The Laird and the Wanton Widow (5 page)

He grinned up at her. “I am sure there is a lot more you can teach me, lass.”

She laughed. “Incorrigible man. You can manage very well by yourself.”

He let go a long sigh and put his hand to his heart with a comical twist to his lips. He did not want her to know how much her rejection hurt.

“I’ll say no more, then. A gentleman never argues with a lady.” He pushed himself up off the bed. “Let me help you dress.”

Lizzie huffed out a breath. “Our last ball. It is so unfair. Do I have to dance with him?”

Everyone in the carriage knew she meant Godridge.

“Of course, you do,” Diana said.

“Lord Godridge is here at your father’s request,” Kate said softly from her backward-facing seat. “You can’t hold it against him.”

Lizzie pouted. “Well, I’m not going to marry him.”

“There will be lots of other men to dance with too,” Kate said in heartening tones. “Mr. Denton among them.”

Lizzie sighed, then chuckled. “I’m really not sure I can stand another evening of all that bad poetry.”

A pang struck Kate’s heart. Now was the time for Harry to woo the young woman, even though he’d said he didn’t want her. This was the reason she’d not dared open her heart. And he’d agreed to Kate’s departure so easily, too. Once he’d bedded her. Words of love spoken in passion were not necessarily the truth. Were they?

“Young Viscount Hetherington has been showing a marked interest,” Diana mused.

Lizzie blushed to the roots of her hairline. It might be dim in the carriage, but there was no mistaking that telltale flush.

Kate straightened in her seat. “Lizzie?”

The child waved a hand. “He’s just a friend.”

“All the Hetherington men are remarkably handsome,” Diana said. “I remember his father. No one looked better in velvet breeches….” Her voice tailed off as she realized the other two ladies were staring at her, wide-eyed.

“Well, they didn’t,” she said.

Lizzie and Kate burst out laughing. The ache in Kate’s heart eased. Perhaps she really didn’t need to worry about stealing Harry from under Lizzie’s nose after all. Perhaps she would try to speak with him alone this evening. Tell him the words she’d held back yesterday.

If he still seemed interested.

Doubts. Fears. They plagued her unmercifully. Yet what did she have to lose? Only her heart. Again.

The vehicle lurched as if it had hit a pothole.

Kate grabbed for the hand strap.

The carriage slowed.

Lizzie leaned forward to peer through the window in the door. “Are we there?”

Kate let down the window in the other door. Complete darkness met her eyes. “I don’t think so. We are still on Hampstead Heath.”

“Stand and deliver,” a voice shouted from ahead of them.

“Footpads?” Diana squeaked. “My jewels.”

“How exciting,” Lizzie said.

Open mouthed, Kate stared at her. “Are you mad?”

The door flew open. An enormous fellow with a kerchief covering the lower half of his face stuck his head through the opening.

Diana’s hand went to her pearls. “Don’t harm us. We’ll give you anything you want.”

“Aye,” the big man said with a distinctly Scottish accent. “But one of you must go with me as a hostage.”

Lizzie gave a little scream.

“That would be me,” Kate said, trying not to laugh.

“No!” Lizzie caught at her arm. Using her fan, she struck out at their robber, who easily fielded the blow and took Kate’s outstretched hand. “Out you come, madam.”

“Gitby,” Diana cried. “Do something.”

“Can’t, miss,” Gitby called back. “There’s another of ’em holding a pistol to my head.”

“Never fear, Kate,” Lizzie called, sticking her head out of the window. “Papa will pay whatever ransom they ask.”

“There’ll be no ransom high enough,” the large highwayman said, his eyes glinting in the lamplight.

Kate thought it was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.

He pulled down his mask and planted a swift kiss on her lips.

Lizzie squealed. “Good Lord, he’s kissing her.”

“You wretch,” Kate said, staring into Harry’s hazel eyes, where the gleam of the carriage lights danced.

“Drive on,” the other highwayman yelled at the coachman.

Gitby set his horses in motion. The carriage creaked and lumbered away with Lizzie still hanging out of the window. The horseman turned to follow the coach.

“Beauworth will explain when they arrive,” Harry said, dipping his head for another kiss.

“Stop it,” Kate whispered, not sure whether to laugh or cry, her heart felt so full of something painful and sweet.

“You’ll not get away this time, Kate. ’Tis off to Gretna for you and no arguments.”

He drew off his gloves and cradled her face in his hands. The kiss he delivered was blissfully hard and full of possession. She put her hands on his shoulders and held on for dear life. When finally he let her go to draw breath, she shook her head at him.

“Harry, this is utter madness.”

“Aye.” He put an arm around her waist and walked her back along the road a few steps. “I’m mad for you, Kate.”

She slanted him a shy glance. “And I for you.”

He halted and turned her to face him. The moonlight cast his face into hard relief. His teeth flashed white in a brief smile. “I’ve a confession to make, Kate.”

Her heart thundered. Fear? Hope?

“What?” she whispered.

“I’ve no heart for riding neck or nothing to Scotland with you on my saddlebow. It would be very uncomfortable and my horse wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh,” she said, attempting a grave voice as laughter bubbled in her throat.

He took her hand in his large warm one and kissed it tenderly. “So if you don’t mind, we’ll go by way of my carriage. Inside it. Together.”

Heart full of love, she smiled. “I think that would be best. We’ve some lost time to make up for.”

His smile broadened. “Ah, sweetheart,” he said softly. “But I’ve been taking lessons from a very good teacher.”

“Oh, Harry.”

“Yes, love of my life?”

“I love you so very much.”

He pulled her close. “Those are the very words I’ve been waiting to hear.”

Look for Garrick Le Clere, Marquess of Beauworth’s story in
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress
by Ann Lethbridge, on sale now from Harlequin Historical.

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Craving something a little longer? Find more historical romantic adventure from Harlequin Historical at www.eHarlequin.com or your local bookstore.

Interested in writing for Harlequin Historical UNDONE? Send your submission to [email protected].

Ann Lethbridge
has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet, or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.

Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.

Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles.