Page 6 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

George once again raised his quizzer. “Well, well. Lady John Tarkington. She was widowed last year. I suppose this means her mourning is finished.” He smiled and licked his lips. “Lady John is quite the figure of a woman, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is she the one in yellow?” Nash couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“In blue. With blond hair.”

Nash shot his friend a sideways glance. “Bit older than your usual conquest, isn’t she?”

George let the quizzing glass drop and straightened his jacket. “Yes, but ever so much more fun. She led Tarkington a merry chase before and after their marriage, so I’m told. Always a breath away from scandal was Lady Jane Munro before she married. And now she’s apparently back on the market.” He started across the dance floor. “Come, let me present you so I can ask her for the first dance. Perhaps she will introduce you to her companion.”

“But who is the lady in yellow?” Nash followed, frowning. He hated when things went on the fly. Fifteen years in the Royal Navy had taught him that lack of organization usually led to disaster.

Abernathy shook his head. “No idea. Didn’t get a good look at her.” He nodded toward the two women, talking and laughing together with several ladies they had joined. “But Lady John obviously does.”

Nash trailed behind, weaving his way across the floor, where the first set was making up. If fortune shone on him, an introduction would be forthcoming in time to ask the lady in yellow for the honor of the first dance. If not, he’d ask for the second set and admire her during the first.

They arrived at the little knot of ladies and George’s acquaintance turned toward them.

“Mr. Abernathy. How wonderful to see you again.” The woman’s eyes lit with pleasure and perhaps a touch of amusement. She turned her penetrating gaze on Nash, and he swallowed hard, unnerved by her bold assessment of him.

Managing a smile, he bowed as George made the introduction.

“My lady, may I present the Earl of Wrotham? Late of His Majesty’s Navy. Wrotham, this is Lady John Tarkington, widow of the late Major-General Tarkington.” Abernathy beamed at her. “I am so pleased this special light of the ton has reemerged.”

“Delighted, my lord.” The widow’s low-pitched voice managed to convey a touch of the suggestive in just those three words.

“Actually it’s pronounced ‘Rut-am,’ my lady.” He sent George a scathing look that was ignored. “Abernathy here has never said it correctly.” He bowed to Lady John. “My pleasure, entirely.”

Her eyes narrowed seductively, and an uncomfortable flare of heat touched his face. Well, George had intimated she’d had her share of scandal. So his friend had best beware this woman didn’t sink her claws into him, although the man appeared unconcerned. Instead, he continued an avid conversation with her, leaving Nash at sixes and sevens and without an introduction to the intriguing younger woman.

From the corner of his eye he watched her, deep in conversation with two other ladies. She stood out among them, brilliant as a peacock among doves. Her laughter sent a little thrill down his spine. He clenched his fist. Would George never inquire about the blasted introduction?

“Wrotham.”

Nash jerked his attention back to his friend.

“I told Lady John you wished an introduction to her friend.” Abernathy picked up the quizzing glass once more and gestured toward the lady.

“My cousin actually, my lord.” Lady John’s broad smile dimpled her cheeks for the first time.

“I had hoped to ask her for the first dance, my lady.”

“Splendid. Charlotte.” Lady John stepped toward the entrancing figure in yellow, who turned at the sound of her name.

She smiled at her cousin, then glanced inquiringly at him. He held his breath.

The face he now saw close at hand confirmed his instincts. A vision of loveliness on the outside, with an energy that pulsed under her skin, making her the most animated person he had ever seen. Her eyes glinted green, sparkling in the candlelight like the sun reflected off the jeweled waters of the Mediterranean. The slight smile on her perfectly bowed lips made her appear both secretive and joyous, filled to the brim with anticipation of something long awaited.

With a rush of desire, Nash wanted to be the one to inspire that feeling in this lovely creature.

“May I introduce the Earl of Wrotham, my dear?” Lady John nodded and stepped back, her gaze darting between the two of them. “A friend of Mr. Abernathy’s. My lord, this is Lady Charlotte Cavendish, my cousin.”

Lady Cavendish stepped forward quickly, a smile curling her lips. “I am pleased to meet you, my lord.” Her eyes widened, her gait faltered, then she pitched forward with a little cry, arms flailing.

Reflexes honed from years in the Navy, Nash stepped in neatly, catching her under her arms. She landed with a thump against his chest, sending a whiff of jasmine all around him and a thrill of lust straight to his loins. He paused, savoring the soft body pressed against him, the shining hair brushing his chin. With regret, he got himself under control and reluctantly set her on her feet.

Her neck and face had flushed, turning the color of the deep red roses that adorned the terraces at Wrotham Hall. She kept her eyes downcast and stepped back.

“The pleasure is certainly all mine, my lady.” Not the most appropriate response, perhaps, but a heartfelt one surely.