In the Widow’s Bed (2 page)

“Oh, bother—”Lizzy slouched—“now
he
is a persistent numbskull. Mr. Perkins is coming this way again. If he keeps this up I’ll have to geld him to keep him at bay. Why will he not take a hint? Au revoir, Selwood
.
”

“
Bonne chance, enfant!
”

With a stubborn glare for her pursuer, Jonathan’s long-legged sister bolted from the ballroom. Perkins craned his neck to watch her flight, and he did appear to consider setting out in pursuit, but then he shrugged and limped to a chair, snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing footman, and settled into the cushions.

Why would any gentleman in his right mind seriously consider Lizzy, with her coltish charms, a candidate for matrimonial felicity? She’d be likely to conk the poor gent on the head before the wedding night started.

Depressed, Jonathan accepted Lizzy’s continued presence at his breakfast table for as long as they both shall live.

“Why so great a sigh, Lord Selwood?” Lady Warminster murmured at his side. “Are you searching for a dance partner and unable to catch the lady’s eye?”

Jonathan spun, an honest smile lifting his lips. “I was considering it. Would you care to dance with me, Lady Warminster?”

“But of course.” Her eyes sparkled with humor. “I know you to be a fine dancer so I have no fear for my toes.”

Jonathan’s gaze dropped to the lower edge of her gown. “Such delicate toes. Have they been much trodden on this evening?”

“Perhaps.” She glanced around. “I believe the last waltz of the night is about to play.”

“Perfectly timed then, my lady.” Jonathan drew her arm through his. Delicious warmth dragged a deep-seated need to the surface. Her scent—violets if he was not mistaken— lured him to lean close. But true to her words, when the current set ended, the orchestra announced a waltz with a short violin piece. Fate was certainly favoring him this evening with regard to one woman.

Lady Warminster settled into his arms and flowed with him into the dance. Despite the fatigue of the late hour, she moved lightly, perfectly pliant in his arms as they swirled around the polished parquetry. “How has your evening progressed?”

“Oh, as well as ever.”

Jonathan glanced down at her face. Her gaze drifted over his left shoulder, examining the crowd lining the floor. After a few turns Jonathan inched her closer, pulling her deeper into his arms until her startled gaze rose to meet his.
 

“You appear to be searching for someone, my lady?”

Her face pinked and her gaze fell to his chest. “No. No, of course not.”
 

With Lady Warminster pressed closer against his body, he could see why her stepson held concerns. The plump curves of her breasts made Jonathan’s mouth water. Any gentlemen would risk scandal to sample the view this daring new gown displayed.

“Liar,” he whispered as her gaze flickered over his shoulder again to the crowd lining the dance floor. “Your attention has wandered from me already. The other gentlemen have surely noticed. Most embarrassing.”
 

Lord Plimms circled the ballroom floor in puce satin, his gaze lingering—if Jonathan wasn’t mistaken—on the shift of fabric over Lady Warminster’s rump. Jonathan maneuvered them further away.

She glanced up. “Whatever do you mean?”

Jonathan snorted. “If a lover is what you seek you could do better than inviting Plimms to your bed. The man is certainly poxed.”

Lady Warminster’s cheeks colored a deeper red. “I wasn’t considering him. Not really.”

“Good. There are far more worthy men you should consider ahead of Plimms.”

Jonathan let the silence lengthen then drew to a halt when the dance ended. He bowed over her hand, but tucked Lady Warminster’s arm through his to lead her from the floor, avoiding the lurking gentleman. Plimms appeared ready to approach, but Jonathan scowled and changed course through the crowd until the reforming dance lines stood between them.

When they stopped, Lady Warminster slipped from his grasp. “You surprise me, my lord. I shouldn’t expect you’d approve of such a decision. Not with you being Warminster’s closest friend.”

So it
was
true. Jonathan grinned, but didn’t answer.
 

“Ah, I see.” Her mouth twisted as if she’d tasted lemons. “The giggling fop sent you to dissuade me, didn’t he?”

Jonathan laughed outright. “What your son sent me to do—and what I intend—is quite another matter.”

He linked her arm through his again and they strolled along the edge of the ballroom.
 

Lady Warminster’s hand settled on his sleeve. “Do you think me foolish?”

Jonathan found an empty corner and settled them onto a vacant chaise. “I believe you’re brave to risk upsetting Warminster.”

Her eyes rolled. “He might hold the title now, but he’s still my son. I know exactly what he’s about.”

Jonathan absorbed her remark. He’d had a suspicion Lady Warminster had discovered her stepson’s private activities. But he had to tread carefully. The matter wasn’t his to discuss openly. “He’s intent on protecting you.”

Lady Warminster brushed at a pale curl, one newly escaped from her elegant coiffure. Jonathan itched to set the remaining mass free. “Not even his father behaved with such managing control,” she said.

Jonathan settled deeper into the cushions. He really didn’t want to discuss her late husband—a man many years her senior when she’d married him—or whether she missed or did not miss him. He’d rather discuss her intention to take a lover. “What is it you want, Lady Warminster?”

“To make my own choices,” she whispered.

Jonathan patted her hand. “If choosing Plimms was your choice then I fear you might need some guidance.”

Lady Warminster stared out at the sea of swirling revelers. At first, he didn’t think she’d continue their conversation, but then she took a deep breath, forcing her breasts higher in the gown. “What would you suggest?”

Perfect! Jonathan smothered a grin. “I believe you should lay down some guidelines for your lover.”

Lady Warminster turned. “Such as?”

Her pale green gaze fastened on him, kicking his pulse higher. He could sense the reaction sliding over his skin. To hide his unsettled state, he shifted in his chair and offered a lopsided grin. “Well, if it were me, I’d pick clean as a first condition.”

She blinked and looked about them, discreetly checking that they were not being overheard. “And is that easy to discern?”

Her delicate hand landed on the cushion beside his thigh. Just one more inch and she’d have touched him. “Not always. That’s why I’m offering my insights. Gentlemen do gossip.” Jonathan shifted his leg until the material of his dark breeches brushed her fingers.
 

Lady Warminster withdrew her hand. “Ah, I had surmised as much already. Warminster’s tongue
is
hinged in the middle.” She focused on the dance floor again. “Tell me about the men here.”

Eager for an excuse to touch her again, he climbed to his feet then held out his hand. “Let’s walk for a bit. We’re drawing attention.”

As Lady Warminster slipped her small gloved hand in his, Jonathan tugged her to her feet. They were mere inches apart when her gaze rose to meet his, but he managed to behave and hold out his arm. The temptation to act improperly grew as she licked her lips before curling her arm about his. He guided her through the ballroom, away from her friends’ curious glances.
 

When they arrived at a less crowded spot, Jonathan leaned close to her again. “I assume you also want a man of considerable skill to, ah—” he searched for the right word—“dance with you?”

“That is what I hope,” she whispered.

Her timid admission dragged another bubbling laugh from his chest. “That should be the whole point. Hmm, there are few suitable gentlemen to choose from at your son’s house party. But there are men here who would pleasure you in a chamber lit to brilliance and still proclaim you the brightest star.”
 

At Lady Warminster’s shocked gasp, Jonathan drew her out onto the terrace where darkness hid her embarrassment from any witnesses. “Or would you prefer the comfort of darkness for your daring escapade?”
 

He drew closer, slid the tips of his fingers along her arm, over the thin strip of skin exposed to the night between her glove and gown to gauge her reaction. Lady Warminster shuddered, her hitched breath loud in the dark night. Unfortunately, his body reacted too. Her velvet skin stirred a hunger in him that he strove to control. “You prefer the darkness, I see.” Lady Warminster didn’t answer, but she didn’t draw away from his fingers. Jonathan smiled and continued to caress her. “Darkness can be delightful too.”

 
“You’re trying to make me feel better. How very like you.” Her wine-sweet breath brushed his jaw, and Jonathan’s pulse hammered erratically through his body.

“I aim to please.” Reluctantly, Jonathan increased the space between them so anyone stumbling onto the terrace wouldn’t suspect their conversation as anything but polite chatter between friends. He also needed time to master his body before he was fit to be seen. “So, clean, skilled in the bedroom, and not adverse to a clandestine tryst. Is there anything else you want from your lover, madam?”

“Yes, absolute discretion. I don’t want anyone else to hear of it.”

CHAPTER TWO

Lord Selwood’s sigh rattled Phoebe’s strained composure. She was already pushing the boundaries of propriety enough to discuss such a personal matter with her stepson’s bachelor friend. The young man must be positively scandalized to hear an older woman, such as herself, speak of taking a lover. But there was something in Selwood’s manner that set her mind at ease and encouraged her to share confidences. Lord Selwood couldn’t be more different than her stepson.
 

Where Warminster frittered and gossiped about everything, Selwood held his tongue. Unfortunately, Selwood’s physical presence had quite the wrong effect on her nerves. She’d never met a man—and a much younger man at that—who rattled her senses the way he did. One glance from his dark eyes made her long for the intimacies of the bedchamber, no matter her location.

Luckily, Selwood had no idea how she struggled to keep her composure around him. It simply could not be decent for a woman her age to stir with lust for a man so many years younger.
 

“Secrecy makes your desire a little harder to accommodate. But not impossible.” Selwood glanced about them. “There is one particular gentleman who should be agreeable and willing to meet with you. I assume you’d like something arranged for this evening?”

Phoebe let out the breath she’d held. Despite how wicked the conversation, she was somewhat excited. At least Selwood didn’t consider her desire impossible. How had she thought to encourage a man—the right man—without his insights? “Thank you.”

The young man’s gaze burned with a strange intensity but then he glanced away, shuffling restlessly on his feet. “We should return to the ballroom soon, but are you certain you want such a secretive arrangement? You might never discover whom I send to you.”

“I trust you.” And she did. Of all Warminster’s friends, Lord Selwood’s serious nature set her mind at ease. His friendly presence, his obvious esteem had proven she placed her trust in the right gentleman. It was simply her problem to hide that she desired him.

Selwood offered a little bow. “I’m honored.”

Despite the pleasant civility, Phoebe chuckled.
 

Selwood offered his usual boyish grin before escorting her inside the ballroom. Many an eye turned in their direction, speculative glances followed them, an old lady on a young man’s arm. Her cheeks heated at the image they must present. She hoped no one ever guessed she lusted for the man at her side. She’d be beyond mortified.

Selwood remained with her when they rejoined her friends, participating in a lively discussion on furnishings that would have bored any other man to tears. The other matrons—pleased to have a young, handsome man join their circle—flirted with him shamelessly. Selwood flattered her friends’ outrageously in return, casting sidelong glances at her when she laughed at her friends blushes. Phoebe found those little looks and flirtatious remarks more than a little disconcerting, yet she couldn’t find the nerve to join in. After a while, Selwood took his leave, wishing them all a pleasant evening.
 

As he departed, Phoebe followed his retreat. Selwood’s dark form cut a wide path through the gaudily dressed gentlemen in attendance. She let her gaze stray lower, admiring the movement of his muscular thighs encased in dark silk. An unwise wish flittered through her mind. Phoebe cursed her foolishness under her breath as Lord Selwood departed the ballroom with a spring in his step, no doubt eager to find someone younger to charm.
 

Once his dark head disappeared from sight, anticipation and anxiety clawed at her belly. Could she really go through with this? Could she really make love to a mystery gentleman this very evening?

The gentlemen about her—some wearing more finery than she—didn’t really appeal. Yet she wasn’t acquainted with every man here tonight. Selwood must have someone particular in mind for her midnight rendezvous.