Page 8 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“I am certain Lady Cavendish would be very agreeable to partnering you for the second set, my lord.” She fluttered her fan and tried to meet his eyes.

“Perhaps I will ask for that dance when this one is concluded.” Like hell he would. Nash snapped a bow to Lady John, took his leave of Abernathy, then turned on his heel and strode out of the ballroom.

Chapter 3

Drat. How could this have happened? With a sinking heart, Charlotte allowed Mr. Garrett to lead her onto the dance floor.

In less than fifteen minutes her triumphal return to society had dissolved into a complete disaster. Not only had she tripped and fallen into Lord Wrotham, but she had been unable to stop Mr. Garrett from stealing her away from him. To protest would have created another huge scene. She also resisted the urge to turn and took at Lord Wrotham, the partner she had actually chosen. What must he think of her? Well, she could at least give Mr. Garrett the rough side of her tongue.

“Mr. Garrett, you have taken unfair advantage of the situation.” She dropped his hand and turned to face him. “I recall no conversation that would permit you to believe I had promised you the first dance at this or any other ball.”

“My dear Lady Cavendish.” He laughed, making his handsome face even more attractive. “I have built my reputation by taking unfair advantage of women. Did you think yourself immune?”

“I thought you a gentleman when we met at your aunt’s home. Despite your reputation.” A hum of voices had set off around the room the instant his lips touched her, singling her out. Lord knew what they would make of his stealing her out of the very hands of Lord Wrotham. The ton forever whispered about such things, especially when one of the parties enjoyed the reputation of a rakehell the likes of Garrett’s.

He grinned and took her hand again. “I am a gentleman, my lady. However, being a gentleman attracts fewer women than being a rogue. Don’t you long to be scandalous after a year of mourning?”

“Certainly not.” The wretch was bad. How could he know she yearned to do something at least a little wild now that she was her own woman?

“You may say no, but a yes lurks in your eyes, my lady.”

Charlotte gasped and dropped her gaze. Dratted man. Could he read her thoughts?

Jane had warned her about how wicked the man was. He existed barely within the pale—Mr. Garrett’s reputation for affairs of the heart and ill-considered wagering of large sums at the worst gaming hells made him the bane of every matchmaking mama and the desire of each one of their daughters. His fine physique—broad at the shoulders, narrow at the waist, hard muscled all over—had caused many a maiden’s desperate sigh.

Charlotte might have sighed right along with them, for he had made an impression on her in March. He had been gravely respectful of her loss and sweetly attentive—bringing her tea, listening raptly to her banal conversation ranging from the weather to her deceased husband. Yet, when he’d assisted her with her wrap, his fingers had brushed the skin at the back of her neck, lingering just a bit too long. Promising more. And more was what she so desperately wanted.

Jane’s revelations, however, had acted like a cold bath to her budding longings for Alan Garrett. She’d had enough threat of scandal held over her head; she wouldn’t likely heap more on herself. Now the rake was back and seemed to have set his sights on her. Well, she would nip that in the bud. One set and she could refuse him the rest of the evening. Hopefully, Lord Wrotham would ask her again.

“Lady Cavendish.” Mr. Garrett leaned toward her. His blue eyes deepened and flickered with hunger.

“Yes, Mr. Garrett?” She stepped back, trying to keep a decent distance between them. Was the man trying to compromise her for some perverse reason?

“Are you afraid of me, my lady?” His laugh, utterly charming, gave him an innocent, boyish air. “I promise if you dance with me, I won’t bite.” He held out his hand.

A wave of heat rose to her face. “I will hold you to that promise, Mr. Garrett.” Cautiously, she placed her hand in his.

He leaned toward her slightly and spoke sotto voce. “Very good. Perhaps we will also talk after our dance.” He squeezed her hand and drew her closer. The scent of his spicy cologne—bergamot and something with a deep musk—tickled her nose.

Lord, she had to sneeze! Rubbing her nose to prevent the disaster, she stepped back and nodded. “Perhaps we will, Mr. Garrett.” Why did he have to wear so much scent?

Mr. Garrett straightened and offered his arm. “The musicians are about to commence. Let us take our place in the set.”

Charlotte slipped her arm through his, aware that they were causing a stir. She glanced around the room and noted several women darting inquisitive looks their way. Their countenances were anything but kind. The threat of incipient gossip about her made her shudder inside. She would never again dance with a rake.

They had almost reached their places on the dance floor when she caught sight of Jane talking to a young man Charlotte had seen several times at functions her late husband had taken her to. Her cousin stared at her and raised her chin, a summons Charlotte knew all too well.

“A moment, please, Mr. Garrett. I must see my cousin.” She steered him around a group of young women and between two sets of young men who seemed to be gathering up the courage to ask them to dance.

Finally, they reached Jane and, as Charlotte feared, her frown and firm lips spoke of her displeasure. What on earth had happened now?

“Lady John, I am sure you remember Mr. Alan Garrett?” Charlotte smiled bravely, although Jane’s glare did not waver. What had she done? Certainly Jane could see she had no choice but to dance with the wretch. “As you may remember, we all met at Lady Burrows’s house? Mr. Garrett’s aunt.”

Squeals from instruments being tuned attested the orchestra would be ready shortly. Perhaps they would miss the dance. Of course, the perverse Mr. Garrett would likely try to claim the next one as a forfeit. She might not be able to get rid of him until supper.

“I remember you quite well, Mr. Garrett,” Jane said with icy civility. “How lovely to meet you again.”

Lord, judging from that tone, her cousin was in rare form tonight. Jane had the unfortunate habit of causing scenes in public places when trying to protect someone. The embarrassing incident during Charlotte’s come-out always came to mind. Lord Reardon had ever after pointedly avoided speaking to her after experiencing Jane’s scathing set-down in the middle of the hall. Just because he’d tried to claim a third dance.