Page 28 of Seduction of a Widow

Chapter Seven

Leslie turned the corner in the third floor hallway to find Sir Stirling and Baroness Trent waiting outside Lord Barnton’s room.

“Lord, never say that fool told you of Lord Barton’s accusations,” the baroness said when Leslie neared them.

“I think he could not help himself.” Leslie stopped in front of them.

“You look fatigued, my lady,” Sir Stirling said. “Perhaps you should sit.” He indicated a chair to the left of the door.”

She shook her head. “Thank you. I am well and prefer to stand.” Truthfully, she would prefer a bath, then a good book in bed, but that was not to be.

“I do not understand why Mr. Drucker cannot mind his own business,” Baroness Trent said.

“Mr. Drucker strikes me as a man harboring a grudge,” Sir Stirling said.

Leslie lifted a brow. “You are too perceptive, sir.”

He chuckled. “I have been told that. I assume you spurned him at some point in the past?”

“If one could call it that,” she replied. “He asked me to dance at a party. I was fatigued and declined.”

The baroness snorted. “The man’s ego is as fragile as an egg.”

“I cannot disagree with that,” Leslie said. “How is Lord Barnton?”

“Well enough to tell tales,” Sir Stirling muttered.

“I don’t believe for an instance that you cheated,” the baroness said.

Leslie angled her head. “Many thanks, Baroness.”

“Adam does not take losing well,” Stirling said. “He would have been wise to leave well enough alone.”

Leslie nodded. “He feared I had told everyone that he cheated.”

Stirling locked gazes with her. “Did he?”

“I was uncertain at first. Now, however, I feel sure he did. What other reason could he have for accusing me?”

Stirling nodded slowly. “Because he made the accusation first—and because he has Mr. Drucker as such a staunch ally—the accusation will be believed by many. What did happen?”

“He must have lashed his reins against my horse’s rump. I heard the snap of the reins. Ares—” she laughed “—did not like it one bit. Another snap of the reins then Lord Barnton cried out and sped past me, dragged by Apollo.”

“Foiled by his own arrogance,” Baroness Trent said. “Then to accuse you.” Her lips thinned.

“I’ve been accused of worse,” Leslie said.

Stirling’s eyes twinkled. “Worse than cheating?”

“I am a woman twice widowed, sir. Some say that, like the praying mantes, I eat my mate.”

He looked thoughtful, though Leslie had the impression he was mentally laughing. “You were married to Lord Fenton, at seventeen, if I recall, and he died on your wedding night.”

“Really?” the baroness said. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

“That is only a testament to your good character, Baroness,” Stirling said. His expression sobered. “The gossip was rather vicious. I knew Lord Fenton. He loved his whisky and French foods. He sat in the chair at his club far more than he should and he didn’t walk any farther than from his bed to the second floor parlor in his home. He weighed four stone more than most men his age. The last thing he should have been doing was trying to bed a healthy young woman.”

Leslie mentally grimaced at the memory of her first husband on top of her as he attempted to take her maidenhead. His cock hadn’t hardened enough to penetrate her, and he’d grown winded with the effort. She woke the next morning, thankful he hadn’t tried a second time to claim his husbandly rights, only to discover he’d died of a heart attack in the bed beside her.