Page 4 of Wedding the Widow

Earlier in the year, Jemmy’d had no notion of wanting a wife. At just twenty-nine, he’d returned from a grand tour, not only of the normal places in France, Italy, and Germany; he’d also taken excursions to Egypt and Greece as well. He’d waited years for the war to be over, and he’d insisted on a complete tour before coming back home. Just arrived in London in May, he’d come to Town this Season to sow his final wild oats. Of course, he’d managed his share of that in various places across Europe and now throughout London as well, with several delectable birds-of-paradise.

Lady Cavendish’s house party had been one more stop in a summer dedicated to passion and frolic, a way to see his sister again with his father none the wiser—until he had met Elizabeth Easton. When Georgie had introduced her as a widow, he’d immediately assumed the woman desired a casual romp. To say he’d been grossly mistaken was to put it lightly.

“Here we are, Mrs. Easton.”

The carriage rolled up to the manor house door, and Jemmy jumped down, waving away the groom and handing Elizabeth down as gently as if she were a porcelain doll.

“Thank you so much, my lord.” She smiled, a dimple appearing in her right cheek.

Oh, to have that dimple to kiss at will.

Jemmy offered his arm, not at all certain she’d take it. Although their kiss earlier had steamed with passion, she’d broken from it and him rather abruptly.

Elizabeth placed her hand lightly through the crook of his arm, and he thrilled to the delicate touch. Heat curled around his cock as though she’d gripped it instead.

From the moment he’d been introduced to her, the woman had entranced him. Her beautiful face, lush figure, and pleasing voice had attractions of their own. Her sweet nature, however, had enchanted him. A very womanly lady who had been someone’s perfect wife.

She’d mentioned both her husband and children that first evening in August, dispelling any idea she’d come to the party with a mere dalliance in mind. Despite the initial disappointment, he’d discovered he didn’t care. He’d been drawn to her as a cold man is drawn to a roaring fire. Even when she’d hinted she still grieved for her late husband, a war hero, Jemmy had found hope. A woman who had once loved so deeply would likely need that physical love once more.

Tonight, he’d been sure of it. Her passionate response to him had given him even greater hope that she was at last ready to forget the past and think about a future with him. Unfortunately, he had to admit, accepting his arm didn’t necessarily indicate she would accept further advances. His body simmered with the memory of her mouth, craving more.

As they entered Lyttlefield Hall, the butler claimed their wraps.

“Can you fetch tea for us, Fisk? Mrs. Easton and I are chilled to the bone.” Jemmy steered Elizabeth into the drawing room, where earlier so much excitement had occurred. Perhaps a quiet cup of tea would put them both back into a more affable mood.

“I am afraid I am too tired even for tea, Lord Brack.” She still gripped her reticule tightly, her gaze darting repeatedly toward the door. Seeking escape. “I will give you good night and thank you for a lovely day.”

“I am sorry your headache is no better, my dear.” He might as well sneak that endearment in while he could. “Don’t you think hot tea would make a world of difference?” Desperation made him grasp any straw that presented itself to keep her here.

To his dismay, she shook her head and smiled sadly. “I think the only thing that will rid me of this pain is an early night.”

“Then let me come with you.”

Eyes widening, she stumbled back a step. “What do you mean?”

Putting every ounce of charm into his smile, Jemmy offered his arm once more. “Only that I beg to be allowed to escort you to your chamber. I would have this day and your company last as long as possible.”

The tension in her shoulders melted away as she relaxed toward him. “You are very kind. Thank you so much for your excellent company all day.” She cast her gaze down, then back up at him through long, golden lashes. “It would be lovely to extend it a little more.”

Grinning at his victory, Jenny enjoyed the thrill of her small hand as it perched, light as a hummingbird, in the crook of his arm. Oh, that they were bound for the same chamber.

“Do you stay long here at Lyttlefield? I believe the party is scheduled to last through Monday.” He’d accepted an invitation to Braeton’s Hunt Ball next week but might stay on here if Elizabeth elected to remain. “Have you other engagements, or do you return to your parents in London?”

“I will leave for London on Tuesday. I suspect Charlotte will have much more to do now to accomplish another move and plan her wedding by December. Such a pity she will have to repack nearly everything to move only a mile or so down the road.” Elizabeth shook her head at the daunting task. They mounted the steps, and she tightened her grip on his arm.

The slight pressure filled him with desire once more. Desire to seize her lips, devour that red, luscious mouth, and more. If only they’d had more time out at the festival. “I will be truly sorry to see you leave.” He laid his hand over hers as they neared the landing. “I fear I can never have enough of your company.”

A nearby sconce threw light on her cheek, revealing a blush. “Lord Brack—”

“Why did you break our kiss?” He stopped her, needing to know. “I have waited for months for that kiss, and then it was over before I even knew it had begun.” He stroked her cheek, soft as a flower petal, with the back of his hand. “Did you not enjoy it?”

A quick gasp, and she released his arm. “Of course, I enjoyed it.” One stricken look at him, and she turned away, striding quickly toward her room with short, jerky steps.

“Then why did you end it?”

He caught her at her chamber door, the last one at the end of the corridor.

“I . . . I was thinking about my husband.” Her voice had lowered to a whisper. “That wasn’t fair to you.”