Page 13 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“Charlotte.”

Nash jerked back in his chair. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am speaking of my eldest daughter, Lady Cavendish. She is a widow.” The gleam in the earl’s eye pierced Nash to the heart. “I believe you made her acquaintance last night at Almack’s, for all the world to see.”

The rag-mannered woman. With difficulty, Nash drew in a breath and slowly let it out.

“I did, my lord, render her some slight assistance last evening.” Either their encounter had become the latest on-dit circulating this morning or the earl had excellent spies following Lady Cavendish.

“Then you know about her shameless liaison with that blackguard Garrett.”

The memory of the lady, hair mussed, lips swollen, emerging from the stairwell with the young buck rose with startling clarity. His stomach clenched. Now he was more than sorry he hadn’t planted Garrett a facer. Hadn’t the lady’s cousin warned her about the bounder?

Nash nodded. “I believe I had heard something to that effect.” Best not say what he had seen or he’d never be able to refuse the earl. And refuse him he must. Despite his attraction to Lady Cavendish, if her actions were so scandalous as to drive her father to this desperate action, he was well shed of the woman. “But rumors run rampant in London, my lord. I suspect Lady Cavendish is merely the latest innocent victim of the ton’s need for gossip.”

“She’s not innocent, Wrotham.” The earl leaned forward, gripping his cane head, eyes bulging. “There were witnesses. This morning they are calling her the ‘Wicked Widow.’” He dragged the words out, making them as horrific as possible.

Damn. How could he escape now?

“Mark me, Wrotham, I’ll have no disgrace attached to my name. I stopped her once before and, by God, I will do it again.” He fixed Nash with a stare that would have caused apoplexy in a lesser man. “You will marry her, Wrotham, before she can do more damage. You owe me that at least.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord?” That last sentence caught Nash off guard. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by owing you.”

“Come, now. I have not changed a great deal in six years.”

Nash frowned. “I don’t understand. We only met—”

“The tollhouse at Whetstone?”

His words recalled that chilling scene so vividly—the young man with a pistol to his head, the terrified woman, the icy voice from the shadows—Nash had to blink to bring Lord Grafton back into focus. “That was you? And the young lady . . .” Lord, he remembered her, so frightened yet defiant. Quite different from the woman he had met last night.

“My daughter. Disobedient and headstrong as always. Now to be your problem.” He cocked his head. “I was surprised you didn’t recognize me the first time we met in Parliament.”

Still stunned, Nash shook his head and shrugged. “The firelight was behind you at the gatehouse. I couldn’t see your face.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “I never gave you my name that night. How the devil did you know who I was?”

“I had you followed, of course.” Lord Grafton settled his hands on his cane, his lips pursed in displeasure. “My man lost you once you and Thrush reached London, although he managed to get your name from a tavern you stopped at in Highgate. I have sat on that knowledge until I required your services, as I do now.”

Nash swore under his breath. “Surely there must be other, more illustrious alliances you could seek?” With his influence, Grafton could have his pick of victims.

“Had I more control over my daughter, I would do that very thing.” The earl obviously did not mince words. “I did before. Now, however, she has a measure of financial independence and I cannot do as easily as I once did. Therefore, I decided to call in my favor from you.”

He put up a hand to forestall Nash’s protest. “You thwarted my plans once before; it is only fitting that you now pay the price. It should not be a totally odious one. While my daughter is willful, she is not without her charms.”

“But—”

“You’re respectable,” the earl continued, undaunted by the interruption. “You have no vices I’ve been able to discover, you vote as you should in Lords, and you’re almost of an age with Charlotte. She should like that.” He laughed mirthlessly.

Nash cringed. Like a stallion the earl contemplated putting out to stud. Insufferable.

“And if I refuse, Lord Grafton?” Nash straightened in his chair. “I sympathize with your situation, however, my actions of six years ago hardly obligate me to marry your daughter. We met but briefly, both then and last evening. I cannot, in good conscience, marry a woman with whom I have scarcely spoken two dozen words.” Even more especially because her own father had called her reputation into question.

“Ah, good conscience would have you decline the offer, you say?” The earl leaned back, rubbing the cane head with the palm of his hand.

Nash kept his gaze on that cane.

“What will your conscience have to say when your Warder’s bill is voted down at my insistence?”

Every muscle in Nash’s body tensed. He had worked hard in the past year to write this bill and worked even harder to gain it support in the House of Lords. Traditionally, every branch of service save the Royal Navy could apply to become a Yeoman Warder of the Tower of London. If his bill passed, the retired naval petty officers would have a chance at this honorable position as well, with good benefits the other branches of service had enjoyed for more than three hundred years. He had garnered a good bit of support for the legislation already. Grafton’s considerable influence would make the victory all but sure. Now, however . . .