she glanced down at the baby’s downy head. Maybe her pregnancy had clouded her judgement—she’d behaved like an utter fool. It had been days before she’d fully accepted her situation. The memory of that whip crashing against Saxon’s hide, making him buck and throw her off, should have painted the picture clearly enough—yet it made no sense.

She hefted Edgar on her chest and gave him a finger to suck. “Look, little Edgar—it’s snowing out there.”

He muttered, and his head tipped sleepily against her collarbone. She nuzzled him beneath her chin, a flickering flame of comfort in a sea of doubt.

“Why would he leave us, Edgar? Why would he leave the mother of his baby to die?”

Why, too, would Dundas not have stayed to make certain she had drowned before helping himself to the rest of her belongings, including her Brussels laces? If he was callous enough for murder, he wouldn’t give a second thought to theft. There had to be some other explanation she hadn’t yet thought of—a scenario where Dundas was not a vile killer, a Demon lover, an immoral, heartless fiend.

She had been no more than an object to satisfy a man’s lust. Even her exalted status as the daughter of a duke hadn’t saved her. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing she was nothing but a pretty bauble to be tossed aside when her lover was bored, to be stamped upon and broken so that she could be forgotten about, expunged, erased. A mistake. A problem. How he must have loathed her to do a thing like that! But Dundas had hidden his real feelings so well.

The lingering hope had never quite died—the belief that she must be wrong, that there must be some other explanation. Then today, she’d seen Dundas—or a man who looked very like him—and been scared out of her wits. If her former sweetheart had already tried to remove her from this mortal coil—and failed—how much harder would he try if he discovered she still lived? He could not risk her pointing an accusing finger at him.

She needed protection. If Dundas should ever find her, her strength was no match for his. His grip around her neck would be relentless.

Her head buzzed like a beehive in a thunderstorm. To stay here, under this roof, under Cavendish’s protection—was impossible, wasn’t it? Audacious, certainly. Courageous—possibly. Insane? Almost certainly. She bit her lip, then brushed a kiss across Edgar’s forehead.

The door opened. Cavendish.

She rose, dropped a curtsy, then presented Edgar to his father. “He has dined well, sir. Three feeds, and no vomiting or wind.”

As Cavendish took his child, his fingers brushed her arm. She trembled. The idea that had formed at the back of her mind was crying out for recognition. But her reaction to that accidental touch warned her to remain silent.

“Good.” The man spun away and paced around the room, his concentration focused on his child. He posed no threat to her, did he? All he cared about was Edgar. His features softened as he gazed at the babe, and his mouth relaxed into an almost-smile.

Outside, the twilight had turned to black. She should ask for the carriage to take her home—she had completed the day’s nursing. She hadn’t agreed to stay. But that carriage would take her beyond the iron gates and high walls of Morden Hall, onto a road where the murderer, Dundas, could be lurking behind any ancient oak or ivy-choked hedge.

“It’s snowing.” Cavendish turned towards her. “Hard. Felix has elected to stay the night. I’d advise you to do the same. You may use Mrs Radford’s bed—Molly will change the sheets for you.”

She was perfectly capable of changing them herself. She’d learned to do everything for herself in the harsh months since Dundas had apparently left her to drown.

“I was going to ask for your carriage—”

“I was going to have some supper sent—”

She stared at Cavendish, and their gazes locked for a brief, startling moment. He frowned, stalked away, and gently returned Edgar to his cot.

She stared out the window once more, struggling to recover her equanimity. By the time she felt brave enough to turn around, Cavendish had perched himself on the edge of the linen press.

He ran a hand across his brow. “Look—I know you don’t want to stay, and I don’t wish to constrain you—” He heaved out a breath and gazed up at the plastered ceiling as if fascinated by it. “But if we are to be snowed in—and God knows, that’s highly likely—you had better accept my offer of employment. I know you are—were—a noblewoman. I appreciate it’s not what you would want, being a paid wetnurse to a low-ranking peer in the loneliest part of Norfolk. But it must be marginally better than eking out a living from a tiny cottage garden, surely?”

Her body went hot and cold. The insane idea that had popped into her head earlier had her in its grip—and it was a struggle to fight it.

“I am noble-born, sir, and I could bring scandal upon your house. I have no intention of revealing all my secrets, but suffice it to say, I am not a widow. I have never married.” There. The truth was out. She forced herself to feel no shame.

“Ah.” His gaze roved over her face. “Felix thought as much. Scandal, you say? But scandal touches women more than men. I doubt your presence here will do me any harm.”

She thought about Dundas. She could bring harm to this man’s family, as well as scandal. She must not, under any circumstances, give voice to the lunatic thoughts that raged around in her head.

“So—are you thinking of offering me longer-term employment? You don’t just want me for a few days while we wait for the snow to melt?”

He nodded. “I don’t want to have to keep changing wetnurses. I would like Edgar to have the comfort of familiarity.”

But when Edgar was weaned neither he nor his father would have any further use for her. And if Dundas were in the locality, if the man she’d seen earlier that day was him, she dared not leave Morden Hall.

There was no choice. She didn’t like it, and Cavendish would probably toss her out in the snow for her effrontery, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“I would prefer a marriage of convenience, as befits my status.”

There. She’d said it. Her heart stopped beating, and her eyes devoured him while she waited for his response.