Page 6 of Seduction of a Widow

Chapter Three

Lady Carr laughed, full, throaty and with genuine amusement. Evan detected no artifice in her response and the erection he’d been battling since he pulled her into his arms yanked harder on his control. What would her unaffected response be to his thrusting inside her? A mental picture flashed of her astride his hips, head thrown back, hair hanging loose about her shoulders as she rode his cock into orgasmic oblivion. His cock further hardened. He grimaced inwardly. His mother was right again. He was about to find himself in trouble.

Evan’s mind jumped to attention when he caught the flick of her eyes to the left, and the startlement that flashed across her face. He turned her in a tight circle and glanced in the direction she’d looked. The Earl of Barnton openly stared, his eyes following their progress across the dancefloor. What was this all about? A spurned lover, perhaps?

Evan dodged a couple, narrowly missing a collision. Lady Carr’s grip on his shoulder tightened and the tendrils of hair that framed her face fluttered. The waltz was nearing its end. Fortunately, he didn’t have to devise a way to see her again—and he did want to see her again—for the house party would last at least a week. The waltz ended, and Evan brought them to a halt. She looked up at him when he didn’t immediately release her.

“Trouble,” she murmured.

He released her waist, caught her hand, and placed it in the crook of his arm. “Is it too scandalous for me to escort you to the refreshments room?”

She laughed. “I doubt anyone will notice if a gentleman escorts a mature widow anywhere.”

“A mature widow, you say?” He navigated them around a group of men.

She looked up at him. “Half the women here are debutants and girls in their second Season. Compared to them, I am ancient.”

“They are children,” he replied.

“Really?” she said. “They are the perfect age for a young man like you to choose from.”

He grimaced, and she laughed. “Most men—many much older than you—prefer young women.”

“Many of those men are chasing their own youth.”

Evan caught the narrow-eyed looks three women sitting against the wall cast their way as they passed. He knew that look all too well: jealousy. He wasn’t arrogant enough to think them jealous because Lady Carr was on his arm. Nae. Theirs was a jealousy borne of a bone-deep dislike of the lady.

“Lady Carr.” Baroness Trent hurried toward them.

Evan caught the smile that Lady Carr hid. He didn’t have to ask about the source of her amusement. Baroness Trent adored French fashion, particularly French fashion that allowed her to show off her full curves; most importantly, her impressive cleavage. Her décolletage dipped so low, her areolas peeked over the edge of the fabric. But as a bona fide mature widow of forty-seven years of age, she was the paradigm of how to live one’s life without concern for what Society thought.

She reached them. “Leslie, you look wonderful.” The baroness pulled her into a hug, then drew back. “How are you, Mr. MacLaren?” She extended a gloved hand.

He grasped her fingers and bowed. “You look ravishing, as always, Baroness.”

“The dress makes the woman, they say.” She leaned close and said in a mock whisper, “I say, the dress should be made for the woman.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Evan said. “We were on our way to the refreshments room. Would you like to join us, or should I fetch you ladies something to drink?”

“If Lady Carr is agreeable, I will walk with you,” she replied.

“We would be glad for your company,” Lady Carr said.

Evan winged both arms and they each accepted, then started forward.

“I am so pleased you are here with us, Mr. MacLaren,” the baroness said. “I’m hoping you will entertain us with tales of your adventures at sea.”

“I am at your service,” he replied. “But I must warn you, life at sea is very dull.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Carr said. “The capture of an eighty-gun ship is anything but dull.”

He grimaced inwardly. He’d recounted the story to his superior once. That had been more than enough. “I am no’ certain that type of excitement will interest you,” he said.

She cast him a shrewd glance. “I feel certain you do not mean that it is a story a woman cannot comprehend.”

“Not at all. It is a bloody story, to be sure.”

She laughed. “Many women thrive on such stories.”