Page 70 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“I’ve sadly neglected the library since I removed here this summer. I’d like to start several collections, one containing works of poetry through the ages, but particularly of the current age. I’d also like to acquire volumes regarding architecture and the decorative arts, a personal interest of mine.” She hurried on, talking as she walked, trying to evade any mention of the last time they had stood together in the library.

His hand closed on her wrist, he gave a tug, and Charlotte gasped to find herself pulled onto the burgundy carpet inside the library. Alan released her, closed the doors, and twisted the key that stood in the lock.

“I prefer that we not be interrupted.” He turned to her, that hungry wolf look back in his eyes.

Startled, Charlotte backed up a step. Her heartbeat raced as he came toward her. “Alan, I don’t think . . .”

“No, don’t think at all.” He reached for her, captured her arms and pulled her to him.

Before she could protest further, he sunk his mouth onto hers. She stiffened as he slid his hands down the shoulders of her amber brocade gown to cup her breasts. Dear Lord, this couldn’t be happening. When his thumbs rasped across her nipples, she shuddered and arched away from him, trying to pull out of his embrace. His caresses made her skin crawl.

He pressed her to him and thrust his tongue between her lips, then ground his hips against her—

The door handle rattled.

Charlotte froze.

Alan moved his lips next to her ear. “Stay still. It’s locked.”

She nodded, willing whoever stood on the other side of the door to go away. To be caught in this compromising position with him would surely spell disaster for her. Even worse, what if it was Nash? Fear streaked through her like a shot. He was invited to dinner but had no reason to be here yet. If he came crashing through that door, she would die on the spot.

The door rattled once more, then footsteps sounded on the polished corridor floor, fading into the distance.

Charlotte broke away from Alan and dropped onto the sofa, gripping the arm so she wouldn’t shake to pieces.

“This is obviously the last room you should ever come to if you intend to dally, Charlotte.”

The wretch would try to make a joke of it. She looked up to find him grinning.

“I believe you may be right.” She tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in her throat like the cawing of a crow.

“Your bedroom should be safest tonight, my dear,” he leaned down and whispered. “Make some excuse early in the evening. The sooner the better. I’ll follow you as soon as I may.”

“What?”

His lips grazed hers and he strode to the door. The key rattled softly as he unlocked it and disappeared down the corridor.

Charlotte sat stunned, unable to completely comprehend what had just happened—except to understand her tryst with Alan was finally at hand, whether she wanted it or not.

Chapter 25

What on earth had given him the idea she still wanted him in her bed? Charlotte stared at the thick burgundy carpet, a feeling of dread closing in on her as she tried to reason it out. When they’d met in London she’d been ready to pursue an affair, had even been the one to bring it up. He’d been the reluctant one, seeking marriage instead. But then he’d asked her what would happen if she wanted more than just one night and she’d said she would accept his proposal and be happy. Dear God. So now he wanted to take her at her word and give her the one night. Only when she’d spoken those words, she’d been thinking of Nash.

Charlotte dropped her head into her hands. She needed to find Alan now and plainly disabuse him of her interest in a tryst now or at any other time. Perhaps she should marry Nash just to keep from being accosted by other men.

With a weary sigh, Charlotte rose, intending to return to the drawing room. Her guests should dress for dinner shortly and she would have time to cancel her assignation. She steadied herself with a deep breath and a hand to her stomach. The evening had already assumed an air of unreality.

As she entered the hallway, hysterical sobbing in the foyer caught her attention.

Lord, what crisis now?

Charlotte hurried toward the entry where, to her astonishment, she found Maria Wickley crying brokenheartedly. Fisk stood before her, his unflappable cool shattered as he stared at the weeping young woman, for once at a loss for what to do.

“Maria!” Charlotte called softly to the girl, who turned to her with stricken eyes.

“Oh, Charlotte!” She ran into Charlotte’s arms, burrowing against her like a small animal going to ground. “What am I to do?”

“Hush, my dear. The company is gathered in the drawing room. You don’t want them to see you like this.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around her and nodded to Fisk. “Light a fire in the small receiving room and fetch Lady John, please.” The butler nodded, squared his shoulders, and sped off. Slowly, she walked Maria toward the formal chamber, giving Fisk plenty of time to light the fire and leave before they arrived.