Page 4 of What a Widow Wants

Sighing, Fanny shook her head. “I should have known better. My aunt brought me out, but she wasn’t as worldly as she could have been. I was dazzled by Stephen and she was seduced by his brother’s title. Another woman might have advised me better.”

“Might have advised you to marry me.”

Fanny lowered her eyes. “Yes, she might have done.” How many times had she wished that were true? “You would have been a brilliant match, I cannot deny it. You were handsome, tall, strong.”

“Did I annoy you, perhaps?”

“No, you were quite charming.” She slipped her hand over his chest and heat poured through her. “And very persistent, if I remember correctly. Two bouquets of roses after that first ball.”

“Too persistent, then? Or too eager?” The bullish look returned to his face, brows lowered, cheeks puffed out.

“Neither.” Grasping his hand, Fanny attempted to draw him over to the sofa. She might as well have been leading a statue. “You were everything a girl could have wanted.”

“Almost every girl.”

“I’m sorry, Matthew.” She dropped his hand, now annoyed herself. “Yes, I chose to marry Stephen. I was young and inexperienced and didn’t know what he was really like. Had someone, anyone, taken me in hand, I’d likely be your countess this moment and you wouldn’t be standing there looking like you wanted to murder someone. And I wouldn’t be standing here wanting to plant you a facer.”

He laughed, and the tension eased. “I’ve been working out at Jackson’s, so I think I can manage to avoid a blow or two.”

“You do look marvelously in shape.” A hunger kindled in her belly. Each time she’d touched him she’d felt the coiled steel of his muscles.

“I had to be if I was to wear this costume.” His chuckle floated in the flickering darkness.

“Well, I for one am very glad you made the effort.” Her eyes feasted on his form from top to toe as her hunger grew. It had been too long since she’d had a man in her bed. This man in her bed. But not here. Not now, but maybe soon. She smiled up into his face, letting all her joy shine through.

“You are very welcome.” With a fingertip he smoothed back her hair and Fanny feared she’d melt into the floor. “I hope you know you still can be.”

“Can be what?”

“My countess.”

The air around her seemed to harden, as though she’d run into a wall while standing still. Had she actually heard what she thought she’d heard? “I beg your pardon?”

“Shall I go down on one knee, Fanny?” He suited the movement to his words and dropped to the floor, her hand captured in both of his. “You cannot be surprised, my dear. Why else would I have come to London?”

“But . . .” Gazing into his upturned face, shining with a joy she’d not seen in years, her powers of speech deserted her.

“Please, Fanny, do me the very great honor of becoming my wife and you will make me the happiest man in Christendom.” Matthew’s insistent tone, the look of longing in his eyes tugged at her heart. Why hadn’t she seen his deep regard for her all those years ago? They both might be much happier had she never married Stephen. However, she was a different woman now.

“Get up, please, Matthew.” She tried to slip her hand out of his grasp, but he held on fast as he rose to his feet.

“My standing won’t change my question.” He raised her hand to his lips and that wonderful, awful sinking feeling raced through her once more. “I love you, Fanny. I made that quite clear to you seven years ago.”

“Yes, when you were trying to persuade me to run away with you.” She wiggled her hand again, but it was no use. She might as well try to break free from a vise.

“You were terribly unhappy and I wanted to take you away. Make you happy once more. But you wouldn’t let me.”

“Someone had to be sensible. The scandal would have ruined us both.” How had they come to reliving that wretchedly wonderful interlude seven years ago? They had been the best four months of her life, until she had come to her senses. And had made Matthew see sense as well.

“Now you are a widow, free as the air, you can marry me and we can enjoy one another as we did then. Even better, because we won’t have to live in fear of being found out.” He pulled her closer and seized her lips.

Bliss. Pure bliss to surrender to his lips once more. Firm, commanding, and with a flick of his tongue, he suddenly plundered her mouth. Hot and greedy he ravaged her, so insistent she could focus on nothing but him as he crushed her against his almost naked chest and devoured her. The world ceased to exist, save for one single thing: Matthew.

He slid his hands from her head down her back, each sensual inch stoking her flaming body more. Then he cupped her derriere and pressed her against him, wanting her to feel that eager, hard ridge against her most sensitive place. God, how she wanted him, wanted to give into him. She gloried in their closeness another moment, longing to be closer still. Yes, that would come to pass, and soon. And for now she would savor just one more moment until . . .

With a phenomenal strength of will, Fanny pulled away from his seductive heat. “But we are not married, Matthew. We can still be brought to ruin if we are found here.”

“Not if you accept my proposal.” He strode forward, lust in his hot gaze.