Page 50 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“To marry him, no.” She glanced around. “We should perhaps return to the more-frequented areas of the park. Remember, you now have a reputation to protect.”

“I believe I will remain untarnished if we let the horses rest a few moments longer.” He looped the ribbons around the whipsocket and adjusted his position so that he faced her fully. “If he has not persuaded you to marry him, then has he persuaded you to some other action?” He drew off his driving gloves and began to tap them lightly on his thigh.

Repressing the urge to laugh, Charlotte merely shook her head. “That would have been my desire precisely. Lord Wrotham, however, is a stickler where it comes to women, even widows. He will have a wedding before a wedding night. Nothing else will do.”

“He did seem that type.” Kersey’s disgruntled tone caught her attention.

“Arguments for a marriage between Wrotham and me are sound and well thought out, I must say.” Her gaze lingered on Alan’s face. A fine straight nose above the wide mouth, his lips full, though somewhat strained at the moment. The strong chin completed his chiseled look. Attractive an hour ago, but now . . . “Our properties adjoin, I am of sufficient station for his rank, and, as I said, he can be very persuasive when it comes to the physical aspect of marriage.”

“But you said—”

She sighed. “He draws the line at the extreme of physical intimacy, although he has no compunction about kissing and caressing me, a bit more . . . energetically than we just did.”

“Huh.”

“An arousing experience, to say the least.” Wrotham had aroused her instantly in the library and on the veranda, and on the staircase in the church, if truth be known. “I fear that if he attempts to persuade me one more time, I am liable to be so carried away by his ardor, I will acquiesce and accept him.” God, it was true. Having tasted the likes of Kersey and Fernley, she needed no other inducement to choose Wrotham.

Alan stared at her, a tic jumping near his left eye. “Even though you do not wish to marry? Can you not find another man who will warm your bed without requiring matrimony as the price?”

She stared directly into his eyes. “That seems to be rather hard to do these days.”

He growled and snared her hand, holding it still against the warmth of his leg. “You will consider him as husband but not me? For the first time I need a wife, Charlotte, not a mistress.”

She winced at the word, though it was only the truth. “Indeed nothing seems to exist in-between. There is no way to enjoy one another fully without the need for more.”

“What if you find you want more?”

The question took her completely by surprise. She hadn’t contemplated the possibility of wanting more of him. Wanting marriage. She’d thought no further than the initial passionate conquest. Could she propose the same thing to Lord Wrotham? The notion tantalized her. Now that Alan was hell-bent on marriage as well, she’d need to find another man with whom to tryst, or choose between the two she’d already approached. And between the two, Wrotham held many more charms than Kersey.

If Wrotham had not already begun to woo Georgina. The thought acted like a dash of cold water in her face.

“Then the morning after I would accept your proposal and be happy.” The words came automatically, as Charlotte fought to bring her focus back to the man beside her.

But the wind had shifted.

Faced with the choice between Wrotham, Kersey, or the other few men she’d met at the end of the Season, there was no choice really. If truth be told, she’d known before she came to London who she desired and hadn’t wanted to admit it. Hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that she might want to give up her freedom for another man. She could fool herself no longer. She had no more longing for Lord Kersey than she had had for Lord Fernley. A shiver went through her. She would consult Georgina as soon as she arrived home. If Lord Wrotham were still free, she would see if she could persuade him anew. If not...

Alan unwound the ribbons and clucked to the bays. They stepped out, prancing into a trot as they raced back to find a few more vehicles had joined them. Charlotte nodded to several acquaintances, though they did not stop until the horses drew up in front of Theale’s town house. A groom came up to hold them and Alan handed her down the steps.

“How long are you in London?” he asked, holding her waist lightly.

“Almost no time.” She hastened to make that clear. She wanted no more calls from the Earl of Kersey. “Less than a week, I’m afraid. They have had to push back the harvest because the crops are so poor from the cold and wet. But I am determined to be there for my first ingathering as mistress of Lyttlefield.” The thought filled her with a sense of purpose and contentment. Her fields.

“I am likewise engaged with the business of the earldom for the next several weeks. I will be visiting all my properties, using London as a base.” He paused, as if thinking, calculating. “Will you be in London or Kent by the middle of October?”

“In Kent assuredly, for the harvest and celebration afterward. I don’t plan to return to London until the middle of the Season.”

“That is right, you mentioned in the library that your second house party would be held at about that time. I hope I am invited this time.” His lascivious grin set her teeth on edge.

Lord, she’d forgotten that bit of madness, born on the spur of a very dangerous moment. “Yes, so good of you to remember.” She forced herself to continue. “It would be lovely if you could attend.” She’d almost rather have a repeat of the Fernley performance.

“I will look forward to it with the utmost anticipation. By the end of the party I hope we will be able to reach an understanding.” He licked his lips. “I will be counting the days until I see you again. Think of me, will you?”

He kissed her hand, lingering over it so long she had to repress the urge to squirm. With a bow, he climbed up and took the ribbons. A quick shake set the team to their paces. As soon as the curricle turned the corner, she wiped her hand on her skirt and strode into the house.

Tomorrow she’d return to Kent and seek out the Earl of Wrotham. One way or the other, she would make the man declare himself. A wave of dizziness made her grab the newel post as she remembered the last time he had done so. After all that kissing, her legs had been so weak the library wall couldn’t hold her up. Oh, to be kissed that way again. Very well, this time they would come to an accord, even if it meant relinquishing her hard-earned freedom.

Chapter 17