Page 47 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

Jane shook her head and sat up, staring into her face as if searching for something. “All the more reason, my dear, to think before throwing away this new chance for happiness. Charlotte, you have the opportunity to make a good marriage now. A marriage with a man near your age, who you yourself have said you are drawn to. Why not accept Wrotham? You cannot seriously believe he will behave as Sir Archibald did?”

Charlotte had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. “No, Jane. I truly do not believe Lord Wrotham would be anything but a good husband. But why should I tempt fate and leap into another marriage when I need not? He may not have Sir Archibald’s faults, but he will certainly have some of his own. As it is now, I can do as I please, run my estate as I see fit, and find male companionship as I like.” She gave her cousin an arch look. “Considering your declaration never to marry again, I would think you understood my reasons.”

Jane nodded but grasped her hands. “I do, my dear, but my situation is much different from yours. I had a satisfying marriage, children, and financial reasons not to marry again.”

“As have I.”

“But you do not have children, Charlotte. If you do not marry, you will end up alone. Or worse, you will not be careful and be forced into marriage with a man who seemed delightful in the dark but less so in the light.”

Charlotte blotted away her tears. Why could she not have it all as she wished with no fuss? “I do want a husband and children, but not so badly as I want to make my own decisions. And mistakes. For the first time in my life, I have that ability. If I cannot have the man I loved, at least I will have a choice in what I do.”

Jane’s kind blue eyes looked sad, but she nodded. “I believe I do understand, my dear. Now, what may I do to help you?”

* * *

“You look positively ravishing, Charlotte! But then, that is the idea, is it not?” Jane remarked as Charlotte entered the drawing room of the Theale town house.

She smiled and flushed, nervous that at last she would see the Earl of Kersey. Ostensibly she awaited with her cousin for the fashionable callers now in town to make an appearance, but they both knew one particular caller was the reason for her grand appearance.

Her white sprigged muslin, so sheer it left little of her shape to the imagination, dipped down low over her breasts, inviting male attention. Unsuitable for afternoon? Definitely. She cared not a fig. When the earl arrived, she wanted to be sure his gaze would be only on her.

“Exactly the point, Jane.” Charlotte paced about the room, glancing out the window as she passed by. One o’clock in the afternoon. Alan had written yesterday, asking permission to call today. If only he would arrive, this panicky feeling might subside and she could once again be the gracious, flirtatious woman he had kissed in June.

“Do sit down, Charlotte.” Jane sipped her tea and frowned. “You look ready to fly to pieces. Not the effect one wants to project when one is angling for a lover.”

Giving her cousin a speaking glance, Charlotte dropped into a Queen Anne chair.

“Take this tea, my dear. It will fortify you.”

“Only if it has a large dollop of brandy in it.” Charlotte grinned and sipped the hot, sweet beverage. Her hands shook, and she forced them to steady. He would appear eventually. Pray God, no one else did.

As the long-case clock struck the half hour, Fisk appeared. “The Earl of Kersey, my lady.”

Charlotte sat straighter, which pushed her bosom straight out, jutting like the prow of a ship. She licked her lips, then bit them slightly to deepen the color. Her cheeks were already blooming, thanks to the Attar of Roses she had applied. Setting the teacup on the table before she spilled it, she turned toward the doorway and smiled broadly.

Lord Kersey swept into the room and she caught her breath, for the change in him was immediately evident. The handsome blond looks were still there, curly hair still charmingly riotous, blue eyes alert and sensual. His clothing, as fashionable as ever—deep brown coat, cream silk embroidered waistcoat, and fawn-colored trousers—save the addition of a mourning armband. He looked to be the same man who had earned her the reputation of wicked at Almack’s.

Yet his demeanor had changed. He moved with the presence of his station rather than the relaxed devil-may-care attitude that had proclaimed him unconcerned with anything save the next wager or woman to be won. Before, his eyes would have sought her out hungrily. Now he strode toward her cousin, avoiding Charlotte’s avid gaze entirely.

He spoke to Jane and bent low over her hand, his countenance poised and respectful. Her cousin had been correct. The rake was gone. In his place a man of purpose stood, one who might also insist on a more permanent arrangement between them.

Plague take him.

At last, he turned to her, and his eyes warmed.

That warmth at least was encouraging. With luck, it might be all right after all.

“My dear Lady Cavendish. I am so pleased to see you once more.” He lifted her hand and his lips grazed her knuckles.

Delightful shivers shot up her arm. That certainly boded well.

“I truly regret the necessity of having to quit your house party so early in August. Indeed nothing would have persuaded me to leave your excellent company except the sad news of my uncle’s impending death.” His gaze searched her face, a mocking lift to his eyebrow. “I do hope you have forgiven me?”

“Of course, my lord. Such an event must take precedence over any other engagement. I am sorry for your loss.”

He continued to hold her hand, and Charlotte’s heart pounded in her chest, almost visible, she’d wager, due to her extreme décolletage.

“You are kind, my lady.” He squeezed her hand and she returned the gesture. Looking deeply into his eyes, now darker and wider than just moments before, a fleeting thought arose that he might sweep her into his town house this very evening.