Page 75 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

To her horror, instead of stopping him, her protests spurred him on. He swept the covers away and climbed on top of her, pressing her into the soft mattress. With one hand he pulled her nightgown off her shoulder, then deftly unbuttoned his fall.

Curse the wretch. She couldn’t even struggle properly. Too tired, too dizzy.

He set his mouth at the base of her neck, then nuzzled and kissed his way down until he skimmed the top of her breasts.

“Nooo.” Her voice wouldn’t cooperate. The thin, reedy sound wouldn’t carry through the door.

Another nudge of his finger and her breast popped free of her nightgown. She flushed from head to toe, wanting to die of shame.

“No.” Her voice was stronger. “Alan, please stop—”

His lips cut off her protest as he thrust his tongue into her mouth.

She tossed her head, trying to dislodge him, but he pressed her harder into the pillow. Damn, she couldn’t breathe. Her head spun once more and darkness descended.

* * *

Nash banged his knee on the polished cherry sideboard in his hurry to pour a much needed after-dinner drink. He had almost cheered when Lady John had finally risen after an interminable dinner and shepherded the ladies to the drawing room. He’d bolted up out of his seat and headed to the sideboard, splashing a tumbler half full of cognac. Damned fine cognac, he concluded after the first swallow. Charlotte had elevated her store after the last party.

His sour mood stemmed mainly from Charlotte’s absence. Jane had made her excuses, but Nash thought something else must be afoot. Her cousin had smiled too broadly and her hands had shaken ever so slightly while telling them of Charlotte’s indisposition, a sudden megrim that she hoped would not impede the good spirits of the company tonight. Nash had watched her during dinner; Lady John had eaten no more than he had.

He’d bet his fortune this somehow had to do with that scoundrel Kersey. The man had managed to insert himself into the company again, according to Charlotte. He had to be up to something.

Brack joined him at the sideboard, asking about the situation with the robber gang. He told him as much as he deemed safe. Not that he suspected Brack, of course, but one couldn’t be too careful. Pouring another libation, he glanced around the dining room. Lord Kersey was gone.

“Did Kersey go to the necessary?” he asked Brack, giving the question an air of nonchalance. “He promised to tell me where I could get a pair of matched grays.”

Brack glanced around and shrugged. “I didn’t notice him leave, but I’m sure he won’t be gone long.”

The hairs on the back of Nash’s neck pricked up. In the past, he’d listened to the little voice in his head that accompanied that sensation. It had always served him well. He set his glass down. “Excuse me, Brack. I’ll be back shortly.” He hurried out of the room and into the hallway.

He could look in the necessary, but something told him Kersey had other business on his mind. Nash started up the main staircase. He had no idea where Charlotte’s chamber was, and no evidence that Kersey had gone there. The rake could have simply gone to his own bedroom to attend to his toilette.

Disregarding any qualms, he pressed onward. On the second floor he eased down the corridor on his left with closed doors on either side, his ear cocked for any unusual sounds. He reached the end and had just turned back toward the staircase when muffled voices behind the second door caught his attention.

Braced in the doorway, his ear plastered against the door, he made out a low, deep voice. Then a woman’s shrill one.

“No. Alan, please stop—”

Blood hurtled through his body like he’d heard a battle cry. A coppery taste flooded his mouth. He grabbed the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He backed up two steps and kicked the door. It blew inward and rebounded against the wall.

Nash surged in.

Lord Kersey, straddling Charlotte’s limp body, raised his head.

A red haze clouded Nash’s vision as he grabbed the blackguard’s throat and heaved.

“Gawp.” Kersey managed the single sound as he flew backward off the end of the mattress.

Nash rounded the bed and dragged the man up from the floor by the front of his disheveled shirt. “When a lady says no, Kersey, a gentleman retreats.” Nash reared his arm back. “I suppose that means you’re no gentleman.” He let fly and his fist crashed into Kersey’s nose with a satisfying crunch. Blood spurted over his snowy white shirt, soaking him in a warm shower.

“Waid . . . I cad exsplain.” The rake struggled to speak and breathe at the same time.

“Tell someone who gives a damn.” Nash hauled off and pounded him again, giving him two quick punches to his eye and cheek. He grabbed the miserable wretch by his shoulders, swung him around the end of the bed, and launched him into the door. Kersey’s back hit flat with a bang that rattled the mirror on the wall. He bounced off and fell face first on the floor.

Nash glanced at Charlotte, lying with eyes closed on the bed, her legs and breasts exposed. With a growl he flipped the coverlet over her. “Charlotte? Charlotte!” He shook her shoulders, his gaze intent on her face. Had the bastard strangled her?

She moaned and frowned but didn’t open her eyes.