Page 28 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

She turned without a backward glance and fled to the house, completely unsure whether she required its safety or not.

Chapter 8

By two o’clock, the house had quieted down, although Charlotte wasn’t quite sure how settled all the inhabitants were. She went from room to room on the ground floor, looking for anything not as it should be. Caution—at least in some things—had always been her motto. She listened as the sounds of the retiring guests diminished into murmured good nights and closing doors.

Elizabeth and Georgie, she would wager, were already snug in their own beds, alone. Elizabeth had seemed more animated and in better spirits than usual. She had talked and even laughed with several gentlemen this evening but showed no great partiality toward any one. Charlotte had not expected her to. Her devotion to Colonel Easton had been akin to that found in the fashionable romantic novels available from the Minerva Press, so her personal period of mourning might extend until circumstances forced her to marry. And knowing Elizabeth, she would certainly wait for marriage before indulging in bedroom pleasures once more.

Georgina had finally been persuaded to dance a second time with Lord Fernley, although she had eventually cried off from dancing altogether, pleading fatigue. She had instead accompanied the others, seeming very accomplished and comfortable on the pianoforte. It might take several meetings of the club before Georgina became accustomed to dancing—and men—again.

Charlotte paused before the library door, the muffled sound of voices straining through the polished oak door catching her attention. Some of her guests still stirred? She reached for the latch, then paused, hand on the handle.

What if this was a tryst? Both Jane and Fanny were eager to resume the pleasures of the bed, although why they would wish to do so in a library she could not fathom. Leaning her head against the panel, she pressed her ear to the smooth wood, listening for voices. The denizens of the library chose that moment to fall silent. Drat! She pressed more intently, aware that if the door opened she would fall into whoever stood there.

The murmuring resumed, in a register so low it could only be a man’s. Was there a woman in there also? Did she really want to know? Easing away from the door, Charlotte changed directions and headed for the stairs, her heart beating quicker at the thought of the assignations that might be going on all around her. She could have had one of her own if she’d accepted Mr. Garrett. She shivered at the prospect and sped up the stairs.

Jane had warned her about him in March and the man’s reputed escapades would make any decent woman blush. Last spring alone, rumors had circulated regarding his pursuit of three different women. Two widows and a viscount’s wife, so the story went. She certainly didn’t want to be his next conquest. If only there was some way to make him leave the house party, but it would be rude to ask him to go if he’d done nothing except suggest an assignation. She would simply have to be on her guard. Surely he would not try to force her in a houseful of people. A sudden foreboding made her look over her shoulder, but the dark staircase remained empty. When she made the landing, however, she picked up her skirts and raced to her suite.

Quiet reigned in the blue- and cream-colored room she had claimed as her own. A fire crackled in the grate, her gown and wrapper laid out on the tall bed to warm, a decanter and glasses twinkled on a side table.

“There you are, my lady. I wondered why you hadn’t come up yet.” The door to her dressing room opened and Rose emerged, a pair of emerald-green suede shoes in her hands. “You have a full day tomorrow. You’ll be needing your rest. Let me put these down and I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

She gave another brush to the shoes and set them back in the dressing room. “Now, stand still, my lady.” Deftly, Rose unbuttoned, unlaced, and untied Charlotte’s clothes until she stood gloriously naked and free.

A sudden vision of standing thus before the Earl of Wrotham sprang to mind, his dark eyes full of approval, his rough hands caressing her body. She shivered and glanced down to see her breasts peaked into hard, pink points.

“Are you cold, my lady?”

Her maid’s voice dragged her back to the present. “A sudden draft. I’ll take a short wash only.” Perhaps the water would cool her down.

Moments later, she emerged from behind the screen and the fine lawn and lace nightdress slithered over her head. She pulled her wrapper around her shoulders and sat, forcing herself to relax as Rose brushed out her hair. The soothing routine now rubbed her nerves like a cheese grater. The more Rose slid the brush through her hair, the more sensually aware she became of the touch of the bristles on her super-sensitive scalp. She could imagine Wrotham’s hands in her hair, raking his fingers through the length of her thick locks, cupping her head, drawing her closer until he engulfed her body with his.

A sharp rap on the door sent Charlotte staggering up with a squawk on her lips. She stood swaying, every nerve tingling as she tried to calm her racing heart.

“Who’s there?” Rose opened the door.

“Fisk,” the butler replied, standing straight, completely unruffled. “I am sorry to disturb you, my lady, but one of the guests is leaving and insists on speaking with you before he goes.”

Charlotte clutched her wrapper tighter. “Which guest?”

“Mr. Alan Garrett.”

Good Lord, an answer to a prayer. Or a ploy by a very clever rake? Well, she could be clever too.

“Tell him I will meet him directly. Is he in his room?”

“The drawing room, my lady.”

“Thank you, Fisk.” Charlotte dismissed the servant and turned to Rose. “I’ll wear the dress I just took off but without the stays. Too much trouble for the ten minutes I will be with Mr. Garrett. I’ll use my nightgown in place of the chemise.” The quicker she could get this over with, the better off she would be.

Rose nodded, disappeared into the dressing room, and reemerged with the pale blue silk gown. In moments she had dropped it into place and was fastening the back.

“It’s a bit loose without the stays, my lady.”

Charlotte could see that. The small puffed sleeves sagged onto her shoulders, revealing the top of her undergarment. Bother it. “Hand me the paisley shawl. I can cover up with that.”

Draping herself as best she could, Charlotte stepped into her slippers, grabbed the candle from Rose, and hurried out the door.

Shadows played up and down the staircase as she descended, distracting her as she fought to manage her skirt, her shawl, and the candle all at once. If she took a tumble she’d either break her neck, set the house on fire, or both.