Page 2 of Seduction of a Widow

“Tally-ho!” said Lord Parker.

The chamber erupted into raucous laughter and the men lifted their glasses in a toast and drank.

Lord Bumbleberry scowled. “I will win her over.”

“I don’t know about that.” The duke regarded him doubtfully.

“Oh, no?”

“You actually think you can best the competition?” Holmes said.

Lord Bumbleberry slammed his glass down on the table. “No man here can outride me—in bed or out.”

The duke turned to Evan. “What of young Mr. MacLaren?” The older man made a dramatic show of appraising Evan. “He’s certainly a handsome young swain and I think our Lady Hoyden will be most impressed by his horsemanship skills.”

Lord Bumbleberry’s scowl deepened. “I have never been impressed by the horsemanship skills of a common privateer. Much less one without two pence to rub together.”

A sudden fury seized Evan. What in hell’s name could this spoiled, soft bellied noble know of the sacrifices he had made for his family’s honor?

He studied the amber liquid in his glass for two heartbeats, forced calm, then said, “You may have a point about the horsemanship of privateers, compared to the nobleman who rides in leisure with hounds.” He raised his gaze and held Lord Bumbleberry’s. “But marksmanship skills are another matter, entirely.”

The other man paled.

Evan offered a cold smile. “I would be pleased to make a demonstration at dawn.”

Lord Bumbleberry snapped his spineless form against the polished mahogany chair back, then sought quick refuge in his drink. Quiet settled over the group. The scrape of shifting boots and the clink of decanters against glasses wafted from other parts of the room. Someone began shuffling cards. Gradually, the gentlemen departed. Only the Duke of Holmes remained.

“Well, young Mr. MacLaren, the question remains,” he said.

Evan raised a hard stare to the older man. “What question?”

He bristled, ready to challenge even this powerful duke if he dared insult his situation or family. Yet, he had no idea why his pride was so easily pricked tonight. It was a shameful loss of self-control. He might have a taste for danger and risk, but he was no hot-headed fool.

Holmes stared back warmly, seemingly unaware of any contention. “Are you going to ask the adventurous lady to dance?”

“Who?”

“Lady Carr.”

“I do not know her,” Evan replied.

The duke snorted. “Surely you could not have missed that lithesome beauty gowned in green velvet? The one with the deep brown hair and the—” He made quick motions with his hands, approximating a woman’s lush form.

Ah, so it was the female who had given him the polite—but firm—rebuff. She was the lady whose husband had died in an effort to claim his husbandly rights? Like simmering rum on a cold Atlantic morn, his blood began to warm.

“I see you know her.” Holmes chuckled, then rose.

Holmes canted his head, then strolled away. Evan watched his retreat. This gathering had become too stale to bear. A spoiled, wealthy hellion, and the gentlemen who so lacked zest in their luxurious lives that they found her a novelty. Evan tossed back the last of his whisky, set the glass on the mantle and started toward the door.

“She’s not really the wild adventuress that they have painted her.”

Evan stopped and turned. Sir Stirling James stood near the chair Holmes had vacated, his dark eyes alive with excitement. Or was it expectation? It rankled Evan’s growing sense of impending…what? Trap?

Evan kept his expression impassive. “Pardon me?”

Sir Stirling smiled with warmth. “Lady Carr is not some silly minded, wild girl. She is a sophisticated woman who lives life to the fullest. Though she still retains a sort of naivety…no, it is more a freshness.” Sadness flickered in his expressive eyes. “It is unfair that some malign her.”

In this, Evan agreed. His earlier disgust for those gentlemen returned—parlor tigers—who lacked backbone. They bolstered their flagging manhood by making a conquest of a woman they neither understood, nor fully appreciated.

“Would you care to meet the lady?” Sir Stirling asked.

The man’s expression was pleasant. The sense of a trap returned. Nevertheless, Evan found himself following Sir Stirling James back to the ballroom.