Page 65 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

Acres showed Charlotte into the rather masculine reception room with pictures of naval battle scenes gracing the walls, where she’d waited before. She always forgot Nash had served in the Navy, although he’d never had command of a ship. He seemed so at home on his estate, it amazed her he had not been born to the life. She was peering at a rather gruesome painting of the Battle of Trafalgar when Nash walked in.

“Charlotte. I am delighted and surprised to see you out on such a chilly day.” He grasped her hand and kissed it, lingering just a second too long. Her pulse leaped and she withdrew her hand before he made her forget her purpose.

“It’s nice to see you too, Nash. I was admiring your paintings. This one is a bit shocking, however.” She stared again at the mayhem depicted on board the Victory. “It must have seemed like Dante’s Inferno.”

“Trust me, it did.” His smile had gone, replaced by a hardness she had rarely seen in him.

“You were there?” She glanced back at the painting, at the fallen men, and shuddered. He had been so close to death...

“Not on Nelson’s ship, but on the Minotaur. Not the first battle I’d ever been in either, but one of the hottest.” He in turn stared at the painting, a distant look in his eyes.

“But isn’t Minotaur the name of your horse?” Such an odd name for an animal.

He grinned at her, his mood lightening. “Yes, I confess to that. Minotaur was my first ship and I did well by her. First in the Egypt campaign in 1801, when I was still wet behind the ears. Then Trafalgar in 1805. After that, the Naval Office reassigned me to the Temeraire, and we saw a bit of action off the coasts of Spain and France.” He motioned her to the sofa and they sat.

“Sad to say, the Temeraire came back to Britain for repairs in 1813 and instead of re-fitting her for war, they turned her into a prison ship. I was about to take another assignment, as captain of my own ship, when news of my uncle’s and cousin’s deaths reached me and I had to resign.” Nash shook his head and sighed.

“So why didn’t you name your horse Temeraire?”

Nash chuckled. “As I said, Minotaur was my first ship.” That devilish twinkle came into his eyes. “And I thought the name sounded a good deal more dashing and less French than Temeraire, even though it means bold.” His gaze softened as it took her in. “But I doubt you have braved the cold just to ask me about my war service. Shall I order tea to warm you up, Charlotte?” His voice dropped to a low purr.

How did he manage to make tea sound sinful? As if he’d rather warm her up in other ways instead? Despite the cold, her cheeks heated.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Charlotte smiled pleasantly, determined to carry on, despite his flirting. Was he flirting? Or had she misconstrued his words because she wanted to? She closed her eyes to keep her thoughts from spinning out of control. Her purpose was to ask about her estate manager and she needed to focus on that.

“I hadn’t heard from you about Mr. Courtland’s condition. You promised to keep me informed of his progress. After two days I feared the worst.” Charlotte tried to put a touch of reproach into her voice, but her genuine concern for the man overrode it.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I did not realize you meant to be so closely informed about your manager.” His eyes glowed with warmth. “Would you like to see him for yourself? I’ll tell Acres to hold the tea until we return.” He pulled the bell and gave the order, then took her hand and assisted her to rise. “This way, my dear.”

Nash led her up a grand staircase, all gleaming oak, to the next floor. “I have hired a nurse specifically to tend to Mr. Courtland. That way he gets thorough care and my servants’ routine isn’t interrupted, although,” he leaned toward her, “he’s become something of a hero below-stairs.” Nash chuckled. “I don’t think any of the maids would have complained of extra work had they been assigned to his care.”

His eyes sparkled with merriment. “I believed it prudent, in that circumstance, to insist that his wife attend him as well in his suite.” He grew grave again. “I also thought it best that Mrs. Courtland not remain alone in their house. Her husband thwarted the gang’s plan. I did not want them to retaliate against his family while he was unable to defend it.”

Another thoughtful, prudent move. The man certainly thought of everything he could to keep people safe.

Nash stopped before the door to what looked to be a guest chamber, his face etched in long lines of tension. “I didn’t want to alarm you unduly, but I have also taken the precaution of sending patrols around both our properties. I don’t know if it will act as a deterrent, but my hope is to keep the robbers off balance long enough for me to catch them.”

“Do you have a plan yet, Nash?” Charlotte’s heart beat faster at the memory of the men who had accosted her. The sooner they could be apprehended, the sooner she would sleep soundly in her bed.

“Why don’t you see Mr. Courtland first? Then we can retire to my study to have our tea and I’ll explain the plan.” He opened the door and Charlotte entered, immediately aware of the elegant if somewhat outdated style of the chamber. The furnishings were solid pieces that could be kept, though the hangings and wall coverings were sorely in need of changing. With a few simple alterations this could be a stunning room.

A stirring in the bed brought her attention to the figure lying there and the young woman sitting beside him.

Courtland lay motionless with his head resting against a multitude of white pillows, the blue satin coverlet pulled up to his neck. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, in stark contrast to his pale face.

It might have been her lying thus if not for the grace of God and William Courtland. Charlotte shuddered to think of what might have befallen her had this man not been at her side.

The woman who sat at his head occupied herself with a small embroidery hoop. Every couple of stitches she glanced over at her charge, then resumed her work. So intent was she that Charlotte and Nash had approached the bed before she became aware of them. When she realized they were in the room she arose, put her hoop down, and came toward them.

“Lady Cavendish, have you made the acquaintance of Mrs. Courtland?” Nash spoke softly and glanced at the figure on the bed.

“No, I am afraid I have not had the pleasure.” Charlotte inclined her head toward the petite blonde. She had a soft prettiness about her that Charlotte found charming.

“My lady, it is an honor. Mr. Courtland has spoken of you often, with great admiration.” Her hushed voice had a high sweet tone.

“How is he this morning, Mrs. Courtland?” Nash again looked at the sick man, who now stirred beneath the covers.

“Another uncomfortable night. And his fever is back, my lord.” The woman pressed her hands together, her worry almost palpable.