Page 74 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

There must be something else to keep her occupied. What had she been thinking about earlier? Nash? No; well, maybe. Alan? Yes. She’d been puzzling over the identity of Maria’s lover. Three possible men left: Sinclair, Alan, and Nash. None of them a name to relish. Charlotte hated to think that Sinclair had been toying with Maria while wooing her cousin. He had invited both of them to his estate after the last party, so he had been much in company with them both.

However, Jane had told her that Sinclair had stayed in Suffolk instead of accompanying her and Maria back to London. And of course, Lord Sinclair had not been invited to this weekend’s party. With a sigh of contentment, Charlotte snuggled down into the covers. Only two contenders left.

Oh, no. She came wide awake. Those two were the last men she’d hoped it would be. Alan’s reputation alone, however, lent itself to persuading her that he could have done such a thing. Yet, had he had the opportunity? He’d left in the middle of the night the first night of the party. When she saw him, he had been fully dressed and ready to leave. She doubted he’d had time or inclination for a tryst that night or he’d have come to her.

Which left only Nash. Charlotte put her hands over her face, trying to rub away the thought of Nash and Maria. The pieces fit together all too well if one had the wits to look at them properly. Nash wanted a wife. He had spent time with Maria that first weekend and, after Charlotte’s refusal, had taken her to bed.

She shook her head. That couldn’t be right. If he wouldn’t take her to his bed without marriage, why take Maria? If he wanted to marry the girl, why would she be so upset? Did she not want to marry Nash? Was she in love with another man and merely waiting to see if she was increasing before giving Nash an answer?

The room spun and her head ached. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch. That last thought came dangerously close to sounding plausible. Suddenly, the tumbler didn’t seem so far away.

She threw back the covers and slid to the ground. Another brandy would help relax her again. Make her forget Nash. Walking carefully, she tottered to the mantelpiece. On the second try, she grasped the glass, then wove her way back to the decanter and added more golden liquid with an unsteady hand.

That should hold her until she fell asleep. She peered at the window. Quite dark out there. It must be time to sleep. She sipped and slid back toward her bed. Well, if Nash had fallen in love with Maria, she would wish them happy. Although really she didn’t. She still wanted Nash. Oh, drat. She did still want Nash. A watery little sob escaped her. Charlotte took another drink, only to find the glass empty. When had she drunk all of that? She put the glass on the bedside table, where it immediately toppled over, the crash almost deafening. The last amber drops spilled onto the table.

Charlotte winced and slithered beneath the covers. She closed her eyes and willed the room to stop spinning. The warmth of the fire, the afterglow of the brandy, and her own fatigue finally calmed her. As the spin decreased, lethargy stole over her. Softness enveloped her and she drifted down . . . down . . .

* * *

Charlotte rose toward consciousness, roused by a tickling on her neck. Someone with a stubble of whiskers was kissing her there. Eyes still closed, she smiled and stretched, enjoying the prickly sensation. It sent pleasant gooseflesh all over her. And made her long for more. If only Nash would not tease her so.

She opened her mouth to ask him to reconsider his verdict, but before a word could emerge, his lips covered hers and he slipped his tongue through them to play once more within her. Charlotte sighed and slid her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to her. She drew in a deep breath through her nose.

The overpowering scent of bergamot filled her nostrils. Her eyes flew open.

Alan.

She reared back against the pillows, trying to disentangle herself from him.

He opened his eyes, then slowly withdrew from her, his tongue lingering in her mouth until the end. He sat up and grinned at her.

“Did I end a particularly pleasant dream? You were smiling in your sleep, so sweetly I couldn’t resist.” He ran his thumb over her lips. “I wanted that smile to be for me alone.”

Charlotte stared back at him, panting, desperately afraid he would know who she had been dreaming of. When he continued to stroke her face and gaze at her with darkened eyes, she relaxed. Thank goodness he thought she’d been dreaming of him.

He leaned toward her and she reared back on the pillow, trying to get away. He’d apparently come with a purpose in mind. But why had he come? She’d told him . . .

Too much drink.

She hadn’t been able to talk to him before dinner. Maria had come instead and she’d drunk too much spirits. He thought she still wanted him.

Needed to tell him. Go away. But she could barely move. Her arms fell from around his shoulders, like weights, onto the bed. Worse, she had to fight to keep her eyes open.

“You’ve been indulging already, Charlotte?” He righted the overturned tumbler, then sniffed the glass and raised an eyebrow. “Brandy? Did you feel the need to fortify yourself against me and my charms, perhaps?” He chuckled, eyeing the glass thoughtfully. “Well, I believe I can understand that. We’ve flirted and danced around this long enough. It’s time I made good on my wager.” He set the tumbler down with a thump that startled her. “I can certainly use a bit of cash now.”

Wager? What was he talking about? Charlotte tried to ask the question, but her mouth had gone dry as cotton.

“I’ve had a standing wager at White’s about you since June, my dear.” He grinned, and she tried to shrink away from his large red lips. “The chaps have been laying a flutter on when I would make it into your bed. The betting’s gone sky high on this weekend, so I need to do my duty. Don’t be nervous. I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

How dare he do something as despicable as bet on her? The wretch! She tried to push him away, but her arms were heavy, as if her bones had turned to lead. The room started to spin again.

“Shall I undress you, my lovely, and ravish you on the spot?” His breath seared her neck, sending chills down her body. He trailed his tongue over her jaw to a spot where her pulse leaped at his touch. Pressing his lips against her skin, he sucked her flesh lightly.

“No.” Charlotte finally found her voice, although it came out sounding like a sick frog.

The guttural sound seemed to excite him even more. His eyes burned into her, his mouth leering. “You don’t mean that.”

“No, no, no.” Maybe if he heard it enough he’d believe it, the conceited wretch.