To Wed The Widow (13 page)

Elinor turned on the sofa, smiling wickedly at her new friend. Her only friend.

She said, “Make him want you but
don’t
let him have you.”

George did not call on Miss Westin the next day.

He still couldn’t believe Sebastian had managed to catch Flora when he was so ham-handed. If the man hadn’t been an earl, he’d be a confirmed bachelor by now.

But George was not an earl, yet, and instead of relying on his position and name and power, he used charm and subterfuge.

He ran into Miss Westin while she was out riding on the mile. Surrounded by her beaus, her hapless maid, and sitting atop her horse like a queen. Or a countess.

George tipped his hat at her, smiled, and rode right on past.

He liked to think he heard her gasp. That she had been outraged that he hadn’t stopped to chat when he’d danced and flirted with her not two nights ago.

And he decided he’d go on thinking that because, well, he couldn’t know otherwise. Not with three men and five horses between her and him.

When he turned around half an hour later, the crowd had thinned and he could see in a distance that she’d managed to shake a few of her followers. Enough so that when he caught up with her, he could stop without feeling like one of her hangers-on.

She turned her head just far enough to meet his eyes.

“Miss Westin.”

She sniffed. “Mr. Sinclair.”

She faced forward again, her chin tipped up a fraction, and they rode in silence for a furlong.

One of her beaus said something vacuous and she laughed gaily. Almost seductively, and George thought that if she had ten more years and five dead husbands behind her she could lead any man around as well as the widow.

He almost wished he’d brought his pup. Whip Anala out of his pocket and let her yap away because he still hadn’t figured out how to train that out of her.

But he didn’t want to share her yet with Miss Westin. She wouldn’t hug the dog to her chest with hurt blue eyes and scold him for keeping it in his pocket. She wouldn’t surround herself with three Mastiffs and get angry with him for overstepping his bounds with her servants.

She wouldn’t make him forget where he was or what he needed to do. Even when he hadn’t seen her in days. Even when he couldn’t smell her scent anymore on his shirt.

Miss Westin flicked her eyes at him. “Wool-gathering, Mr. Sinclair?”

Oh, she was too easy. He’d already won without saying a word.

And he was forced to play on anyway.

“Just thinking of what fun the Greyson’s will be tomorrow night. I assume you are attending.”

“You assume correctly,” she said without a hint of welcome in her voice.

They rode another furlong in silence, her speaking and laughing with the other men and ignoring Sinclair, and Sinclair riding alongside, happy being ignored.

She turned to him again. “I assume
you
will be attending?”

“Of course. I am looking forward to the waltzing,” he said and lightly kicked his horse into a trot without a word of goodbye.

Flora smoothed her new nightdress.

Belted her dressing gown tightly, and then loosened it. And then tightened it again but pulled the lapels until they hung softly against her.

Yes, that was it.

She let out the long braid her maid had prepared for bed and shook her hair out. Pulled it over one shoulder, then pushed it back.

She looked at herself in the mirror and wriggled her nose.

She wanted to look seductive without Sebastian knowing she meant to look seductive. Wanted to look as if she was off to bed but had just remembered something vital to tell him.

Flora had the vital. She’d been biting her tongue all night, saving it up.

She wasn’t sure she had the seductive yet.

She fluffed her hair again and made a loose braid, pulling it over her shoulder and deciding that was the best she could do.

She bit her lips until they were puffed and reddened.

She smoothed the wrinkles around her eyes that hadn’t been there ten years earlier. And contented herself with the thought that there was also knowledge that hadn’t been there either.

Perhaps it was a fair trade.

It was an inevitable trade at any rate.

She knocked lightly at the connecting door that led to the earl’s bedchamber and pushed it open. Not locked, never locked. And still she’d never tried to open it.

“Sebastian?”

The earl’s valet was helping him into his dressing gown and Sebastian said over his shoulder, “Flora? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I just remembered about Camilla. Should I come back?”

Sebastian shook his head, thanking his man and sending him off.

Flora perched on the bed, arranging herself just so and watching as he folded back the bedding.

She swallowed. “George asked if he could take Camilla to the docks. He is inspecting a shipment that just came in.”

Sebastian stared incredulously at her. “I can’t decide which of those statements has me more stupefied. Of course Camilla can’t go to the docks. And what is my brother doing inspecting a shipment?”

“I think you should go with them and let George explain it to you.”

He shook his head, crawling into bed. “Camilla is not going, and I can’t believe that you would even consider it.”

“You must know that George would protect her with his life.”

“And he may very well need to down at the docks.”

She felt the bed shift, watched him pull the blankets to his waist.

“Not with the two of you there. I think you should see what your brother has been up to the last eight years.”

She rested her hand on his foot tucked beneath the blankets, and then began to stroke it softly.

He watched her hand and the skin between his eyes puckered.

She said, “He’ll be here in the morning.”

“Flora!”

“If you decide that it is too dangerous for Camilla, you do not have to take her.”

“It
is
too dangerous.”

She looked down at her hand still stroking his foot and didn’t say anything. She thought about horses and reins and pointing a man in the direction you wanted him to go.

Every good wife instinctively knew how to do this. How to keep her husband’s pride intact while she ran her household.

The picture Elinor painted still made her want to smile, though.

Flora took her hand off his foot and played with her braid.

Sebastian sighed, tried to find a comfortable position and said in the tone of a man who thought the subject was over, “What is the shipment?”

Flora undid the bottom third of her braid and brushed her fingers through it, and then began to braid again.

“Trinkets. Combs like he gave me and the girls.”

Sebastian grunted and she said, “Perhaps I will take Camilla tomorrow. He says it is great fun to watch the ships being loaded but has never been on this end of it before.”

“You will not.”

She kept braiding and flicked her eyes up to her husband’s. “It is too dangerous?”

“And. . .uncouth.”

She smiled a tight smile and looked down at her braid again. “Sailors.”

Sebastian fidgeted. “Yes, sailors.”

“Pirates?”

“Some of them.”

“How exciting.”

“It’s not exciting. It’s dirty and foul and frantic.”

“Oh, have you been?”

“Of course. It is no place for a lady.”

She sighed. “I agree. No place for a lady. No place for a countess. Only men and children could be excited about orderly chaos, frantic shouts, and potential disaster.”

“It is no place for a countess’s daughter. . . Is that how George described it?”

“Mm. He made it seem quite exciting.”

“George could make tea and crumpets sound exciting.”

She laughed lightly, knowing it was true.

Sebastian said, “Do you know anything else about these trinkets? And just what the devil he’s doing with a shipload of them?”

“I know that when I wore mine out it was exclaimed over and envied. I know that George did not seem at all surprised when I told him that.”

“I might have to go with him and get the story out of him after all. I can’t have my brother dabbling in trade.”

“Of course not. Be sure and tell us all about it afterward. Hearing about an adventure is always so much more fun than experiencing it firsthand.”

Sebastian didn’t say a word and Flora kept playing with her braid.

He finally sighed and when she looked at him, his eyes were closed.

“You’ve already told Camilla about it, haven’t you?”

“I mentioned it. But of course said that you would have to agree.”

“And she wanted to go?”

“With you. She is not at all sure about George yet.”

“That’s because she is a bright girl.”

“She is. And she knows, just as I do, that with her father there to protect her, the docks will be as fun an adventure as her uncle promises.”

“Flora, she can’t go,” he said, but this time there was regret in his voice not cold certainty.

“If we had a nine-year-old son, would you take him to the docks to see his uncle’s shipment from a foreign and exotic land?”

He kept his eyes closed and Flora kept watching him. Watched as grief covered his face, and she wanted to lie down next to him and hold him. Cry with him. Or for him since she doubted he would join her.

She wanted to lie down next to him and strip her nightdress off and make him that son.

She wondered what he would do if she did because she didn’t think he was heading that direction. Not yet.

She climbed off the foot of the bed and walked around to his side.

His eyes opened when she touched his chest and he said softly, “Camilla is not our nine-year-old son.”

“I know. There is only you, and your brother, and perhaps one day,
his
nine-year-old son.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say
perhaps
about that.”

“There is always a perhaps about that. Always a chance of four more girls and no son among them.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened and horror covered his face as he thought of his last great hope being unsuccessful.

She kept her hand on his chest and let him think about it. About what he would do if George’s wife delivered no heir.

She said, “Will we do then what we should be doing now? Or will it be too late?”

“It’s already too late if you’ve found someone else to relieve that tension.”

He sounded angry and Flora tried not to be thrilled. She shook her head. “I have not. I would prefer it be you.”

That didn’t seem to mollify him any. “The devil you know?”

He still sounded angry and frustrated, and what had he said?

I know my duty; I know what the world expects from me. I am sorry to disappoint it and you and everyone.

The devil she loved, it was more like.

She pulled the covers up to his chin and kissed his forehead lightly.

“The devil I know,” she said and left him there.

George arrived early the next morning, dressed in his ubiquitous greatcoat and Sebastian knew his brother still hadn’t acclimatized to the cold.

Another hit this morning, another person he’d failed when he wished he could give them the world.

Sebastian eyed the coat and said, “Keep the dog in your pocket.”

George laughed, pecking Flora’s cheek. “Would you believe I didn’t bring her?”

“No.”

Flora teased him and Sebastian watched them banter happily between themselves. Flora never joked with him like that, only George, and Sebastian realized that she became whatever the situation needed.

Which version was the real her?

Did she really want to go to the docks with them this morning? What would she do if he invited her?

But she was right. It was no place for a countess. If there had ever been a time she could have had that adventure, she’d missed it.

Sebastian called for his daughter and Flora stopped talking long enough to smile at him.

Camilla entered the room, her hands clasped tight together, and when Sebastian asked if she would like to join them, she nodded.

She pursed her lips, then turned to her uncle. “Do you have your puppy, Uncle George?”