Married: The Virgin Widow (9 page)

Music seemed to vibrate under Ford’s skin and in his chest. He savoured the subtle warmth of Laura’s hand on his arm. Pretty as her sisters looked in their new gowns, she outshone them in a soft, warm shade of pink that put him in mind of a tropical flower. His nostrils flared to inhale the sweet tang of her scent. Nectarstarved desire swarmed his loins.

He hadn’t felt like himself since returning from London. Busy implementing improvements to the estate and plans for the expansion of Vindicara, he’d been too preoccupied with the present and the future to brood upon the past. Laura seemed different, too—more relaxed and talkative at mealtimes, sometimes joining in her sisters’ ready laughter. Tonight she seemed to have recaptured the sparkle of her younger years, only better.

Their time in London had forced him to realise the events of seven years ago were more complicated than he’d believed. That did not excuse the hell she’d put him through, but it did ease the crushing grip of resentment.
Perhaps that was the first step toward loosening her hold upon him. Though tonight, Ford had to admit, it did not feel any looser.

Shortly after they reached the entry hall, the first of their guests began to arrive and they were swept up in a round of greetings and congratulations.

Among the first arrivals were Mr Crawford, his mother and sister.

“Lord Kingsfold, how delightful to have you back in the neighbourhood!” Mrs Crawford gushed. “You will be such excellent company for my son. He and Lord Bramber get on well, but the marquis is obliged to spend so much time in London, while Sidney prefers the country.”

The lady and her daughter were dressed in what Ford presumed must be the height of fashion, their gowns heavily trimmed and their hair tortured into towering topknots and stiff ringlets. Mrs Crawford reminded him so much of his stepmother, he felt an unexpected qualm of sympathy for her son. Little wonder the young man wanted to escape his house as often as possible to spend time with pleasant, unaffected women.

Perhaps Laura sensed his distaste for Mrs Crawford. Or perhaps she was alarmed at the speed with which the receiving line was backing up. “Lady Daphne assured us the marquis will be here tonight. If you go straight through to the ballroom, you can secure a good seat from which to spot him when he arrives.”

Without another word, Mrs Crawford seized her daughter by the wrist and charged toward the ballroom.

A chuckle of mingled amusement and relief welled up in Ford’s throat. “I have seen fillies at Newmarket slower off the start. Well done.”

He and Laura exchanged a fleeting grin of fellow conspirators. Then she gestured toward the next guests in line, two long-faced gentlemen who looked like a pair of effigies in the crypt of St Botolph’s. “I expect you remember Lord Henry and Lord Edward Dearing of Bramberley?”

“I do indeed.” Ford bowed. “My lords, it is an honour to welcome you to Hawkesbourne.”

The senior of the two men cast a critical glance around the entrance hall. “The first ball I ever attended was here, back in your grandfather’s day. There was a man who knew how to entertain. Not certain what he would have made of his grandson dabbling in trade.”

Ford was surprised how much Lord Henry’s remark offended him. As a child he had often spent holidays with his grandparents, who’d doted on him. His grandfather had been proud of the estate and his ancient title. Would he have been ashamed of Ford’s commercial activities, no matter how successful?

While he searched for a civil reply, Laura chuckled, as if Lord Henry had spoken in jest. “Lord Kingsfold has done a good deal more than dabble, sir. He has made an honest fortune, which he is using to restore this house and the estate. I cannot imagine his grandfather would object to that.”

“Lady Kingsfold has you, Uncle Henry!“ cried the cherubic girl behind him, whom Ford had seen gossiping with Susannah after church. “This is the
nineteenth
century, remember.”

As her uncles huffed off, Lady Daphne seized Laura in an eager embrace, bobbed Ford a quick curtsy, then fell squealing upon Susannah.

Leaning toward Laura, Ford murmured, “That is the second time you’ve come to my rescue this evening.”

She cast him a teasing glance. “Would you rather I minded my own business?”

“I think not. Your efforts so far have been most amusing.”

Laura had no opportunity to reply, for she was obliged to exchange very proper curtsies with their next guest.

“Lady Artemis.” Ford bowed. “Thank you for coming this evening. The Dearings are always welcome at Hawkesbourne.”

“My sister would have made us pay dearly if we had even considered refusing your kind invitation.” A hint of a smile crossed the lady’s face, which was as solemn as Lady Daphne’s was animated.

She was rather attractive, in an understated way. Compared to the Crawford women’s elaborate style, Ford preferred the austere simplicity of Lady Artemis.

As she moved on, Laura greeted the Marquis of Bramber. “Welcome, my lord. Have you come all the way from London at Lady Daphne’s behest?”

“Not entirely.” The marquis bowed over Laura’s hand. Silver flecks in his blue eyes sparkled with admiration. “I was coming as far as Epsom for the Derby, so what was another twenty miles?”

“Be on your guard,” Ford warned Lord Bramber, “I believe Mrs Crawford is anxious to get you in her sights this evening.”

“Relentless, that woman. Three years she’s been stalking me for her daughter.” The marquis leaned toward Ford. “If I don’t win at Epsom, I may
have
to marry the tiresome chit or watch Bramberley fall down
around our ears. You are fortunate that you can afford to marry for love.”

The marquis’s words hit Ford square in the conscience. Possessing both title and a fortune, he
could
afford to marry for love. Unlike Lord Bramber…and unlike Laura.

For one weak, fleeting moment, Laura wished what she’d overheard Lord Bramber tell Ford could be true. If only he wanted to marry her for love rather than convenience or lust or some other inscrutable reason.

She wasn’t certain what had come over him this evening. He was not the same aloof, intimidating man who had confronted her in Hawkesbourne’s drawing room a few short weeks ago. In some ways, he seemed more like the man she’d once loved…yet better, somehow. The old Ford had been a charming, amiable boy, but looking back, Laura now realised there had been little substance behind those superficial qualities. The new Ford was a responsible, determined and generous man. When those sterling virtues were warmed with a dash of good humour, the combination was very hard to resist.

Once all their guests had been welcomed, Laura and Ford led off the first dance. Laura feared her rusty skills would provoke unfavorable comment from some of their guests. But once the music began she could not
keep her mind on anything but Ford, how he moved with such dignified, manly grace. Every time he grasped her hand, the warmth of his touch set a delicious thrill coursing up her arm toward her bosom, where it made her heart beat faster and the tips of her breasts tingle.

The intensity of his dark, brooding gaze stirred her even more. She had been its object many times before, but tonight she sensed a different intent behind it. That difference made her blush and look away, but not for long. Such was its power that she felt compelled to glance back. She had trouble keeping her mind on the dance steps.

“Why do you stare at me so?” she asked. “Am I too awkward? Do my gown and hair look too much behind the fashion?”

“You move with such grace, no one would notice if you made a misstep,” he assured her as they joined hands to dance a circle with the couple beside them. “As for the other, I was thinking how well this elegant simplicity suits you and how many gentlemen here tonight must envy me.”

The low volume of his voice, together with its usual husky timbre, made Ford’s words sound like an intimate endearment. It sent a shiver through Laura that was part-delight and part-dismay. In her experience, intimacy had a dark, disturbing side. Was he was only playing the part of an attentive fiancé for the benefit of their guests?

Those doubts tied her tongue. Fortunately, the dance concluded before her silence became too embarrassing.

If Ford noticed anything untoward, he gave no indication. “Tempted as I am to be selfish and monopolise
your company, I must make some effort to be a good host by dancing with the other ladies.”

“Of course.” Laura found she could not let go of his arm. “Though I hope you will not forsake me entirely.”

Dear heaven, where had that come from? She sounded like an infatuated little chit flirting with her beau, rather than a widow with one loveless marriage in her past and another in her future.

“I can assure you, there is no fear of that.” Ford lifted her hand from his arm and raised it to his lips.

Even through the fabric of her glove, the heat of his kiss seared. A glint of something deliciously wicked flashed in his dangerous green eyes. It made her breath catch and her heart skip in a fast, erratic rhythm. A moment later he turned from her and approached one of their guests to request the honour of the next dance. Only when Laura realised his new partner was the vicar’s sister did the watchful tightness inside her ease.

It alarmed her to be in the grip of such intense, volatile feelings. But when she tried to summon her old icy self-possession, it failed her. Since his return, Ford had tested her composure far too often, provoking fiery rage, searing shame or fevered yearning. The heat of those emotions had thawed her heart, leaving it tender and all too vulnerable. Much as that unsettled her, she could not deny the tremulous joy of feeling truly alive again after seven cold, dormant years.

Hoping a cup of punch might help settle her nerves, she headed for the refreshment table, casting a glance around the ballroom to see how her guests were enjoying themselves. Her mother was sitting with the vicar’s mother and another older lady. She watched the
dancers with a wistful smile, perhaps remembering the balls of her youth. Nearby, Susannah and Lady Daphne were engaged in vivacious conversation with Julian Northmore. On the dance floor, Sidney Crawford was partnered with Lady Artemis, neither of whom looked to be enjoying it much. Sidney scarcely took his eyes off Belinda, who was dancing with the marquis.

Though Sidney was a dear, kind fellow, Laura’s patience with him was rapidly wearing thin. Ford would never moon about like that if there were something he wanted. He would act swiftly and decisively, sweeping aside any obstacles in his way. A bit too forcefully, perhaps, but surely that was better than hanging back, doing nothing, while the desired object slipped through his fingers.

When the dance concluded and Sidney drifted toward her, Laura decided the time had come to give him a nudge. “Mr Crawford, I hope you are enjoying the evening.”

He started at the sight of her, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder. “Very much, Lady Kingsfold. Everything looks…beautiful.”

Her sister most of all, no doubt.

Laura seized two cups of punch from the table and thrust them into his hands. “I was just about to fetch my sister a drink, but I see Mama requires my attention. Could I prevail upon you to deliver this to Miss Belinda?”

Before he could refuse, she pretended to take his agreement for granted. “I knew I could depend upon you. And I would consider it a great favor if you would ask her to dance.”

Laura did not stay to parry his excuses, but hurried off to check on her mother. The next time she glanced
toward the dance floor, she spotted Sidney and Belinda dancing a lively quadrille. Her satisfaction soured a little when she spied Ford partnered with the lovely Lady Artemis. She told herself not to be so foolish. Ford was merely continuing his duties as a good host.

“What a shame,” remarked Mrs Crawford, who suddenly appeared by her side, “for such an accomplished lady of fine family to be on the shelf. When I heard Lord Kingsfold had returned from India, I immediately thought of him for Lady Artemis.”

Laura could not believe the incivility of the woman to say such a thing to Ford’s fiancée. “Is matchmaking a pet pursuit of yours, Mrs Crawford?”

“You could say so.” The woman gave a brittle laugh. “I take a warm interest in seeing eligible ladies and gentleman of my acquaintance paired to their best advantage. I pity Lady Artemis and Lady Daphne with all my heart. Never brought out properly, either of them. I suppose it would not occur to their brother or uncles, even if they had the means. If only they had the right sort of sister-in-law to take them in hand.”

Laura wondered what proud Lady Artemis Dearing would think if she knew Mrs Crawford had the effrontery to pity her?

“You might consider, ma’am,” she replied with icy politeness, “the greatest advantage a person can gain from marriage is someone to love and be loved by in return.”

“Why, Lady Kingsfold—” Mrs Crawford sounded highly amused as she tapped Laura’s arm with her fan “—you are the last woman I would have expected to entertain such sentimental notions about matrimony!”

A slimy wave of humiliation broke over Laura. Was
that what all their guests thought of her, behind their polite smiles and lively banter? Did they see her as a calculating creature who had snared one well-fixed husband, more than twice her age, then wasted no time securing his heir? Much as she hated to admit it or tried to excuse it, she could not deny that her actions contradicted her beliefs about love and marriage.

She wished Ford would come and sweep her back on to the dance floor, banishing her shame and regrets with his potent, rousing presence.

Laura had roused him to such a pitch of desire, Ford could not bear it much longer. As he bid farewell to departing guests, he fought the urge to heave the last few out the door and slam it behind them. He wanted them gone so he could retreat to his bedchamber and douse himself with cold water!

He must have been mad to agree to a three-week delay in their marriage. How could he have persuaded himself he would savour the anticipation of claiming Laura, the way he might anticipate and savour the taste of sweet pudding at the end of a satisfying meal? Instead, he’d been like a starving beggar, tormented with a succulent dish waved under his nose. Once or twice he’d been driven to snatch a bite, but never enough to satisfy him. Only enough to fuel his hunger.

Early on, her barely concealed hostility had not blunted his yearning. But since their trip to London and their ride in the rain, he’d sensed Laura gradually warming to him, and felt an answering spark of desire. Tonight, her ripe, fragrant beauty and subtle flirtation had ambushed him. Whenever they danced, the space
between them had seemed charged with passionate possibilities. When her skirts rustled against his leg, it gave the impression of a deliberate, intimate caress. When he grasped her delicate hands to perform a turn, it had taken every scrap of self-control to keep from pulling her into his arms for a scorching kiss that would have scandalised their guests.

Past experience warned Ford to be wary of such reckless passions that threatened his self-control. Hadn’t the whole point of wedding Laura been to purge her from his system? Instead, she had made him a captive of his desire, tormented by yearning that intensified every hour. If he wasn’t careful, she might sink her claws into his heart so deeply that he would only be able to wrest it away in bloody pieces.

For the first time in many years, Ford turned a deaf ear to the urgings of caution.

He chafed under the tyranny of self-restraint, though it was of his own making and for his own good. He had never felt so fiercely alive as these past weeks, with his passions stirred dangerously close to the surface. The torment of his yearning for Laura eclipsed the vague pleasure he’d found in the effortless conquest of other women. Perhaps his fascination with her was like an illness of the body that must rise to a blistering fever before it broke.

At last the guests were all gone and good riddance to them.

Thoughts of Laura writhed and whirled in Ford’s thoughts, like as enticing Eastern dance, as he mounted the stairs two at a time and strode down the wide corridor toward his quarters. But as he passed her door,
the scent of orange blossoms ambushed him with its luscious invitation.

He must have one last glimpse of Laura. One word from her. One breath of her. One touch. One taste. And if one would not suffice…

He eased the door open and slipped into Laura’s bedchamber.

A single candle flickered from her dressing table. Her bewitching pink ball gown hung over the back of a chair in wanton neglect. Laura stood by her bed wearing nothing but a chemise. The lacy edge of its low-cut bodice nestled over her breasts, while a breath-taking span of her willowy legs showed beneath the garment’s knee-length hem. Through the fine-woven linen, flickering candlelight silhouetted her ripe body.

A blaze of tropical heat swept through Ford. Passion stormed the ramparts of his self-control and pounded it to rubble.

His sudden entrance made Laura recoil with a soft gasp. “Ford, you startled me! What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is Mama…?”

The question and her alarm dampened Ford’s ardour a little. “Your mother is perfectly well. She seemed to enjoy the ball—stayed later than I thought she might. Nothing is wrong.”

Except that he could not bear to wait one more day to make Laura his.

His reassurance seemed to ease most of the tension in her body, but some lingered. “Then…what are you doing here?”

He took a step toward her, then another. “This is my house, remember. I have a right to go where I please,
when I please. Just now it would please me very much to kiss you goodnight.”

“Are you certain that is a good idea?” Laura retreated a step, the back of her legs pressed against the bed.

“One of the best I ever had.” A smile of anticipation rippled across Ford’s lips. How obliging of her to move nearer the bed.

“But…propriety…”

He gave a husky chuckle. “To hell with propriety. We have been living under the same roof for weeks.”

He pulled her into his arms. “We are going to be married the day after tomorrow.”

He nuzzled his cheek against her hair. “In fact, if I had not agreed to your demand for banns, we would have been married over a fortnight by now.”

“And all you want is a kiss?” The breathless quality of her voice would have been sufficient to provoke him all by itself. But in the shadowy intimacy of her bedchamber, with the outline of her tantalising curves visible beneath her chemise and passion fairly crackling between them, it all proved impossible to resist.

“To begin with.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her hungrily.

Oh, the taste of her kiss—so tangy-sweet and intoxicating! Of course he knew that was only the rack punch she’d been drinking at the ball—a mixture of lemon, sugar, brandy and Batavia arrack. But the soft, luscious warmth of her mouth had fermented it into an even more potent brew. One he could imbibe again and again without ever slaking his thirst. Instead, like a fine
aperitif
, it stimulated his appetite for other tantalising delicacies.

As he continued to kiss her, nibbling the ripe fullness
of her lower lip then plunging between her parted lips to caress her tongue with his, one hand strayed down her back to cup a soft, rounded lobe of her bottom

Laura twitched at his touch, thrusting her breasts against his chest. He could hardly wait to feast his eyes, his hands and his lips upon them. In the same instant, she gave a muted gasp, a sultry gush of breath that whetted Ford’s desire sharper still. He slid his knee between hers, nudging her thighs apart. Then he tugged up the hem of her chemise, the better to fondle her tempting body.

His passionate attentions seemed to stir an answering desire in Laura. Where she had been gently complaisant before, she began to engage him with fevered eagerness—grappling with him, wriggling against him, tearing at his clothes, tugging at his hair. If he could not rally a little control, she would push him over the edge before he had the opportunity to satisfy her.