Page 49 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“Hmm. I thought it might be something like that. Or laying to rest a tendre for Wrotham.” He squeezed her hand, an excited gleam in his eyes.

Shock rippled through her and her stomach clenched. For a moment, she thought she might cast up her accounts, at which point her embarrassment would be so acute she would pray for death.

“Wh . . . why would you think such a thing? I just told you I had refused him.” She pulled her hands out of his grip. Her palms had gone clammy and she rubbed them against the folds of her spencer, trying not to shake. This ride had been a mistake. The whole plan to be seduced by Lord Kersey had been a huge mistake.

“I know what I saw that night in the library, Charlotte. Passion, or the simulation of it, has been my forte for years. That little scene had the ring of truth to it.”

“No.” The denial came as quickly as she could spit out the word. “He . . . I . . . was taken unawares.”

“That is quite often the best way to elicit true passion.”

She shook her head violently, although in her heart she suspected he was right. “No. There is nothing between the earl and me.”

“Methinks ‘the lady doth protest too much.’” His voice remained calm, but he watched her with the tension of a cat at a mouse hole.

“And if I did have a tendre for him . . .” Even that much of a confession sent her heart racing. She tried to calm it and continued, although her patience with him was nearing an end. “Would that prevent you from acting on my request? Why should it matter to you? You’re a rakehell of the first water with a scandalous reputation. All I’m asking is for you to act like it.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

Charlotte wanted to crawl under the carriage just to get away from the amused wretch. She settled for straining away from him until she clung to the far edge of the seat. At the first bump, she’d likely go flying out. Then, at least, her worries would be over.

His chuckles subsided and he leaned back in the leather seat. “Regrettably, my circumstances have changed, Charlotte. When I inherited the title, I promised a dying man I would renounce my wild ways and take up the responsibilities of the earldom.” He shook his head. “I can scarce believe it when I say it. I have never cared before what people thought of me, which is why they think so little of me now.”

He stared out at the lane, a determination tightening his jaw. “So despite having made the declaration to become a better man, I find I do not wish to relinquish my status as a rake so easily. Which makes your offer quite tempting, my dear. Unfortunately, as I am trying to repair my reputation, taking you as my lover during my mourning period would scarcely qualify as reparation.”

Charlotte blew out an exasperated breath. “If we were discreet no one would have to know.”

“True. Not all my exploits became public property.” His eyes pierced her, and she squirmed in her seat. “There is, however, another solution.” He paused and grinned. “You could marry me.”

Charlotte closed her eyes and silently cursed all men. Her hand itched to slap his handsome, self-assured face. Why did marriage seem the only answer for every man she found attractive?

“I do not wish to marry again.”

“From your earlier statement, it hardly seems as if you were married the first time.” He leaned in toward her, his lips less than an inch away.

“I hardly was.” She need only lean forward and their lips would touch. “So now I want the freedom to make my own decisions about what I do, where I go, who I have in my bed. A husband would not allow that.”

“Well, naturally not the last one.” He laughed and his eyes went dark. “Not even I, dear Charlotte, would want my wife in another man’s bed.” He pressed his lips to hers.

Madness seized her. She grasped his head and pressed back, with an urgency designed to obliterate the image that came to her—Wrotham’s mouth on hers. Could the man not leave her alone?

Alan slid his tongue inside her mouth. She waited for the frenzy of desire to claim her again; however, after a few moments of him vigorously thrusting in and out, all she felt was a vague sense of disgust. It seemed too stilted, too practiced. Not at all like the intense, soul-stirring experience Lord Wrotham had given her.

She quickly broke off the kiss and peered around. Lord, if anyone had seen that wanton display she’d have little choice in the matter of marriage. There were some lines even a widow could not cross. Discretion remained the best virtue, especially as her interest in the man was fast waning.

“Will you marry me, Charlotte?” He kissed her temple and pressed her head against his shoulder.

She jerked back. “That is the exact thing Lord Wrotham asked me.”

Alan disentangled them and looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Indeed.”

“He proposed to me just after you saw us in the library.” A proposal she now found much more appealing by far.

The earl sat up straighter and collected his ribbons, though he did not start the horses.

Charlotte noted his tension and smiled to herself. “Lord Wrotham has proved a persistent suitor, with very persuasive methods.” She stared into his eyes. “Remarkably similar to yours just now.”

“Yet he has not persuaded you.”