Page 4 of Never Tempt a Widow

Chapter Two

Asharp draught cut the air, bringing Fina to with a start. The doorway was filled by a dark shape, and she shrieked, lunging for the poker. Papa had taught her how to use a sword when she was young, and she could still remember how to parry and thrust.

A hand closed around her wrist, unyielding but not painful.

“No need for that. I mean you no harm.”

A man’s voice, cultured and unfamiliar. Nonetheless a man, therefore—a threat.

“Get out of my cottage.”

The hand was removed, and she heard a crisp intake of breath as if the man had been stung.

“My apologies, Mrs Castles. I didn’t mean to give you a fright, but there was no response to my knock.”

She’d been asleep. The first decent sleep she’d had in the days since little Adelina’s passing. Her door hadn’t been locked—she’d allowed her vigilance to slip. A mistake.

“Who are you?” He’d made her drop the poker, but her cabbage knife was on the table, the sharpest blade she possessed. Easily reached if needed, and she wouldn’t hesitate.

He was still no more than a dark shape against the brightness beyond the door, but she saw him remove his hat and salute her. “Sir Rowland Cavendish, at your service.”

Cavendish? The most powerful and respected man in the shire? She should be curtsying and offering him hospitality. But he was a man. And no man had been permitted to cross the threshold since her arrival, except her known and trusted neighbours.

“I’m here on business. Pray, be seated, so we may talk. I’ll close the door.”

“No.” She’d rather boil in Hell than be shut up indoors with him. At least this way, someone might hear if she needed help. “Come before the fire, sir. I can’t see you.”

To her surprise, he knelt before her chair, his coat brushing the ash-covered hearth. Picking up the poker, he prodded the log until sparks flew and the flame illuminated his face.

Her breath hitched. Handsome. Perhaps even more so than Dundas, therefore doubly dangerous. His expression was unsmiling, with furrows between his thick eyebrows, and his contoured mouth was pinched and serious. He was older than Dundas, or perhaps just unhappier—she’d heard about the death of his wife in childbed. Everyone in Hadham knew. And his grief was public knowledge though everyone tried to spare his pride. Mayhap this man was less of a threat than she’d imagined.

The firelight picked out blond highlights in his curling hair, held in place at the back with a ribbon, and the mass of his shoulders was accentuated by the multi-caped coat he wore.

Her face was wet. She scrubbed her knuckles over her cheeks, then saw the soil beneath her broken fingernails and quickly hid her hands.

“What do you want?” Cavendish was her landlord—he could toss her out of the cottage on a whim, so why was she finding it so hard to mind her manners? The past nine months had been a sore trial—had hardened and changed her. The pleasantries of society no longer mattered. Survival was all that mattered.

“I’m sorry. You startled me. I was asleep.”

“My apologies.” The voice was soft, but his harsh aspect remained.

Sitting straight, she cleared her throat. “You said business, sir. I know that I’ve paid my rent on time.”

He settled back on the floor, crossing his legs. The Lord of the Manor, a baronet, sitting cross-legged before her hearth? Maybe she was still dreaming.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that today? Am I not allowed to talk to my tenants without them thinking they’re guilty of some wrongdoing? It saddens me.”

She was still too bleary from her sleep, too worn out with weeping, to understand. “It’s not the rent, then.”

“No. I need a wetnurse. With some urgency. Forgive the indelicacy, but do you still have milk?”

She still had milk. Her breasts ached with it. Her heart ached too.

Her cheeks flushed, her mind struggling. “I have.”

“Then I beg you, come up to the Hall with me and nurse Edgar. He’s my son. Barely three months old, and his wetnurse is being dismissed as we speak. I’ll pay you well.”

His eyes roved the tiny room, then came back to hers, but he left the words unspoken.