Page 10 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

When hell freezes over, Mr. Garrett.

“Did you know I would be here tonight?” Had he made inquiries about her? Such attention from him would bode ill indeed.

They spun in a cogwheel, their eyes locked until the pattern of the dance reversed.

“I wasn’t sure. But I hoped.”

Those words, in his deliciously deep voice, sent chills trickling down her spine. They joined both hands and turned.

“Although you gave me to believe that your obligation to your deceased husband would be strictly observed, I trusted you would return to society as soon as you had fulfilled your duty.”

He chuckled, and they moved into the grand chain.

“I am actually out of mourning a day early,” she confessed when they finally met again, staring straight into his sinful blue eyes. “Scandalous, don’t you think?” She couldn’t help but smile at this, her first rebellion. “My husband did not receive word of his son’s death until June 19, then was taken in a fit of apoplexy and so died the day after the battle.”

“Then this is a grave breach of protocol, Lady Cavendish.” He tried to look scandalized, but the playful twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.

“My marriage was arranged. While he lived, I did my duty to my husband. After his death, I mourned appropriately, as is expected of a devoted wife.” She pursed her lips and shuddered. “Now, my life is my own.” And, by God, she would at last live it as she pleased. “I thought it fitting that I rejoin polite society at this ball in particular. If that shocks everyone, so be it.”

“I see you wish to become a rebel.” Mr. Garrett laughed as Charlotte went into the center for her turn.

She tossed her head as she set and turned first with her partner, then with the other gentlemen in the circle. Much as she hated to admit it, she was enjoying her dance with this rogue. Did that make her wicked? When she finally regained her position next to Mr. Garrett, he resumed their conversation.

“A rather difficult role for a woman, although for a widow it may be more possible. I would certainly wish to be part of your rebellion, my lady. Given my many activities over the years, I am certainly not afraid of public censure. Are you willing to risk your reputation to seize the prize for which you lust?”

His voice deepened on the final word, sending a wave of fear through her.

She stopped in the middle of the last ladies’ cogwheel, her gaze riveted on his face. Dear God, was he about to shock the ton with some public display? Her heart thudded. Had she baited this tiger unknowingly?

He pressed her onward, however, moving into the last grand chain and bowing to her with a flourish when the music stopped.

Relief swept through her and she valiantly curtsied, then took his arm as he led her from the floor. She actually leaned on him, for that last fright had turned her legs weak. Thank goodness that dance was over, although she must admit Mr. Garrett had proved a good dancer and a very exciting partner. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Jane would no doubt scold her anew for dancing with Mr. Garrett, but she thought she had managed to scotch any scandal brewing.

A shadow crossed her face and Charlotte opened her eyes to find they had entered a dim stairwell, with a flight of dusty stairs leading to the attics. Her mouth dried as though she’d eaten sand.

Before her eyes could adjust, he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her against his granite-hard chest. When his hot mouth found hers, she gasped. Oh, drat. She should have known he would try something like this.

He darted his tongue through her open lips and she squealed, then quieted. The last thing she wanted was for someone to find them so engaged. His hands cradled her head as he explored every inch of her mouth with a gentle thoroughness she had not known for years. Had anyone ever kissed her thus? With an intensity designed to kindle flames in her soul? Perhaps Edward. But that had been so long ago, she’d forgotten how good it felt, except . . .

That blasted cologne of his. Pressed right up against him, Charlotte couldn’t help but breathe in the overpowering scent of bergamot. Lord, don’t let me sneeze.

That thought broke the spell. She pushed Mr. Garrett away from her.

He panted as if he had run a race. “Devil take it. Are you trying to get us thrown out, Charlotte?”

“Me?” Her voice rose and she stopped and lowered it. “You’re the one trying to ruin my reputation. And do not call me Charlotte. I haven’t given you permission.”

“After that little interlude, I don’t need permission.” He grinned at her in the faulty light. “You can’t deny you enjoyed it.”

“I can and do deny it.” She pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart still hammered. She hadn’t enjoyed it. Not really. But it had been exciting. More exciting than anything in her life for the past six years. Pray God he couldn’t see her face. It must be the color of ripe cherries.

“Methinks ‘the lady doth protest too much.’ May I call upon you tomorrow?” He grabbed her hand and placed his lips on the palm. The kiss burned even through the glove.

“I don’t think that would be wise for either of us.” She must hold on to what little sanity was left to her.

His eyes darkened and he ran his finger over her swollen lips. “Allow me to be the judge of what is wise, my dear. Come, I will escort you to Lady John before we are lost entirely.” He took her hand, stuck his head around the doorframe, then pulled her quickly into the room.

Blinking in the suddenly bright lights, she stumbled after him as he made his way toward her cousin.