To Wed The Widow (7 page)

He barked out a laugh. “And you think she’d go about that business by infuriating me?” He shook his head. “Even if she was, I wouldn’t want
her
.”

What woman do you want, Sebastian?

Then she chided herself. She was a woman who’d been married for ten years, had four children.

That she still loved her husband, still wanted only him, was her own silly fault. She should do as others of her standing did when their duty was done.

Take a discreet lover and leave her husband to his.

Except there was the rub. She hadn’t given him his heir.

And she didn’t want a lover.

She looked away from her husband. At the door, where George was stomping his way back in.

Sebastian said, “And if that’s what she was looking for, I’d turn George over to her and let him get tired of her. But she wants another husband.”

He motioned George over to them, and the earl’s brother turned on his heel and headed back to the card room.

Sebastian grunted with impatience and Flora once again took hold of her husband’s arm before he went chasing after his brother.

“You can’t force him, Sebastian. To dance with the women you want him to dance with, to come when you command him.”

“To look for a respectable woman? To not go haring off after the most unsuitable woman he could find? To not throw a tantrum like a spoiled child when he doesn’t get what he wants?”

“He knows his duty. He’s here, isn’t he? And if you let him find his own wife, he’ll be much happier.”

“If I let him find his own wife. . . You did just see who he ran after, did you not? I can not leave it to him. He is attracted to the outrageous and the entertaining. We are looking for the mother of an earl, Flora.”

“I think you underestimate him. And I think if you pick his wife for him, you will choose a wallflower. Some girl who is quiet and obedient and–”

“You mean a girl like you?”

She smiled. “We’ve been married ten years, my dear. A woman can be quiet and obedient for only so long.”

He smiled back at her and patted the hand still resting on his arm. And then he sighed. “If only one of your sisters was still unattached. George loves you; he wouldn’t have chafed against your calming influence.”

“Yes, he would have. A woman like me is not what George needs. He needs someone vivacious and high-spirited.”

The earl blinked. And blinked. “Flora. I’m looking for his
wife
.”

She laughed, sliding her hand from his arm. “I know, dear. But someone entertaining will ease the sting.”

George Sinclair knocked on the door of a terraced townhouse at the fashionable hour the next day.

And when he was shown into the lady’s drawing room to find her three,
three
!, Mastiffs flopped in front of the fire he scowled at them and said, “I am utterly disappointed in you, Lady Haywood. I thought you ferocious like one of your dogs. But you ran from my brother the moment he descended on us.”

She’d run, and he’d chased after her. Was still chasing after her.

“Perhaps I was using him to make my escape, Mr. Sinclair.”

He turned to her then, his breath catching at the simple black day gown she wore. Simple and plain and so thin he could see the layer underneath. And the next layer and the next. He thought she must be wearing nearly ten sheer layers, and while he couldn’t see anything but material, he couldn’t seem to stop trying.

He looked back up into eyes that knew exactly what he was thinking, and Sinclair handed her a scrap of paper. “My reference.”

She took it and looked down at it. “Just who did you get to write a reference? Have you been married before?”

“My mistress. It’s been a few good years since I partook of her services but she remembered me.” He grinned. “That must be a kind of reference all its own.”

She crumpled the note in her hand. “Not the particular kind of reference I was looking for.”

He sat down uninvited on her sofa, making himself comfortable and looking around the room. At the dogs sprawled in front of the fireplace.

He nodded toward them. “Are they as well trained as your horse?”

“Yes.”

“Will you give me warning before I overstay my welcome?”

“Consider this your warning.”

One dog picked up its head at her tone.

Sinclair patted the sofa beside him. “Come and sit beside me before he gets the wrong idea, Elinor. Dogs can’t tell when you’re joking.”

She stared at him and another dog picked up its head.

“Can
you
tell when I’m joking,
Mr
. Sinclair?”

The third dog kept his head down, blinking between his mistress and her guest.

He said, “I thought you were always joking.”

“That’s you.”

He smiled, flicking his eyes to her long enough to see that while her face wasn’t laughing, her eyes were sparkling.

He looked back at the last dog. “You can call me George. Or Sin. That’s what my
very good
friends
call me.”

She sat then, far too close, her skirts heavy on his leg despite their sheerness, her shoulder brushing against his. Her voice was low and smoky when she said, “If I called you George, I would then have to call my solicitors. If I called you Sin, I would then have to laugh.”

She surprised a chuckle out of him and all of the dogs lost interest, laying their heads back down.

Sinclair slid his arm along the back of the sofa and she turned her head toward him. Close. So close.

She said softly, “There is a certain type of gentleman who, if he
accidentally
stripped a maiden of her respectability, would run posthaste to her father to rectify the situation. I don’t doubt you are that kind of gentleman.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Why do I not think that was a compliment?”

“That same type of gentleman wouldn’t even think of doing the same for a widow.”

“And there it is.” He pulled at a lock of her hair that was trying to free itself. “You’re really looking for marriage? Again? I don’t want to do it even once and here you are looking to throw your hat in for a sixth time.”

“Marriage means something different to women than it does to men.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. But I do sincerely doubt that it means the same to you that it does to every other woman.”

She laughed, humorlessly. “I think you’d be surprised, Mr. Sinclair, at how similar I am to other women.”

“I can assure you, Elinor, that you are nothing like other women.”

She shifted, her skirts rustling, the lock of hair Sinclair had wrapped his finger around springing free. He kept his eyes on it as he rubbed the hair between his gloveless thumb and forefinger. He kept his eyes away from her too close face, too tempting lips.

“Was that flattery, Mr. Sinclair? I couldn’t tell.”

He sighed. “I used to be good at this. Alas.”

She looked down at the note still held tight in her hand. “Is that what your reference says, that you used to be good at this and please give the man some lessons?”

Elinor smoothed it on her skirts, breaking the seal and angling it so she alone could read it.

It didn’t take long.

The smile she’d been fighting since he’d arrived unannounced bloomed across her lips and she leaned against his chest.

“Hm. That was exactly what it said.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

“I’m going to kiss you, Elinor. It’s only a much-needed lesson so don’t call the solicitors just yet.”

She whispered, “Just a kiss, Sinclair. And you don’t need to worry about the solicitors; I haven’t called you George.”

He put his lips to hers. They were soft, but firmly closed, and the challenge of her made his blood roar.

And yes, the scandal of her. Why, just
why
, did men bet their lives for her?

He didn’t think, not for a minute, that she’d killed them, but it was a rather lot of bad luck. A man had to think twice about bringing all that bad luck upon himself.

He opened his mouth, tempting, pulling, sucking, and she leaned heavily against him, twisting in her seat to get closer to him.

But she kept her mouth closed.

Sinclair pulled back enough to slide his thumb between their lips, to gently wipe the moisture of his mouth from hers.

He murmured, “Why three?”

Her lips opened against his thumb. “I’ve had five. Husbands.”

She kissed his thumb and he cleared his throat.

“Dogs. One I can understand for protection. Two, even. But three?”

She said simply, “Two wasn’t enough. Dogs are happiest when they are in a pack. Two is not a pack.”

“Were your dogs lonely, Elinor?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her again, his lips light against hers, his thumb pushing gently at the corner of her mouth.

Open
, he begged.

But they wouldn’t.

He didn’t pull away again. Couldn’t. He simply whispered against her lips, “What does marriage mean to you, Elinor? Why Bertie, and the old codger, and the paragon of manliness?”

“The Italian Stallion,” she corrected and he grunted.

She said, “And you forgot the merchant. And my poor young husband.”

“I didn’t forget them. The merchant is easy– beautiful young women must have something to live on, as well as the plain.”

She laughed against his mouth and he sucked in the sound. Sucked in her breath and warmth and wetness.

He didn’t lunge at her, didn’t assault her mouth with his tongue at the first chance he got. And he silently congratulated himself.

See, old boy, didn’t lose all your charm in India, after all.

He flicked his tongue to the corner of her mouth, then wiped with his thumb. And flicked, and wiped.

“And I know why you got your hooks into the young whippersnapper. You wanted a man easy to control.”

One of her legs wrapped around his calf, sliding up and down, and she whispered, “You don’t think I could easily lead any man around by his nose?”

“I’m dying to find out.”

That stopped her for a moment. Froze her in place, and Sinclair thought of all the men who had died once they found out getting led around by her was worth the price.

He slid down in the seat, getting the arm of the sofa against his back and Elinor across his chest.

She didn’t follow him with her lips, didn’t chase him with her kisses.

He didn’t know why his ardor hadn’t cooled at the thought of his death. But his words were certainly a bucket of cold water to her.

She pushed at his chest, trying to rise. “I don’t think you can give me what I want.”

“I think I can give you exactly what you want.”

She was nearly fully on top of him, he knew she could feel him prodding her, and one side of her mouth tipped up.

“To be fair, I think you can give me
half
of what I want.”

“And you’re set on that other half? No time for a little diversion before you find number six?”

She shook her head. “No time. There’s never any time for a diversion.”

She pushed herself off his chest, moved to the other side of the sofa and shook her skirts, smoothing them back in to place.

Sinclair took a deep, calming breath, pushing himself into a sitting position. Telling himself he hadn’t come today to be seduced in the lady’s drawing room, on the lady’s sofa.

He’d
hoped
. What was a man without a little hope? But he hadn’t expected, which meant he couldn’t be as crushingly disappointed as he thought he was feeling.

He sat forward, bracing his chin against his fist and looking at her dozing dogs.

“Marriage is your price and no substitutions. You drive a very hard bargain, madame.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Ah, no. That sacred institution has failed me but five times. I have no desire to give it a sixth try without being certain. Of the man, and his abilities.”

He was genuinely perplexed why any woman would find herself a sixth husband and he said softly, “What do you want, Elinor?”

“I want what was promised me.”

“Promised by who?”

“My husbands. All promised me the same thing, then failed to deliver.”

He was afraid to ask.

He turned to study her profile, then bit. “And what did they promise you?”

She met his eyes and this time there was no seduction, no laughter. No scandal.

He looked in her eyes and saw not madness but heartbreak and loneliness.

She said, “A child.”

One of her dogs came to his feet, padding over softly to rest his head in his mistress’s lap. Elinor petted his head and the dog looked at Sinclair as if to say,
I would love to bite you
.

Sinclair remembered his brother saying she’d been married five times with no surviving issue. And thought, Elinor had been right. She wanted what every other woman wanted from marriage.

He cleared his throat. “Has there been no. . .nothing?”

“The old codger.” Her lips parted in what could have been called a smile if you’d never seen her do it before. “He gave me a daughter, then died before she was born. She was so small. She didn’t even cry, not once. I held her in my arms and she died. I held her for that one day, and then I buried her.”

Sinclair didn’t know what to say to such pain, so said nothing. Just looked at the fire and wished.

That he hadn’t chased her. That just one of her husbands had done his duty by her.

She said softly, “I thought with dear Bertie. . .but no.”

Sinclair said, “He would have been a wonderful father,” and she nodded. And stared into the fire with him.

He couldn’t stand to see her so. . .wilted. As if all the air in the room had escaped, all the energy, and he said, “It’s only been a few weeks since the young whippersnapper. You can’t be sure yet that there is no child.”

She laughed then. “My poor young husband loved to drink. Let’s just say it affected his performance. There is no child.”

She pushed her dog gently away, standing up and letting George know he had overstayed his welcome.

“You see how I must choose wisely, don’t you, Mr. Sinclair? Before I marry again, I will be with child. And how can I make any man marry me when I’ve already given him what he wants?”