Page 2 of What a Widow Wants

“Is not a goddess more powerful than a mere woodsman?” She tried to look down her nose at him, but had to laugh at the effort. A mask made the gesture ridiculous.

“Not if the woodsman can overpower the goddess.” He grasped her hands, warm skin to warm skin, no proper gloves between them. Peering deep into her eyes, he leaned forward, breathing into her ear, “Let us continue this lovely interlude in a more private place. The library—”

“There you are, my dear.”

Fanny jerked back from the bold gentleman, who also straightened as a demure-looking Diana, complete with quiver and bow, appeared as from nowhere. She pounced on Robin Hood, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. “I have been looking for you, my dear. Wherever have you been?” The petite blond woman, in Greek robes and a white full face mask, smiled at her prey. “Not hiding from me, I hope?”

“Never that, my lady.” Robin Hood’s smooth voice betrayed a hint of annoyance.

“I have just been informed that Lady Beaumont has asked us to perform in a match of our archery skills for the entertainment of the guests. Two bowmen of strength, evenly matched.” She cocked her head, cool eyes behind her mask glittering. “We don’t want to keep our hostess waiting, do we?”

One lingering look from Robin Hood, then he took the lady’s arm. “I am afraid duty calls, my goddess. Perhaps we shall continue our discussion of apples at a later time?”

“Assuredly, good sir. As we are promised for the third set, perhaps then.” Fanny nodded to them both, thankful her silver mask hid her heated face. She made a shooing motion. “By all means, you must not let a lowly goddess keep you from the all-powerful hostess.”

“I’m so glad you understand,” Diana said, shooting her a nasty look that Fanny recognized at once. Lady Phoebe Campbell, who’d been out for two Seasons and had just managed to catch Lord Bayberry’s youngest son. That must be Robin Hood here, to judge by the fierceness in Lady Phoebe’s voice. An arranged marriage, or so her friend Charlotte had told their circle last week, which would explain why the lady wanted to keep Fanny as far away from her betrothed as possible.

“I wish you well in your competition. May the best bowman win.”

The couple walked swiftly toward the doors that led to the main part of the house, Lady Phoebe grasping Robin Hood’s arm in a death grip. Somehow she doubted Robin would be allowed to return for their set. No great loss if the gentleman was truly betrothed elsewhere.

Fanny stared after them, a smile forming on her lips. Where Lady Beaumont intended to hold such a match, she had no idea. Perhaps there was to be no such exhibition at all. A clever or determined woman wouldn’t be above lying to secure her a husband. Fanny considered herself both, but didn’t think she could stoop to lying to a man she loved. Stopping short in her musings, she shook off the image of her late husband, tall, wiry, always laughing. By the time she’d lied to him, she had no longer loved him. Anyway, that was in the past. Tonight was the beginning of her future life and she would damn well make the most of it.

With a shake that was partially a shiver, Fanny threw her head back and turned once more to the ballroom. The second set was making so if she waited just a little she could soon find an unoccupied gentleman to dally with. Even though she loved dancing and had not been able to do so for the past year, dancing was the last thing on her mind tonight. As though the clock had rolled back ten years to her own debut Season, she wanted to flit and flirt, to stretch her wings and soar amongst the ton’s most eligible gentlemen. She had a deal of time to make up for and the possibilities were deliciously spread out before her.

Several Greek gods in strategically draped robes—everyone from Zeus with his thunderbolts to Hades clutching a huge drinking horn to Poseidon armed with his trident—mingled along the edges of the ballroom floor. A Roman soldier in a shiny breastplate towered over the crowd in the far corner. He must be Lord Walston, the tallest man by far in the ton, standing head and shoulders above all the other gentlemen. Height was impossible to disguise, unfortunately. That must spoil the fun for him every time. A sprinkling of Renaissance courtiers, one of whom she recognized as her brother-in-law, Lord Theale. A shock to her, to find him in attendance. Was her sister-in-law here as well? Strike her dumb with a noodle. She’d always known him to be such a high stickler; now to see him cavorting with a pretty shepherdess made her skin crawl.

She turned away quickly. Theale was the last person she wished to encounter when she was in search of a dalliance. Something he would never approve of, even though she was out of mourning. Speaking spritely to a couple of what she assumed were gentlemen in richly colored dominos, she continued her hunt for a flirtation. She spied a lowly shepherd in rough clothing, and a splendidly dressed sultan in colorful robes and a bejeweled mask. Surely a feast for a lady in search of male companionship.

About to head for the dazzling sultan, Fanny glanced about one more time, just to make sure no one else interesting had entered the ballroom, when she caught sight of two identically dressed men bearing down on her. Dark-haired, tall, and broad-shouldered—with shoulders and arms almost bared beneath a thin cape trimmed in gold braid—their slim hips covered in a skirt resembling a pleated kilt of white linen, showing off shapely legs in white stockings and sandals, the duo was breathtaking. Before she could blink they stood beside her, true Greek gods in beauty and stature. Her evening had just taken a most satisfactory turn. A pity their faces were obscured with identical silver half-masks, embossed with a cantering horse across the forehead. She’d wager they were equally handsome underneath.

“Goddess Aphrodite, we greet you in the name of our father, Zeus.” The twin closest to her bowed and grasped her hand.

Suddenly unnerved by his very large, looming presence, she stepped back, trying to pull away but to no avail. The rogue held tight to her hand and raised it to his lips. “Do not be alarmed, my dear. We come to honor you with a request for the next set.”

Warily, Fanny studied first the man holding her hand, then his partner. Twin Greek gods was an easy one to identify. “You are impertinent, sirs, as I cannot discern who is who. Are you Castor or Pollux?”

“I am Pollux, Aphrodite,” the gentleman holding her hand said, giving it a squeeze that sent sudden tingles all along her arm. “My brother is Castor”—the other man bowed—“though friend, rather than brother, in earnest.”

His rich baritone voice tugged at her memory, as did the deep blue eyes behind the mask. The warmth of his hand, however, addled her brain, turning it to mush. Grasping the obvious, she managed to ask, “How . . . how do you propose to both dance with me in a single set, unless one of you secures another partner?”

“An apt question, from an astute goddess.” Castor grinned. “I have already captured such a lady for my dancing delight. We four shall make up a set.”

“Who is your partner?”

“That very pretty shepherdess over there in pink.” He pointed to a young girl in a modest costume, laughing with a group of other young ladies. Well, she’d not have much competition in keeping the twins’ attention.

“I should be delighted to make up your set. However”—she turned her attention back to Pollux—“the second set has not yet begun.” Fluttering her eyelashes up at the handsome man, she squeezed his hand. “How are we to pass the time until our dance?”

His sharp intake of breath made her hold her own. Even more amazing, his eyes changed from deep blue to black in an instant. The wave of his desire hit her like a tangible thing. Her mouth dried, her heart raced, her whole head heated as though it had caught fire. Who was this man that he could affect her so?

“Come with me.” He pulled her toward the double doors behind them that led to the other part of the house.

Heart pounding, Fanny ran on tiptoes in an effort to keep up with him. This was madness. Wherever was he taking her? And what on earth did he have in mind? Oh, but she knew what that was. That deep desire in his eyes told her exactly where his intentions lay. Would she allow him to have his way with her? She didn’t quite recognize him; the mask hid just enough of his face. Still he reminded her of someone. Someone who had been most dear to her what seemed a lifetime ago. But that man had left London, swearing never to return to the ton years before. He’d retreated to his country estate and had not been seen in Town for seven years.

They raced down the corridor, Pollux still in the lead, Castor right behind her. That gave her some comfort. Pollux wouldn’t ravish her in front of his brother, or friend rather. Still, the urgency of his headlong flight, dodging wide-eyed guests left and right, persuaded her that this man would stop at nothing to get her alone.

He turned a corner into a deserted hall and slowed finally. Stopping at a door on the far end, he glanced around then put his hand on the latch. “Keep watch, Cas. No one enters.”