Page 3 of What a Widow Wants

Castor grinned. “Not a soul, Pol. My word as a gentleman.”

Pollux pushed down the latch, opened the door into a shadowy room, and drew her inside.

The flickering fireplace across the room gave the only light. Fanny’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. A moment in which Pollux pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts against his unyielding chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to him, and sank his mouth onto hers.

CHAPTER 2

Fanny’s building panic subsided at the touch of his lips. Soft, warm, almost tender, he kissed her with a gentleness that surprised her after the fierce desire that had erupted in him. She slipped her arms round his trim waist, every muscle hard beneath her hands. Oh, but she had missed this intimacy for such a long time. So good to be this close to a man again.

He slid his tongue along the seam of her lips and without thinking she opened them, eager for more. Their tongues tangled, then she drew him in, drinking in the glorious feeling once more. Here was the passion she had shared all too little in her married life and seldom with her husband. Only with . . .

Realization hit like a blow from a fist. She pulled away, her hand going to her mouth. It couldn’t be.

“Do you finally know me, Fanny?”

Speechless, she nodded, her heart beating oddly in fits and starts.

Pollux smiled and pulled his mask off over his head.

“Matthew.” She whispered it, still unsure if it was truly him.

“Without a doubt. Did you truly not know me? I haven’t changed that much, surely.” He smiled and her stomach dropped. He’d not changed at all. Big, brooding, with a face like a dark angel, Matthew, Lord Lathbury, was just as she remembered.

“You vowed never to return to London.” That had been the last time she’d seen him.

“I found never to be much too long a time.” He stalked toward her and she retreated until she bumped into a bookcase, the spines of the books knobbly against her back. “I missed you, Fanny. Every day I missed you.” His eyes fixed her like a bug on a pin. “Did you miss me?”

Fearing she’d reveal too much, Fanny snapped her eyes shut. Of course she’d missed Matthew. Had wished to see him back in Society more than once. Guilt and duty to Stephen, however, had forbidden her to even ask about him these past years. But she’d thought about him. Oh, yes. On the long, dark nights without Stephen, she’d thought about Matthew quite a lot. “On occasion I believe I wondered what had become of you.” Opening her eyes, she allowed herself a careful smile. “How have you been, Matthew?”

“Tolerably well, although deathly bored by the country.” He leaned a hand on the bookcase by her head, shutting her off from the main part of the room.

A thrill of excitement shivered down her body. Always a physical man, Matthew knew how to intimidate, to protect, to cherish. Sometimes all at once. “Have you truly remained at Lathbury for seven years? One would think you could travel to other places if London no longer amused you.”

Shrugging, he leaned closer to her, bringing the exhilarating smell of bergamot to swirl about her head. “I spent some time shooting in Scotland each year with Kinellan. Then hunting with Braeton in Kent in the fall. I followed racing, as long as it didn’t take me too near London.”

“Not too difficult for you, then. The best racing’s always been at Newmarket and many other tracks are far from Town.” The proximity of his presence seemed to press upon her, heightening her senses. He’d always had that effect on her, from the night they’d met at her come-out ball. She’d be drunk on him in minutes. “But why stay away, Matthew?”

“You know why.” He straightened and she could breathe easily again. “I couldn’t remain in London and run the risk of meeting you at some ball or the theatre. Seeing you and knowing that you had decided you were Stephen’s wife, not my lover.”

“I didn’t decide anything.” Fanny retreated toward the fireplace, any place away from him.

“You chose to marry Lord Stephen instead of me.” On her heels, Matthew could be as relentless as one of his hounds after a fox. “And you returned to him rather than run away with me.”

“I married Stephen years ago.” She glanced toward the door, but that was the coward’s way. They needed to thrash this out, though why it must be tonight of all nights she didn’t know.

“You never told me why.” Brows furrowed, he pulled her around to face him again. “Why you would turn down an offer from an earl to marry the youngest son of a marquess.”

God Almighty. She might have known that would be his first question. How could she explain a decision she’d wished to take back a thousand times? “Don’t do this now, Matthew. I’ve not seen you in seven years. Can we not renew our acquaintance in a more amicable manner?”

Smoldering black eyes bore into her. “Just answer the question, Fanny. Why him? Why not me?”

What did it matter if he knew or not? She squared her shoulders. Time for a confession. “I was just out of the schoolroom, young, impressionable. Ignorant. Lord Stephen Tarkington personified excitement in a way no other man ever had for me. A rakehell with a reputation to make any girl swoon if he even looked at her. He danced the first set with me and it was over. I could hardly breathe when he touched my hand.” Staring straight into his face, she frowned. “All my friends were jealous of his attentions to me and I lorded it over them. I thought he was in love with me, lost my head, and when he asked me I said yes.”

“Someone should have been looking out for you. Someone who knew how unsuitable he was.” His frown deepened, something she would have sworn impossible.

“You know what ladies always say. ‘Reformed rakes make the best husbands.’ ”

Matthew grunted. “Pity Lord Stephen never reformed.”