Page 30 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“Mr. Garrett?”

Chapter 9

If she could have sunk through the floor and deep into the ground, Charlotte would have praised God as a merciful deity. Of all the people to discover her in such a compromising position, it had to be this rake. Now he would think her a light woman and she’d never be rid of him. He’d just bide his time and wait his turn. She had no choice save to stand beside Lord Wrotham, guilty as sin.

“My lady. Were you perhaps looking for me?” Mr. Garrett made no other utterance, God curse him. The wretch’s implication could not have been clearer.

Wrotham jerked his head around and stared at her.

“Yes, Mr. Garrett, I had come down to meet you.” God, that sounded badly. “You sent for me . . . I mean, you sent Fisk to tell me to meet you.” Worse and worse. “You said you were leaving?” Charlotte raised her head and wrinkled her nose. “Do you smell something burning?”

Both men stared at her; then Wrotham, scowling like a gargoyle, stomped behind a chair and ground something into the carpet.

“I suppose you two weren’t the only heat in the room,” Garrett said, grinning at Charlotte.

She itched to smash something into that leering face. “I tripped, Mr. Garrett, and fortunately, Lord Wrotham caught me.” Heat crept into her cheeks as she thought of how they must have looked to him.

“Again? He’s always there when you need him, isn’t he? I suspect you needed a great deal of comfort after such a tumble.” He seemed to enjoy mocking her. His gaze flicked over her appearance.

Automatically, she pulled her gown up over her shoulders. She curled her toes on the scratchy carpet, at once aware she’d stepped out of her slippers somewhere along the way. Likely when she’d tripped and fallen into Wrotham’s arms.

“I see no reason for insolence, sir.” The deathly calm of Wrotham’s voice drew her attention back to him. “This is really none of your affair whatsoever.” His glare would have made a sensible man shut his mouth and be on his way. She’d not want to see it turned on her. A warm wave of gratitude washed over her at his gallant defense.

“You are correct, my lord. It certainly is not.” He eyed Charlotte once more. “You are, however, correct also, Lady Cavendish. I must take my leave. I received word almost an hour ago that my uncle, Lord Kersey, is gravely ill and not expected to live past a day or two. I regret that I must immediately journey to his estate in the north of Essex.”

“Oh, dear. I am very sorry for your uncle, Mr. Garrett.” She hoped her condolences hid her relief at his departure.

“I as well, Garrett.” Wrotham spoke up, startling her anew. She had forgotten he stood next to her.

“Is there anything you require for your journey, Mr. Garrett?” Charlotte forced herself back into her role of hostess, despite the bizarre circumstances.

“No, thank you, my lady.” At least he sounded a bit more civil now. “I’ve ordered my carriage and it should be coming around front shortly. My valet is seeing to the packing. I had only to speak to you.” He stared at her, and a softening in his eyes made her heart leap with dread. “Therefore, I take my leave of you, Lady Cavendish. Will you be returning to London in the autumn?”

Taken aback by this sudden change in attitude, she stuttered, “I . . . I had not thought about it yet. But perhaps Lady John and I will visit during the Little Season. However, I will likely be here most of the time. I had thought to have another party here at the end of harvest.” Why couldn’t the man just leave?

“Good. When you are in town I would ask to call upon you. I may be in need of solace if the worst happens with my uncle.” He shifted awkwardly and tapped his hand against his leg.

“I pray all is better than feared.”

“I as well, my lady. Wrotham.” Garrett bowed and left.

Charlotte watched him go, sighing in relief, alone once again with Wrotham.

The gravity of their situation reared its head once more. Not so much that they had been found out, but that she had behaved so wantonly with this man she hardly knew. What had possessed her to kiss the earl like that?

Standing apart from him like this, she felt nothing of the burning passion that had seized her when he had caught her in his arms. No fire ripping through her veins as when his mouth sealed itself to hers. If she touched him again, would it reappear?

Charlotte turned toward Wrotham to find the earl watching her, as coolly detached as he had been hot with desire. She opened her mouth, not knowing what words might emerge.

He saved her the trouble. “You were expecting Garrett just now when you ran into me, weren’t you?”

Her sharp gasp sounded loud as cannon fire to her ears.

In the silence that followed, he sauntered to the sideboard and poured a good three fingers of brandy into his glass and downed it in one gulp. “Did you simply mistake me for him, or did the man matter at all to you?”

“How dare you!” Outrage at his insinuation shoved all her guilt over her actions into a far corner. Just whom did he think he was to judge her?

“I dare to speak the truth, my lady. You seemed genuinely desirous enough just now to fool me into believing your passion was aimed at me. Either you thought me your lover or you wanted me to be. I merely wish to know which is true.” Wrotham’s gaze glittered in the guttering candlelight, unreadable as blank stone.