Page 1 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

Chapter 1

London, May 1810

Moonlight streamed into the mews, brightening the night and making Lady Charlotte Fownhope draw back into the shadows of the stable. She strained to hear sounds from her father, the Earl of Grafton’s, town house, but only the clink of bridles came to her ears as Edward, her groom, led her chestnut mare and his horse into the light.

“You should have taught me to saddle her. Then I could have helped you.” She came forward to take the reins.

“I’ll always be here to do that for you, my lady.” He smiled, his white teeth a flash in the swarthy, handsome face, then leaned down to kiss her.

His warm lips caressed her, calmed her even as the comforting scent of horses and leather that hung about him enveloped her. This was where she belonged, in Edward’s arms. Not with Lord Ramsay, her father’s choice for a husband.

A horse snorted and Charlotte jumped back. “We must be off. Dinner will last only so long. With luck, no one will look in on me but my cousin Jane, so we will have until the morning before they know I am gone.”

Edward nodded and cupped his hands to give her a leg up.

Once in the saddle, she gathered the reins and waited for him to mount, her stomach tightening with excitement. “You know the way?”

“Yes, we take the Great North Road as far as York, then over to Manchester and up to Gretna Green.” He slid into the saddle. “We’ll be on horseback the first two days. They won’t expect that. They’ll be looking for a carriage.” He reached over and grasped her hands. “You’ll be all right on horseback for so long?”

She nodded, prompted to sit up straighter. If she had to spend a week in the saddle to be with Edward, she would do it. “Let’s go.”

They walked the horses out of the light, into the darkness of the underpass, keeping quiet until they were at the end of the row of stables. Charlotte resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to see if they had been pursued. They had been careful. They would succeed. She drew her black cloak around her shoulders against the now-chill wind.

At a nod from Edward, she tapped her horse and Bella started into a quick trot. The clop, clop of the hooves on the cobbled streets soothed her. After months of planning, they were on their way at last.

* * *

Several hours later, Charlotte and Edward slowed for another tollgate. They had passed through four already, and after the first, Charlotte had turned the bag of coins over to him to take care of the fees. A twinge in her hip, an ache in her thigh muscle told her that her body had begun to feel the strain of constant motion in the saddle. When they finally stopped for the night, she doubted she would want to climb back on Bella tomorrow.

Slowed to a walk, her mare nickered, and from somewhere behind the toll gate another one answered. Charlotte patted her withers and glanced at Edward.

“Tollkeeper!” he called, rending the silent night. After a moment he called again, still with no result.

“He must be dead asleep.” The wind had risen, causing Charlotte to tug her cloak closer.

“Dead drunk’s more like.” Edward dismounted, strode to the tollhouse door, and knocked.

The door jerked open. A huge hand grasped his shoulder, dragging him inside.

“Edward!” Charlotte dropped the reins, peeled her aching leg from around the horn of the sidesaddle, and slid to the ground. She must get to Edward. As her boots hit the dirt, two men appeared from nowhere.

“Ha, got ya!” They grabbed her arms, their rough fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

Terror shot through her veins, stopping her breath in her throat. Still, she managed to pull back and forth, trying to break free. No use. Their big hands clamped down on her like a vise as they hustled her toward the toll booth.

“Edward! Help! Someone, help!” Charlotte shrieked as they dragged her toward the building. Dear Lord, they must be highwaymen. She had heard sickening stories about the dangerous criminals who roamed the roads, preying on unlucky travelers. Her stomach twisted.

At the threshold they loosened their grip to get her through the door. Charlotte swung around and raked her fingernails down one man’s face.

He bellowed and pushed her away, into the house.

She wheeled toward the other man, bent on a similar attack, but stopped, shocked at the tableau before her.

The flickering light of the hearth revealed a large man holding Edward’s head down on a crude plank table, a pistol pressed against his temple. The tollkeeper in his nightshirt and cap, eyes wide, face pale, stood in front of the fire, staring at the scene. To the left of the table stood her father.

All the strength ran out of Charlotte’s legs and she began to sink toward the floor.

The man she had wounded grabbed her arm and hauled her up. “No, you don’t. That’s all, your lordship. Just the two of’em.”