Page 37 of What a Widow Wants

“My dear, how wonderful!” Jane threw her arms around her. “I am very happy for you both. You deserve true happiness after the hell Stephen put you through.” Sitting back, Jane took her hands once again. “What changed your mind about him? The last time we spoke of it you were still unsure of Lord Lathbury’s ability to remain faithful to you.”

“I know. I have had grave doubts about all men in that respect.”

“And no one who knew your circumstances could blame you for those doubts.” Jane waited, then prompted her. “So what has changed?”

“Not my reservations on men’s fidelity. I still have those and likely will until I am old past caring.” She hesitated, wringing her hands, the horrible sensation of irreparable loss she’d experienced earlier stealing her breath once more. She hadn’t lost him. He was hers, soon forever. “However, I realized at the picnic today, that I love Matthew. I watched him talk and flirt with many of the young ladies last night and today and was overwhelmed with the sense that I’d lost him through my own folly.” Tears threatened again. Perhaps they would do so every time she thought about what she’d almost thrown away. “And suddenly it didn’t matter so much if he’d be faithful to me if we married, only that I would be truly miserable for the rest of my life if we did not. And when he asked me for the fourth or fifth time, I said yes.”

“Bravo, my dear.” Jane patted her hand and offered her handkerchief. “I believe you will find Lord Lathbury nothing at all like your first husband. Do you announce your betrothal tonight?”

“We had agreed to do it tonight, but now I am not certain we should.” The company would be appreciative, she was certain, save Lady Skelton perhaps. She’d be hard-pressed not to gloat when accepting the countess’s best wishes. However, until she and Matthew had settled things officially, with the settlements drawn up, perhaps it would be prudent to wait. “I have accepted him on the condition that he meets Ella in London next week. I don’t feel I should marry him without seeing how she takes to him. And Theale will have to arrange for the settlements, I assume. I have no other male family members.”

“Yes, in those circumstances, perhaps you should speak to Lord Lathbury before he makes the announcement.” Glancing toward the doorway, Jane nodded and smiled. “Right on cue, here they come. Go speak to your betrothed. I declare I feel quite among the elite in having knowledge of a wedding that no one else does.”

Throwing a smile at her sister-in-law, Fanny rose and sauntered over to the doorway where a stream of men had slowed to a trickle. Where was Matthew? She checked the room again. Easy to do when looking for a man who literally stood head and shoulders above the rest of the company. What was he playing at? A glance back at Jane saw her shrug her shoulders and mouth the word Kinellan.

Jane was correct. Neither Matthew nor his friend had returned from the dining room. Were they perhaps hatching a scheme regarding the announcement of the engagement? That must not happen. A quick look at the room showed no one marked her and she slipped out of the doorway. Tracing her way back toward the dining room, she turned a corner and ran slap into a tall, inflexible body.

“May I help you, my lady?” Matthew peered down at her, eyes hungry like the wolf in the Little Red Riding Hood tale.

“Yes, you may.” Fanny pulled him to her, resting her head on his wonderfully firm chest. “I think it best if we do not announce our betrothal tonight.”

“Why not?” The wary tone jolted her and his body tensed. He pulled her away from him, his eyes now glittering and hard. “Have you reconsidered?”

“Good Lord, no.” Shaking her head, she pushed his arms away again and burrowed against his chest. “But until the settlements are done and the question with Ella settled, I’d just prefer to keep the news between us two. Well, and Jane. I told her.”

“I told Kinellan, but he’ll keep the secret.”

“Where is he?” She looked around the dim corridor, but they were alone. “Have you two been plotting something?”

“Nothing so sinister. I told him you’d agreed to marry me and he almost drowned in his drink.” Matthew laughed, and the vibrations coursed throughout her like a plucked harp chord. “When I also informed him I wouldn’t be shooting with him next week, he baptized himself anew with my best brandy. He’s gone to change before the announcement. I’ll have a word with him when he returns.”

“And will you have a word with me later?” Fanny rubbed her breasts against his chest, making his cock stir.

“Trust me, I’ll have more than a word,” he replied, and sank his mouth onto her to seal the bargain.

CHAPTER 15

Smoothing the Milk of Roses lotion over her face, Fanny gazed determinedly into the mirror sitting atop the toilette table. A snowy linen handkerchief in hand, she compared her skin to the fabric’s intense white and frowned. Her trip to Brighton had ravaged her appearance. She’d relaxed her guard while at the seaside, lulled by the coolness of the weather into thinking that the sun’s rays had weaker power somehow. As a result, her face had become more than a few shades darker than the other ladies of her acquaintance. Compared to the handkerchief she looked like a pair of York tan gloves. Such a trifle had never bothered her before, but Lady Skelton’s comments today about a tan complexion had brought the point home. Ladies were supposed to be pale.

Did Matthew consider such things important, as Lady Skelton had implied? She hardly knew what he thought of her appearance, for he’d always simply wanted to be with her. Should she begin to take more care of such things? Had she done so during her marriage, would Stephen not have strayed? For the first time ever, she contemplated that her husband’s actions might have been partially her own fault. In any case, that pain was done. She’d look forward now, to a life of love with Matthew.

Wiping her hands on the handkerchief, she rose and tossed the scrap of linen onto the table. The maid had unlaced her stays, helped her on with her pale green dressing gown, and laid out her nightgown before departing to help the other guests. Fanny removed the two simple combs that had held her hair out of the way while she had primped and her thick dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Matthew had always loved her hair flowing around them as they joined together.

The memory of them in bed in his old bachelor rooms in London made her breathe deeply. At any moment she could recall the first time she’d seen the tall mahogany bed with the deep maroon coverlet. Her cheeks must have been as deep a shade of red, so embarrassed had she been to be there. But enraged enough at her husband to go through with her seduction of Lord Lathbury. She’d known him only from the dances and conversations at balls they’d attended when she’d had her come-out, and the proposal she’d refused. Still, she’d instinctively known of his deep desire for her.

The seduction had been quite easy, in fact. She’d seen him across the ballroom at Lady Beaumont’s, summoned her courage and all her charm, and strode up to him. His eyes had widened when she proposed a stroll in the garden. The weather had cooperated, that night in late May being pleasantly warm. Moonlight streamed over the precisely clipped lawn, almost as light as day. Light enough that she could see first shock, then desire in his face when she suggested she accompany him home from the ball. Most likely he’d heard the gossip, for he never asked why she’d come to him.

Perhaps Matthew had dreamed of them doing this, for he immediately took charge of the plan, explaining how she should take a hired carriage to his rooms, how to disguise herself to avoid recognition. It had all gone as though the gods approved their joining, for no one had discovered their deception for the entire four months of the affair. But that first night had been the most special.

Once she arrived at his apartment, covered in a cloak she’d borrowed from Lady Beaumont with a plea of a fever, she’d turned shy. She didn’t recall that they had talked very much. He’d taken the cloak, asked if she wanted some lemon water, but she’d shook her head, too nervous to speak by then. So he’d gathered her into his arms and kissed her. At his touch she’d melted inside, his profound desire for her so apparent she could feel it in her bones. A feeling she’d never experienced before, not even with Stephen.

Gently and slowly, Matthew had undressed her and placed her on the tall bed, where she lay trembling until he joined her. She’d been more nervous than on her wedding night, wanting so much to please him. If she pleased him it wouldn’t matter that she was using him to exact revenge on her husband. She still remembered the slow, almost reverent way he’d covered her, then entered her, as if worshipping her with his body. He’d filled her so entirely she’d cried out in completion on the very first thrust, sobbing as she shattered around him. When he’d finished, he’d gathered her into his arms and held her while she’d cried. Tears of hurt, anger, and despair had flowed onto his comforting chest, washing away everything save the regret that she’d married the wrong man.

They’d had four months of love in that comfortable bed—and other places. Then as now they had gloried in finding unexpected and even dangerous locales in which to enjoy one another. And even though tonight they would meet in a conventional bed, at the conventional time for love play, still she could not wait to enfold him in her arms again. The place didn’t matter; the man did.

The image of Matthew naked before her, his lean body with smooth skin stretched over taut muscles, his cock jutting straight out to her, made her sex weep, and her breasts swell in joyous anticipation. Her nipples furled tight, poking the delicate green silk outward like two flower buds about to burst.

The clock on the mantel struck one o’clock. He should be here soon. God, let him be here soon.