Page 5 of What a Widow Wants

Retreating behind a tall wing-backed chair, she shook her head. “But I’m not accepting you.”

He stopped as if he’d run into an invisible wall, his face blank. “You’re not accepting me? Why not, for God’s sake?”

Digging her fingers into the chair’s soft leather upholstery, Fanny tried to clear her head before she spoke. “I am just come from a year of wearing widow’s weeds. I expected to have time to enjoy my freedom. I had no idea you hadn’t already married or that you’d be here on my first night out again.”

“You want freedom? What on earth for? I’m offering you everything a woman could want: a title, social position, love. Do those things have no meaning for you, Fanny?” Hurt had deepened his voice.

“I got those same things when I married Stephen. And we both know how miserable they made me.” Miserable enough to seek solace in this man’s arms, despite her wedding vows.

“I may be many things, Fanny, but we both know I am not Stephen Tarkington.” The black eyes and lowered brows had returned.

“Lower your voice before someone hears.”

Waving her concerns away, he crossed his arms over his broad chest, muscles bulging. “The only one to hear might be Castor, and believe me, he’s not letting anyone into this room. Better than Cerberus, my twin.” He advanced toward her once more, stalking toward the chair.

Fanny dodged behind a table, putting the length between them. “Any man will be unfaithful given the right circumstances. My husband didn’t need anything other than an opportunity.”

“I disagree.” Matthew inched toward the middle of the table, his gaze darting to and fro. “Only certain types of men will stray. I am not one of those.”

“Please forgive me if I don’t stake the rest of my life on that, my lord.” Oh, she needed to get away from him, away from this conversation before she said something she would truly regret.

“You know I love you and only you, Fanny.” His beseeching blue eyes would melt the resolve of a saint.

“Matthew.” Hating the pleading tone of her voice, yet helpless to change it, Fanny grasped her head in her hands to stop the whirling sensation. God knew she wanted to believe him. As she had believed Stephen. She’d been young and naive then. She wouldn’t make that same mistake now. “I need time. Time to spread my wings a little. To enjoy my freedom for a while at least and decide if I do wish to marry again.”

He leaned back sharply and she sensed that had been a blow. “And in the meantime?”

Leaning into him, she whispered, “We can renew our acquaintance in all ways that count.”

“So you’ll agree to bed me but not wed me?” His frown deepened.

“For the moment.” She tapped her fingers lightly on his chest. “Would that be such a hardship on you?”

Sighing, he pulled a face. “I suppose not.” A flash of his boyish grin made her stomach drop. “May I woo you properly, at least?”

“Improperly would be more to my taste.” Fanny returned his smile with one of her own, as sultry and seductive as she could make it. “But I suppose some decorous behavior wouldn’t kill me either.”

“Good.” He took her hands and raised them to his lips. “I leave for Brighton at the end of the week. I’d hoped you’d be accompanying me as my wife, but that—”

“As your wife?” How arrogant of him to think she’d fall into his arms at the snap of his fingers. “Did you bring the special license with you tonight?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I’d planned to get it tomorrow. Don’t ruffle your feathers. If I thought myself sure of you, you’ve certainly clipped my wings. As I was saying, I leave for Brighton at the end of the week and I’d like for you to come. Not with me”—he shot the remark in before she could draw breath to protest—“but a visit to the seaside would not come amiss at this time of year, I think. Many are removing there, so you will have your pick of the gentlemen, and I may ‘woo you with some spirit when you come.’”

“Am I to play Kate to your Petruchio? You see me as a shrew, my lord? Not the most flattering of compliments.” She arched her neck, secretly pleased. Of all Shakespeare’s plays, The Taming of the Shrew was her favorite. Its heroine was a spirited woman. She could see herself in that role, with Matthew attempting to tame her as he wooed. This excursion could be most amusing. She’d have to find a companion to accompany her, of course. One of her widowed friends would work nicely. Especially her sister-in-law Jane, who also had a wild streak in her. A companion to encourage seduction rather than a chaperone. How delicious.

“Well? Will you meet me in Brighton?” Matthew’s eager voice brought her back to the dim room now filled with possibilities.

“I will be happy to journey to Brighton, my lord. If I find you there, I do hope you will attend me most earnestly.” In a heart’s beat she slipped her hands from his, pulled his lips down to hers, and sealed the pact with a kiss so warm and sweet her resolve slipped a notch. “And now if you’ll excuse me?” Turning swiftly on her toes, Fanny raced for the door. As she grasped the handle, she glanced back at him.

The victorious grin on his face sent a shiver down her spine. She pulled the door open and fled into the corridor before she could change her mind.

CHAPTER 3

Matthew stared at the door, his mind reeling at Fanny’s capricious words. Seven long years he’d waited to make his proposal and she’d refused him in less than a minute. Why he didn’t say to hell with the woman and marry someone else he couldn’t fathom. Just that he couldn’t. The woman had enchanted him body and soul ten years ago when he’d vowed no one else would be his countess. He’d waited this long; might as well bide his time a bit longer.

Running his hand through his hair, he glanced around the room. What kind of library had no libation in it for a thirsty guest? The refreshment room would have to do, although little hope of anything stronger than lemonade there. With a shake of his head, Matthew quit the library and headed back into the main rooms where the masquerade became even more risqué. He witnessed a couple not quite in the shadows, the woman in a Cleopatra costume with her back against the wall while a Roman gladiator kissed the tops of her mostly visible breasts.

As he passed them the woman’s moans recalled Fanny to him. Damn. His member had stiffened as by magic and his thin costume wouldn’t disguise it for long. He hurried on, hoping for the refreshment room and something, anything to cool his ardor. Turning sideways to avoid a shrieking medieval princess and the Zeus who chased her, Matthew bumped into another couple, a courtier and some kind of goddess in flowy white robes, their mouths locked together. God, he would go mad if he couldn’t get away from all these rutting couples.