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He smoothly continued, “It must be a very sad and solitary time for you. Perhaps I may visit?”
“No!”
His brow raised, presumably in response to her abrupt tone.
Ria was tempted to leave her answer at that, but it was too blunt. The devil take manners! “That is, I mean to say, pray do not be concerned, my lord. I have the companionship of my husband’s aunts and cousins.”
In other words, she thought, you won’t get to see me alone, if that is your intention.
Dismay at his impudence put a thick layer of frost on her tone as she added, “As I am still in mourning”—Ria hoped he heard the stress she put on her final word—“I do not have many visitors or go about in society at present.”
How times had changed. A few years ago, she’d have given anything to see him, alone or otherwise, but now… she couldn’t risk it. She took in a deep breath. And given his insensitivity, she didn’t mind. She really didn’t. Not at all…
What, she asked herself, would dissuade him from remaining here? “I am sure having both yourself and Lord Lyons in residence will be welcomed by my neighbors. I will advise Mrs. Marsham and Mrs. Babcock so they may ensure you are invited to all the social engagements.”
One taste of the Marshams and Babcocks and their daughters, and he would beat a hurry-scurry retreat back to London.
Just at that moment, two ladies appeared by the cemetery gate. Quickly she said, “Excuse me, my lord. My aunts are waiting for me. It is unlikely we will meet again, so enjoy your stay. Goodbye.”
&n
bsp; Without giving him a chance to respond, she lifted the skirt of her dress, uncaring if her ankles showed, and fled along the path. As she hastily stuffed her shredded handkerchief into her reticule, Ria vowed she would make sure she never encountered him again. Even if it meant she never left the estate.
She would not, could not, see him again.
Luc Adair left the cemetery with considerably more vigor than when he’d arrived.
He’d accompanied his friend to the village, but once they reached it, they had parted company. Devon had errands, but Luc preferred to take a walk to sweep away some of the cobwebs from the evening before. His host had a fine cellar, and in the past week they had sampled a large portion of it.
Nearing the church, he’d been appalled to realize the church service had just ended. Anxious to avoid the ladies of the district, he’d retreated to the graveyard, planning to shelter under one of the trees until the congregation dispersed. When one of the ladies came into the cemetery, he’d cursed and moved deeper into the shadow of the trees, hoping she would not see him.
But as she came closer, she lifted her veil, and he got a clear glimpse of her face framed by dark blond curls. His eyes were immediately drawn to her full, kissable lips.
His sojourn in the country had already begun to pall. He had only stayed this long to find his companion from the masquerade, but no one he had spoken to had known who his Persephone was. Not even the servants who, in his experience, usually knew everything.
A guinea to one of those servants had obtained the masquerade guest list. He’d gone through the list and eliminated those “ladies” of his and Devon’s acquaintance. She had certainly not been someone they knew. That left only six strangers.
He had visited each one. Endured tepid tea and even more insipid conversation, but to no avail. None of them was his masked lady. The only conclusion he could come to was Persephone had been an uninvited guest.
Why had she attended the masquerade? What conceivable reason could she have had for being there? He had thought she might be looking for a protector, but then why run away? Had she become frightened? Changed her mind?
He wasn’t sure why he’d looked for Persephone for so long. It certainly wasn’t because she’d been experienced. He had known very quickly she was not.
It wasn’t her passion either, though that had been considerable and a delight. But there were more experienced, passionate women waiting for him in London.
It wasn’t her generous curves, those of a woman, not a young girl. It wasn’t even because her breasts, ripe and full, fit perfectly into his hand.
It was because from the moment he saw her across the room he’d felt compelled to claim her.
Luc had felt a similar compulsion when he spied the widow in the cemetery. A need, pressing and urgent, to seek her out.
That was no doubt why he’d behaved as he did. He winced. Perhaps he’d been a little indelicate given they were standing by her husband’s grave. Though that wouldn’t have concerned the merry London widows he knew.
As he strolled back to the village inn to meet Devon, his smile grew wolfish. He liked widows. Those of his acquaintance in London understood the rules of engagement and knew how the game was played.
So now he had a new reason to stay. A fresh, young, very attractive lady in mourning. A widow.
As an afterthought, he realized he could also use the time to search for Persephone. But tomorrow he would pay Mrs. St. James a visit.
