Page 8 of What a Widow Wants

“Of course. I am a mere nothing. If I had my way, you would be on a pedestal, above all the mere mortals and even the rulers of Olympus.” He shifted stiffly, an odd movement for one who had been so graceful moments ago. “Ah, we are ready.”

The orchestra raised their instruments and called for La Bagatelle.

Fanny and the Domino bowed to one another, then began to set to the second lady. A very active dance for the first couple, who set to and circled with the second couple, then she joined hands with her partner and moved quickly down the center and back. A spritely dance that, because they were a lead couple, kept them in almost constant motion. That would not do. She would discover who this mystery gentleman was. No one of his height came to mind, but nothing else gave him away either. Well, he could not avoid talking to her. She’d puzzle it out from that.

“How does one address a cipher, pray tell?” she asked as they turned right, his bright robes billowing out behind him.

“However Aphrodite wishes. I am humbly at your service in all things,” came the glib reply.

“I declare you will annoy me if you do not give me some hint of who you are, sir. I fear I do not know you at all.” Perhaps she could shame him into giving her a clue.

They cast around the second couple and formed another set.

“Very well. I will tell you that I am of your acquaintance.”

“Long acquaintance?”

“Not nearly long enough for my taste.”

“Indeed.” They turned to the right, Fanny thinking furiously. “Did you know my late husband, perhaps? He was in the Royal Horse Guards.”

“I knew him, although we were never more than acquaintances. We were introduced more than ten years ago.” His hand tightened on hers as they turned again. “Do you not know me still, Fanny?”

Wobbling with the shock, Fanny careened into Matthew’s shoulder.

He grabbed her arm and they progressed down the set and were thankfully out for the next measure.

“What are you doing?” Fanny whispered, outraged that he had fooled her once more.

“Dancing with you. It has been too long since we stood up together.”

She couldn’t see it, but the wretch was undoubtedly smiling beneath that mask. “I thought I was to meet you at Brighton. You were to give me the opportunity to spread my wings before we spoke again.”

“I don’t believe that was the exact agreement, my dear; however, you did agree that I could woo you properly.” He grasped her hands again as they now joined the set as the second couple. “What is more proper than having you as my dancing partner?”

Unable to speak due to the steps that took her away from him, Fanny couldn’t help but smile beneath her mask. Matthew was correct about one thing. He was not Stephen Tarkington. She’d pursued Stephen perhaps even more than he’d chased her those long years ago. Now she had the opportunity to be the object of a man’s hunt. Lord Lathbury’s Corinthian nature would insist he did everything within his power to make sure his prey did not escape. There was something very appealing in that.

They met again, set to the first couple, and eventually turned together, giving Fanny the chance to ask something that had puzzled her greatly. “How on earth did you manage to increase your height, Matthew? I can swear you are two inches taller than when you were in the library.”

His chuckle sounded loudly in her ears as they turned the opposite way. “Boots, my dear. Kinellan had a spare pair in his carriage. Fortunately our feet are not too much different in size, although these do pinch now and then. The heels gave me a bit more height than my dancing shoes.”

“And the domino and mask?” He’d obviously taken some trouble to be able to dance with her without her knowing him.

“Borrowed from Lord Beaumont. I remembered it from Lady Beaumont’s last masquerade I attended. Luckily he had not disposed of it after all these years.”

“You seem to have luck with you this evening.” Fanny couldn’t help a rueful smile. Matthew had always had a bit of luck about him.

“If I truly had, you’d be betrothed to me this minute.” He bowed as the dance ended, his eyebrows rising as he offered her his arm.

“Not that lucky, then, perhaps.” She shook her head and looked away. He wouldn’t break her resolve so easily, although the man’s determination was almost palpable. The warmth and vigor of him, lying right beneath her hand, sent pulses of desire through her, despite her decision to wait on his proposal. Might that be a mistake?

Fanny tossed her head and with it the momentary doubt fled. She must take care to become reacquainted with Lord Lathbury, to know him and his nature better than she had Stephen Tarkington’s before she married him. She could not afford to make such a grievous mistake again.

CHAPTER 4

Late next morning, after a successful gathering with her friends at Lady Cavendish’s town house, Fanny climbed into the carriage, very satisfied with the meeting of what her hostess insisted on calling “The Widows’ Club.” Not an odd name exactly, for everyone in their little group was widowed. Charlotte’s idea that their circle resembled the gentlemen’s clubs, however, seemed rather fanciful. Still, it had given her the idea to host a house party in August. Nothing hinted at the desire for dalliance more than a house party. And she’d told Charlotte to invite Lathbury as her special gentleman. Of course, by August, she and Matthew should be quite an item among the ton.

Another of her friends, Mrs. Elizabeth Easton, climbed in and sat beside her, her oval face drawn in lines of grief. Elizabeth still deeply mourned the passing of her husband. Of course, Lieutenant Colonel Easton had been a model spouse, deserving of such devotion. Elizabeth had seemed ill at ease all throughout the morning, as they planned for the house party and which gentlemen they would invite. Most of the gathering were enthusiastically planning their conquests in August. But not Elizabeth.