Page 64 of Wedding the Widow

Did she remember him? The shock of his close presence now had abated somewhat, but her mind refused to focus on anything other than the press of her breasts against his jacket and his obvious hardness rubbing along her thigh.

“I hope our union will be long and prosperous.” His ragged breath brushed her face before his mouth descended onto her.

Shocked at this complete reversal of his studious, almost absentminded nature, Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, and he thrust his tongue inside, then quickly withdrew and thrust again, like a woodpecker at a tree.

Fortunately, disbelief had stopped her from making any loud protest. It wouldn’t do for the servants to rush in to find them grappling in the family room. Really, the man was too gauche. Conquering her revulsion, Elizabeth tried to back away and close her lips. After all, the man was a complete stranger to her.

On the contrary, he now pressed his suit, grasping her head and keeping it still while he kissed her more thoroughly than she had ever wished to be kissed. Had she liked the man, it might have been quite enjoyable; however, Lord Robert needed time and a more willing partner to perfect his technique.

She was barely willing, even if she had agreed to marry him.

Still his tongue thrust in and out.

Shifting her stance, forcing herself to calmly endure the kiss, she wished once more that this could be Jemmy. The thought conjured him up, his tousled blond curls riotous after she’d run her fingers through them. Slim, but muscular build and always impeccably dressed. Oh, but she longed to touch him, to plunge her tongue into his willing mouth and explore every inch of it at her leisure.

The daydream ended when Lord Robert began to urge her toward the chaise again, his hips bumping hers, his member pushing as eagerly as his tongue.

Bringing her hands to rest on his chest, Elizabeth gave a mighty shove.

He staggered backward, confusion in his eyes. “But, Elizabeth, we will be married this time tomorrow night. I am sure no one would fault us for anticipating the wedding by a few hours.”

She stared at his red face, her stomach churning. He thought her no better than she should be, and the circumstances from her past bore this out. Still, she couldn’t do it, especially not in the family room. “I am certain I would not feel comfortable, Lord Robert, doing so in my parents’ home without the benefit of marriage vows between us. Look what happened to me the last time I so let my guard down.”

Breathing in short, ragged bursts, Lord Robert stared longingly at her. “But we will be married—”

“That gentleman had every intention of marrying me until he was prevented.” She blinked back tears. What use was it to deny him? It would all come to the same pass tomorrow night. Still, a niggling voice in her head urged her to wait. Have one last night to herself before taking up her wifely duties with this man, in a marriage which she now understood would not be postponed. One short, final night of freedom. She backed toward the door. “I will say good night, my lord. We shall see each other in the morning at the church.”

“At the church?” His eyes were large and round as an owl’s.

“Yes, of course.” Elizabeth had gained the door frame. “It would be bad luck for you to see me before we are wed.”

“You believe such pagan poppycock?” Lord Robert looked entirely offended and somewhat displeased with her.

Elizabeth’s heart struck a wild beat, hoping that such an irrational belief might be too unorthodox for this scholarly man.

Instead of an explosion of displeasure, however, her betrothed merely sighed deeply. “Very well. I will see you at the church. However, we will have a discussion about your reliance on such animalistic claptrap instead of good, sound logic. A discussion that will begin tomorrow night.”

“Yes, my lord. Until tomorrow, then?” Not the usual wedding night conversation, but then this would not be a usual wedding nor marriage, she would wager. Elizabeth sped through the doorway, turned right down the corridor, and fled toward the staircase. Her first thought was to flee to the stable, order the carriage, and demand to be taken back to Lyttlefield Park. Her heart fluttered faster at the thought of such a sanctuary. However, it would do no good, save to embroil Charlotte in her troubles. Neither would marching into her father’s chamber and announcing she could not marry Lord Robert.

Father could, perhaps, be persuaded, despite his fondness for Lord Robert. She had always been able to wheedle him down, given enough time. Mama, however, would hound her worse than a beagle after a fox, until she was assured the scandal was put to bed. Of course, she would disregard the fact that Elizabeth would be put to bed as well, and with a man not of her choosing.

Fighting to compose herself, Elizabeth mounted the stairs, willing herself to calm. On the second floor, she still hurried down the silent hall. How had it become so late? No light shone underneath her sisters’ doors. They must have retired long ago. Time was flying past, racing toward her wedding day. She shuddered as she opened the door, a sudden chill skittering down her spine.

The well-appointed room was warm and inviting. The fire had been made up, crackling and hissing in the grate. The bed had been turned down, and her night rail laid out for her. A pity she could not take the maid with her, but Weller must remain to attend her sisters. Would Lord Robert allow her a maid? So many things one wanted to know but did not think to ask. The biggest question still remained to be dealt with: How was she to actually force herself to marry Lord Robert tomorrow?

Arms clutched across her chest, Elizabeth paced to the window, looking out into the inky blackness, every ounce of her being urging her to go, to try to get to Jemmy. The sheer impossibility of it weighted her down like a boulder, and an overwhelming grief poured through her. She stumbled back and sank into a chair before the fire, tears streaming down her face. How could she marry Lord Robert—or anyone, for that matter, other than Jemmy? She would be utterly miserable for the rest of her life, trapped with a man she did not love.

Schemes bloomed like a summer garden. Could she run away somewhere to have the baby where no one would know? Had she unlimited funds, perhaps. She could go to the Continent. Was it too late to discuss this with her parents? Perhaps it would work if they gave out that her grief for Dickon had become so overwhelming she must leave England, and all its memories, for some undetermined time. The ton would believe that. Her devotion to Dickon had been unquestioned in society.

But what of Colin and Kate? She slumped as another impediment to her scheme surfaced. Could she manage them by herself through the final stages of a pregnancy and the early days of her child’s infancy? It would be hard enough if she stayed here at home with the help of Mama and Papa. She couldn’t handle anything without the support of her family.

Hopeless. It was utterly hopeless. Her sobs renewed, her chest hurting so badly she cried harder just to push the tears out and rid her of the pain. A wrenching pain she feared she would face for the rest of her life.

Chapter 24

Frantic knocking at the secret door brought Jemmy up off his bed, where he’d been lying, moping, for the better part of the day. Furious with himself for not being able to break out of his room, he’d finally paced himself into exhaustion and thrown himself onto the mattress.

Hurrying to the panel, he cursed their father once more. If such things had real teeth, the man would have died a horrible death before now. Jemmy shoved the panel aside, and Georgie stumbled in, clutching a candlestick, a cobweb draped over one ear and plaster dust speckling her blue gown. One look at her face, eyes wide and frightened, and he gripped her arm. “What has happened?”