“You could settle in a lovely home of your own. Maybe move to Surrey to be with Winnie.”
“This house has been in my family for—”
“Fifteen years, Loretta.” The pad of her fingers pressed into the leather of the book she held. “We’ve debated this since Culpepper’s death. This is not an ancestral estate. Not a piece of property handed down through the generations. Culpepper received this house as payment for a gambling debt that was owed to him.”
Loretta’s face reddened, the lines scouring her cheeks and forehead deepening as she sucked in her outrage at Honora. Her mother-in-law reminded Honora of a toddler who held a breath because his favorite toy has been taken away. One could only hope she would faint and leave Honora in peace.
“Dalwardmeantfor this to be my home.” Spittle collected on her lips. “Mine.”
“Did he? Because he didn’t state his desire in his will, which is why we find ourselves in this predicament.”
“You probably slept with the solicitor to keep this house. Had my poor son’s will altered.”
A pounding began in Honora’s temples. “You know that isn’t true, Loretta.”
“I refuse to allow you to use my home as a den of sin. I fear I’ll come home one day to find you seducing one of your lovers on my sofa, as plentiful as they are.”
Honora stood with a sigh, clasping the book in one hand. She should have just stayed in her room to read. Honora looked around the drawing room, realizing how little she cared about this house. The thought of just giving it to Loretta chafed at her, but she would eventually do so. Just not today.
“Where are you going, Honora?” Loretta’s beady eyes took in Honora’s morning dress of pale blue. “Scandalous. You should be in black. I wore nothing else after my Mr. Culpepper died. You’re a disgrace.”
“Dalward has been dead for two years, Loretta. There is no need for me to wear dark colors. Besides, I’ve been invited on a carriage ride in the park.” She tucked the book under her arm and stared directly at Loretta. “Lord Southwell has invited me.”
Her mother-in-law’s lips parted, her about to launch into another tirade, but she clamped them shut. “Once he finds out what a tart you are, he won’t be sending you roses. I should tell him.”
“Do what you must.” Honora shrugged, eager to escape to her room and leave the poison seeping out of her mother-in-law. “Enjoy your day, Loretta. I’ll have tea brought in.”
Chapter Seven
Southwell helped Honorainto his small, open carriage, a conveyance far more luxurious than Honora had expected. There was no driver or footmen. Honora hadn’t considered Southwell would drive them himself today. He wanted privacy, which both surprised and pleased her.
As she settled back against the black leather squabs, delighting in the beauty of the day, Southwell climbed in beside her and took the reins. Her skirts caught on a wicker basket tucked beneath the seat.
“I thought we were merely going for a ride in the park, my lord. Are we having a picnic along the Serpentine, perhaps?” The ribbons of her bonnet fluttered about her neck, and Honora resisted the urge to just throw the stupid little bit of decorated straw from her head. Bonnets made her head quite warm, though they did keep the sun from her cheeks. On a glorious day like today, Honora longed to feel the wind through her hair and was sorely tempted to remove the bonnet. She doubted Southwell would mind.
“We are, Mrs. Culpepper. Having a picnic, that is. But we are not going to the park. I’ve something else in mind. I thought we could both do with a taste—” He allowed the innuendo to hover between them. “—of the country.” The bits of amber in his eyes sparked back at her.
Honora’s fingers curled around the edge of her seat. “You’re kidnapping me?”
Southwell, especially with the thick dark waves of his hair flowing against his shoulders and the bit of beard he sported, did strike Honora as looking like a pirate. Or perhaps a warrior in an invading army, one bent on making her the spoils of war.
An unexpected bolt of pure desire shot through her. Her grip on the seat tightened.
Her eyes caught at his profile. The slash of cheekbone with the sun glancing off his lightly tanned skin. The aquiline nose. The tiny scar she could see just beneath his ear. There were many gentlemen considered more handsome than Southwell, though he was certainly attractive, but none of those men had his presence.
He caught her studying him and gave her a cheeky wink. “What if I am kidnapping you? Would you like to be my captive, Mrs. Culpepper?”
Yes.“Perhaps,” she murmured. It was a rather mild reply from the seductive widow Honora pretended to be but still so close to the truth heat pinked her cheeks.
The busy streets of London faded to be replaced with gently rolling hills spotted with farms and the occasional sheep. She had absolutely no idea where Southwell was taking her. Honora hadn’t been out of London in…years. Not since before Culpepper had died. The air around them had grown silent. She imagined she could hear bees buzzing and the butterflies gently beating their wings.
“Tell me about your travels, my lord. I assume we have time.”
“A bit. But you must tell me when I begin to bore you.”
“When I begin snoring, my lord,” came her saucy reply, “you will know I’ve lost interest.”
Southwell gave a soft chuckle before launching into the tale of an Indian prince. A wistful look entered his features as he described the palace he’d visited. The exquisite tiles, the gemstones studding the walls and decorating the prince’s wives. His first look, up close, of an elephant.
