Page 91 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

Her face heated and she sped behind the screen. Thank goodness she had been with Nash and not that weasel Kersey. From now on she’d count her blessings every day, the biggest among them being Nash.

She finished quickly, then stuck her head around the screen, suddenly too aware of her naked state. “Can you hand me my clothes, please?”

Fully dressed, he chuckled as he gave them to her. “You must not become shy now, Charlotte. You are glorious au naturel. I will enjoy seeing you thus every night. And devilishly glad we won’t have to wait until spring to marry.”

She ducked back around the screen. This would really happen. She had agreed to marry him. The misgivings she should have felt didn’t materialize. Instead, a calmness spread through her until she could answer back, “So am I. The sooner the better.”

“Then name the day, my dear. I will agree to any date that is not too far off.”

“Perhaps during the Christmas season? Everyone will be festive already and our joy will compound it.” She came around the side of the screen to stand at the end of the bed—their bed soon enough—with her back to him for him to do up her stays.

“It is not yet the middle of October. Don’t you think that’s too distant?” Instead of taking up the laces, he slipped his arms around her, cupping her breasts, rolling the nipples until they ached with fullness. Charlotte leaned back against him, moaning with new need. “Nash . . .”

He gave her breasts another squeeze, then withdrew and began to tighten her stays.

“Wretch!”

“Lest you begin to have second thoughts, my dear.” A laugh and a swat on her backside and he stepped away.

How could he tease her like that? She sighed and scrambled into the rest of her clothes. “Christmas might be too long a time to wait.”

He chuckled and led her out of the room.

As they descended the stairs, Nash slipped his arm around her waist, a possessive action she loved. She couldn’t wait to get back to Lyttlefield with the news.

They reached the bottom step and she glanced about for her wrap. She didn’t want to call the butler and give him ideas about what they’d been doing upstairs together for so long. “Nash, do you know where I put—”

Movement to her right. She wheeled around and found herself face-to-face with a huge bear of a man, retreating from the small reception room, two ornate silver candlesticks in one big paw. He turned, and his dirty gray shirt loomed large at her. A black mask hid his face. In his other hand, a cocked pistol aimed at Nash.

Before she could even scream, Nash had whipped her around behind him, shielding her from the danger and forcing her up the stairs.

No, no, no. He must not put himself in danger because of her. What would she do if . . .

As if by magic, seven other members of the gang converged out of the shadowy corridor, sacks clinking with valuables slung over shoulders or clutched in greasy hands. Charlotte gripped Nash’s shoulders.

“Do not worry, my dear,” he whispered loudly. “When I distract them, run upstairs and lock yourself in the bedroom. They want goods, not you.”

“No,” she whispered back, “I won’t leave you here with them.”

“Charlotte.” His voice held the command of a man who would not be gainsaid. “This is not the time to assert your independence. You will obey me—”

“’Ere now, mi’lord.” The burly man with the candlesticks waved the pistol at him. “Can’t have the lady leaving just when things is gettin’ right fun.” His eyes behind the mask flickered over her face and she ducked behind Nash. “Them’s some nice gewgaws in her ears. Stones’ll fetch a right nice price for the Govner.”

“ ‘The Govner?’ Who’s that?” The edge in Nash’s tone caught her attention. Why didn’t he tell the men to leave? Or call the servants?

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The sneer in the ruffian’s voice made Charlotte cringe. “Him’s the one’s kept us safe all this while. I’m no blab, though. Yer won’t get nuffin’ out o’ me ’bout the Govner.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Kelliam!” Nash shouted, and the corridor dripped officers. They materialized from under the staircase, from around the potted plants, out of the receiving room the big thief had vacated. Kelliam himself appeared from behind the long-case clock.

Nash stepped forward, knocking the gun from the thief’s hand. Runners grabbed the big man from both sides and wrestled him to the ground. The rest of the stunned gang watched, amazed, as the officers seized and bound them before they could even put up a struggle.

Shocked to her core, Charlotte stared from Nash to Kelliam to the head thief, rolling around on the floor.

“Good work, Lord Wrotham.” Mr. Kelliam nodded and consulted his watch. “I hadn’t expected you to be at home still. Didn’t we agree it would be best if you were not here when the attack occurred? You or Lady Cavendish might have come to harm.” He glared at Nash. “And very nearly did.”

“I am sorry, Kelliam.” Nash caught Charlotte’s eye, his twinkling. “Lady Cavendish and I ended up in a spirited discussion about the joining of our estates. We quite lost track of the time.”

The wicked man. Charlotte bit her tongue and broke from his gaze. She would make him pay for that little indiscretion.