The Wary Widow (10 page)

“Darling, are you taking me to the opera tomorrow evening?” Elizabeth's voice came from beside him and he quickly shifted his gaze to her. “Madam
Pizzarelli
is singing Susannah and I so wish to see it.”

Madam
Pizzarelli
.
Perhaps the worst soprano to ever clod across the stage.
She wasn’t even Italian, her real name being Mary Reynolds. Of course, if it meant spending an evening in the company of Mrs. Hawthorne
—

“Of course, dear,” he assured her, noting the exaggerated roll of his brother’s eyes. “Michael will join us, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, you must! That way we will be even.”

The look Michael shot him would have made Napoleon quake in his Hessians. But Andrew just smiled.

***

As the carriage trundled along through Mayfair, Chloe wondered why Lord Andrew kept looking at her the way he did. She wished he would stop. If Lizzie ever suspected anything, she didn’t know what she would do.

She shook her head. There was nothing to suspect. The fact that she thought he was handsome and witty meant nothing. She was still Lizzie’s chaperone and he was still Lizzie’s fiancé. Nothing was going to change that. Nothing.

Chloe sighed. He continued to stare at her as if she were a piece of fine horseflesh. How awkward this was with him sitting directly across from her, watching her so intently. Perhaps if she stared back, he would become embarrassed and stop.

She dared a glance. What a mistake that was. His eyes bore into hers and she almost felt lightheaded from the intensity. Clearly Lord Andrew was not embarrassed. He was probably flattered, the lout. Truth
be
told, so was she, but blast it, this could not continue. She would have to tell him she did not appreciate his unspoken advances.

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a row of Cavendish Square town houses. The foursome alighted and joined the rest of the party in the garden at the back of the house. Chloe couldn’t believe her eyes when they reached the garden. Miss
Smythe
had an obvious obsession with the east.

Colorful paper lanterns hung from every available tree branch, and servants dressed up as a Chinese dragon snaked through the hedgerows and
flower beds
. The smell of foreign spices wafted and mingled with the scent of giant lotus flowers. An elaborate pagoda had been erected for the occasion, under which an oriental-garbed princess, presumably Miss
Smythe
, greeted her subjects from a golden throne.

Andrew groaned from beside her.

“Something wrong, my lord?” she asked, trying to hide her smile.

“Yes,” he replied dryly. “I can’t stand Chinese dragons. They scare me.”

“Scare you?” Chloe laughed at this. He must have been teasing her.

He quirked his eyebrow.
She was beginning to enjoy it when he did that. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t think they scare you nearly as much as having to mingle with debutantes.”

Andrew chuckled. “So true, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

Lizzie sidled up to him just then, having returned from a boisterous reunion with girls she’d seen only two evenings past. She grabbed the arm of her betrothed and dragged him along behind her to the gaudy pagoda.

“May I escort you to Her Highness, Mrs. Hawthorne?” Michael asked with an extended arm.

Chloe gave him a grateful smile. The Wetherby family truly warmed her heart. “You may.”

***

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!
Why did Mrs. Hawthorne have to be so damned beguiling? He knew it was wrong and that he was being a complete cur, but he couldn’t stop staring at her. Thankfully Elizabeth was too caught up in the ridiculous décor to notice. Andrew had never seen so many paper lanterns in his life. God help the garden if one of them caught on fire.

Furthermore, it wasn’t even dark enough to see their glow.

Once they greeted the princess, they made their way to one of the small tables scattered about the garden to enjoy some lemonade.
If one could actually enjoy the God-awful stuff.
He never understood the appeal of watered-down lemons. But it was either that or
die
of thirst in the blazing sun; it wasn’t typically done to serve brandy at garden parties.

Michael sat next to Chloe, sulking, while she waved her fan back and forth in front of her face. Andrew looked up. It really was scorching now that the sun had moved directly overhead.

“It is unseasonably warm for this time of year, is it not?” Elizabeth asked from beside him.

Andrew nodded, wishing he could be alone with Mrs. Hawthorne again. A tiny bead of sweat was making its way down her chest, right in between her-

“Attention, everyone!” The princess stood from her throne under the pagoda and all eyes turned to her. “If everyone could gather around, we are going to play a game.”

Reluctantly, Andrew rose from his chair, along with the others, and they all made their way to the foot of the throne. Michael shot him another one of his I’ll-never-forgive-you-for-this looks on the way.

“The name of the game is Sardines,” Miss
Smythe
announced giddily. “One person will be ‘it’ and they will be the first to hide. The rest of us will count to 100 before we go off in search of the person who is ‘it’. When you find that person, you must hide with them. The game is over when we’ve all gathered together in the hiding spot.”
“Perfect,” Michael whispered to his brother. “On the warmest day of the year, we get to huddle together under a prickly bush. I can’t imagine a more delightful afternoon.”
Andrew grunted his concordance. What was the bloody chit thinking to make them all play such a silly game? Was she turning eighteen or eight?

“Would anyone like to volunteer to start?” she called, a ridiculous smile pasted on her face.

No one responded. Clearly the others were just as opposed to the idea as he and Michael were.

“All right, then I shall choose.” The princess scanned her guests until her eyes landed on Elizabeth and she beamed. “Lady Elizabeth, would you do the honors?”

His fiancé seemed honored at being asked and nodded her head rigorously. Then the princess bid them all cover their eyes while she counted to one hundred.

Before she left, Elizabeth whispered in Andrew’s ear, “Do be the first to find me, darling. I’ve something I wish to give you.”

Andrew looked up, perplexed, but Elizabeth had already gone. He puzzled over it until her heard the princess’ voice count out the last few numbers to one hundred.

“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!”

Everyone uncovered their eyes and began pairing off to search for Elizabeth. Andrew glanced over at his cohorts.

“Shall we?”

They nodded and began walking toward a path at the far side of the garden. But before they reached the path, Princess
Smythe
bounded up to them, grabbing Michael by the arm.

“Lord Michael—you are Lord Michael, are you not?” She waited for his nod and then continued, “Would you accompany me on the hunt?”

Michael clearly fought the urge to groan, while Andrew and Chloe suppressed their laughter. He truly was never going to forgive Andrew for this. In the end, he smiled and offered his arm to the overzealous miss, who yanked him quickly to the other side of the garden.

“Well, Mrs. Hawthorne, it’s just you and me.”

***

You and me.
Oh, goodness, this was most unnerving. Chloe could handle herself fine with Lord Andrew when others were present, but to run off, alone, into the garden was quite another thing altogether.

Thou
shalt
not lust after thy cousin’s
betrothed,
thou
shalt
not lust after thy cousin’s betrothed...

“I suppose it is,” she finally managed.

They strolled along in silence, neither of them truly looking for Lizzie. Truth be known, Chloe didn’t really care to get cozy with a lot of strangers. The thought made her palms sweaty. Or perhaps it was the fact that she was alone with Andrew again. It was hard to tell with the sun beating down so fiercely upon them.

She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. This was as good a time as any to tell him how uncomfortable his silent advances made her feel.

“Lord Andrew,” she said quietly, lest other partygoers lurked in the bushes. “I must ask that you refrain from watching me in the future.”

Andrew turned to look at her. “Watching you?”

“Yes,” she replied quickly. “I caught you staring at me several times on the ride over, and over lemonade as well. I’m not blind, my lord, and it’s not fair to Lizzie. She is your betrothed.”

Andrew caught her by the hand and she quickly withdrew. “Mrs. Hawthorne, I...I can’t seem to help myself.”

This sparked her fury and she swung to face him. “Well, you must!” she hissed. Good gracious, they shouldn’t be having this conversation.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it, Chloe,” he whispered intently.

She shook her head. They absolutely could not have
this
conversation. “No, Andrew, don’t,” she pleaded with him. If he took this any further, God only knew what she would do. It had been too long since she’d been with a man, and she ached for the one who stood right in front of her.

Before she knew it, he had grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to the other side of a tall hedgerow. He pushed her up against the shrubbery and brought his face within inches of her own.

“You intrigue me, Chloe Hawthorne. Look what you do to me.” He took her hand and placed it on the bulge beneath his pants.

The balmy scent of earth and flowers mingled with his expensive cologne and aroused her until her breasts were aching. Her stomach tightened with desire. She tried to hold her breath to prevent further invasion on her senses, and even closed her eyes. Nothing helped. Nothing stopped the blood from pumping fiercely to her private places.

Chloe bit back a groan.
God, how she wanted this man.
A part of her felt guilty for betraying her husband, but Lizzie had been right. Sam was gone, and it was time she moved on with her life.

But what about Lizzie?

Andrew’s hand reached up to cup her breast.
Oh, God!

“Kiss me, Chloe,” he rasped. “Kiss me before I die of wanting you.”

Ten

“Aha! We are first to find her!”

Lizzie looked up from her position huddled between two tall hedgerows.

Where was Andrew? She was sure he would have made it a point to find her first at her request. And it wasn’t as if her hiding spot was difficult to find. Any numbskull could have found her, like Miss
Smythe
, especially if they'd been giving explicit directions.

Oddly enough, Michael accompanied the princess, though he did not look thrilled to do so. Lizzie couldn’t blame him. It was hot, and she was certain Miss
Smythe
had not been his first choice of search partners.

“Move over, Elizabeth, before the others see us.” The princess sat on the ground next to her and shimmied her hips to move into position. “Come, Lord Michael. You must get as close to me as you possibly can.”

Lizzie suppressed a grin. Michael looked positively miserable, but he did as she asked, always the perfect gentleman.

Soon, others piled into the small space with them. One after another the party guests arrived, cramming themselves against one another.

“Miss
Smythe
, I say, could we not have played inside?” Charles
Oster
inquired. “It’s hot as blazes out here.”

Lizzie couldn’t have agreed more. At the back of the party, smashed between a bush and the princess, with her overpowering Chinese perfume, trickles of sweat had already started making their way down her back. But she barely noticed them, because she was far too distraught that Andrew had not shown his face yet. She had hoped for him to arrive first, as the game presented the perfect opportunity for a stolen kiss. A kiss they’d yet to share, regardless of their betrothal.

She shrugged off the idea. Nothing said he would have kissed her anyhow. He’d had plenty of opportunities in the past, and he hadn't even bothered to ask. Lord
Edgmond
on the other hand had indulged her quite willingly when she’d asked.

“Michael, wherever is that brother of yours?” Lizzie finally asked.

It had been at least a quarter of an hour since the party had broken up for the search, and now they’d all been crammed together for more than five minutes. Surely Andrew wasn’t so dense that he couldn’t find sixteen people in a hedgerow.

Michael twisted slightly to look at her, his face glistening with sweat. “I haven’t the foggiest, Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps your cousin is feeling unwell and he chose to stay behind with her.”

Cousin? Oh, dear, what if Chloe was ill? Now she was truly starting to worry.

“All right, everyone out, please!” she called to the front of the pack.

Miss
Smythe
began to argue that not everyone had arrived yet, but Lizzie silenced her. “We’ll all die of heat exhaustion, Miss
Smythe
, if we wait. Now, please, let me out of here!”

***

Andrew’s mouth practically watered as he waited for Chloe to answer him. God, what a fool he was making of himself. He’d never thrown himself at a woman. Inevitably, they came to him with batting eyelashes or indecorous proposals. Many a debutante had begged—just as he did now—for a kiss.

Now he understood the ulterior motive. Because as he stood there in front of Chloe, he couldn’t help but hope that that one kiss might turn into something more.

But before he could even consider what that more might be, she shoved at his chest and started back down the path, toward the house.

Imbecile!
How could he have even thought of asking such a thing of her? Then the panic set in. Would she feel compelled to tell Elizabeth? Oh, God, he should have thought this through with his head and not his prick. But seeing her in that gauzy white gown had sprung feelings he’d never felt with his betrothed.

Damn it, he had to stop her from telling Elizabeth. He stalked after her, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her back to him.

“Andrew, please, stop,” she begged, and he saw the hurt in her eyes.

The confliction of wanting him and knowing she couldn’t have him. But she could, if she would only listen.

“Please, just indulge me, Chloe.” He held her about the waist and squeezed her tighter to him. “No one need ever know.”

And then her hand struck his face, leaving a hot sting in its wake. Clearly, he’d gone too far. Feeling like a complete cad, he released her and took a step backwards. Chloe’s face was red, despite the fact
he
was the one who
had been hit. Her nostril’s flared with indignation.

“You are engaged to my cousin,” she said, each word slow and deliberate, as if she spoke to a child. “I will kindly ask you, sir, to never,
ever
, lay another hand on me.”

“Chloe-
²

She stalked to him, coming within inches of his face. “It’s Mrs. Hawthorne to you, and I’ll beg you never to forget that.”

Though she'd spoken harsh words, there were tears in her eyes. He knew they weren't because she was angry. They were because she was denying herself something she wanted. Desperately.
As desperately as he wanted her.

She hesitated, and Andrew seized the moment, knowing he might endure another slap and more heated threats, but he didn’t care. He had to know. He had to know what she tasted like. What her lips felt like against his. So, he kissed her. Hard at first, holding her rigid body against him until she gave in. And when she did, when her body melted in his arms, he pried her lips apart and delved his tongue inside.

Good God, she was sweet. Like lemons and sugar.
And so soft.
His cock grew hard as he imagined how soft she must be elsewhere. Warm and soft and accommodating to his-

A salty wetness invaded their kiss. Damn it, she was crying in earnest now. He broke away and held her at an arm’s length. Indeed, a stream of tears made their way down her left cheek. She stared up at him, her face unreadable.

And then she was gone, running down the path, clearly desperate to get away from him.

***

Chloe ran all the way back to the main house, praying the others still hid away in their game. She was certain she and Andrew would be missed, especially since Lizzie led the game, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t let them see her now.

When she arrived at the back door, she made her way inside and found a servant girl.

“Can you point me to the necessary, please?” she asked, her voice thick with tears.

The little maid nodded and turned down a corridor, then opened the door to a water closet at the end of the hall. Chloe stepped inside and shut the door behind her, before falling to the floor in a fit of silent sobs.

How could this have happened? How could she be attracted to the one man in London that she truly could not have? As a widow, she could have her pick of any manner of men, even married ones if she was discreet enough.

She wrinkled her nose. The thought of dallying with a man who already had a wife made her rather ill, now she thought about it. Even so, it would not have been so out of the ordinary.

But to dally with her cousin’s betrothed would be reprehensible. She already felt guilty enough about that kiss.

Her heart twisted.
Lord, that
kiss. As if their lips had been designed one for the other.

“Chloe? Chloe are you in there?”
Blast, they’d found her. Lizzie pounded on the door.

“Andrew said you were feeling ill, are you all right?”

“Did he mention he was the cause of my illness?” she muttered bitterly.

“What?” Lizzie knocked again. “Chloe, I can’t hear you. Are you well enough to open the door or shall I have a maid fetch the key?”

“No!” she shouted suddenly, trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. “I’m fine, really. I think it was just a bit too much sun.”

“Oh, of course, darling.” Lizzie hesitated, clearly at a loss for what to do or say next. “Would you like to let me in?” she finally asked, a bit awkwardly.

Chloe took a few steadying breaths, knowing she would have to face her cousin sometime, then opened the door. Worry etched Lizzie’s features. A horrible guilt washed over Chloe, and she began to wonder if she smelled like Lord Andrew. Had his manly scent rubbed off on her? Oh, good heavens! How could she have done such a thing to her dear cousin? She was supposed to be looking out for her, keeping her best interests at heart as her chaperone. Not kissing her fiancé.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Lizzie threw an arm around her shoulder and led her out of the room. “I’m just glad you’re all right. Let’s find the boys and go home, shall we?”

Awkward silence dominated the ride home. Lizzie fussed over her the entire way, as did Michael, but Andrew only sat there, staring blankly out the window. He wouldn’t even look at her, and somehow, it broke her heart.

She wished they could go back to the way they had been the day before, having tea in the parlor, laughing and talking like old friends. But she knew they couldn’t. They never would.

All of sudden, Chloe wished Andrew and Lizzie would just hurry up and get married, so she could go back to her quiet, widow’s life in Essex. Alone.

***

“So?”

Michael sat across from Andrew at their favorite pub, hunched over a pint. He stared up intently at him, his brown eyes so familiar.

“So, what?” Andrew shot back before taking a sip of his beer.

“So, why did you insist on coming here instead of the club? Why were you missing from the game this afternoon, while I sweated my bullocks off mashed in between that irritating Miss
Smythe
and Charles
Oster
? And why do you look as if you could tear the ass out of a rhinoceros?”

Andrew almost laughed at that last one. His brother’s turn of phrase could be colorful at times. But the circumstance alone was enough to keep his mood in the somber place it was.

“No particular reason,” he replied to the first question. “I was seeing to Mrs. Hawthorne’s well-being while the rest of you were playing a game. And it’s none of your damn business why I look like that.”

“And when you say that you were ‘seeing to Mrs. Hawthorne’s well-being,’ you mean...?”

Andrew glared at his brother. Damn him, it wasn’t any of his business. And there was no way Andrew was going to make it his business. What was done was done, and it didn’t matter anymore. He would forget about Mrs. Hawthorne and marry Lady Elizabeth.
No matter what.

“Listen, Drew,” Michael began, leaning further over the table. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you have a fiancée.”
“You don’t say!”

“Andrew, I’m trying to help you.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at his twin. “What are you talking about?”

Michael looked around and then, in a low voice, said, “We’re twins, you
nodcock
. You can have your way, and so can Lady Elizabeth.”