Page 27 of What a Widow Wants

“Shall we perhaps sit this one out? I can think of much more pleasant ways to expend our energies.” He motioned her toward a small chaise moved out of the way to accommodate the dancing.

“As can I.” Fanny dropped demurely down upon the chaise, her gloved hands clasped in her lap. For the evening she had chosen her favorite gown of deep green, sprinkled with yellow buds and a stunning embroidery of flowers at the hem, as though she wore a fantastical garden. Its very low décolletage had turned Matthew’s head when they were in Brighton—

As though she’d conjured him, his image rose before her eyes. Thick, silky black hair, unruly as always, clear blue eyes, wide nose, and full sensual lips that begged to be kissed.

“What is wrong, chérie? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” The concern in Alan’s voice brought her back to Charlotte’s drawing room, to the chatter and laughter in the room that had gone stale to her.

“A goose walking over my grave, I suspect. Will you be a dear and fetch me some lemonade? And if you find a bottle of brandy along the way, a drop of that in it would not go amiss.” She must stop recalling every single thing she had done with Matthew, although the same unfortunate type of memories had occurred the last time they had parted, seven years before. For months afterward certain items of clothing, a particular silk fan, blue hydrangeas, and seed cake, of all things, had brought his face to mind as vividly as though he stood before her. That must not happen again. She was bound to no man now. And she would take advantage of it as this party intended.

“Are you fatigued? Would you prefer to retire, my dear?” Leaning close, he nudged her ear and gooseflesh rose on her neck. “Make your excuses now. I will follow in half an hour’s time.”

Gazing into the handsome face filled with desire for her, Fanny’s resolve strengthened. If she shared her bed with another man it might make it easier to understand her mind regarding her feelings for Matthew. Make it easier to remain independent. Or perhaps allow her to discover once and for all if independence was what she truly desired. “A capital idea, my lord. I will say good night, then.”

“A very good night to you, my lady.” His cocky grin split his face as he bowed and turned toward the refreshment table.

Fanny rose and immediately glanced about for Charlotte, who proved to be nowhere in sight. Drat it. Where was her hostess? She must make her excuses for leaving the party at such a wretchedly early hour. Ten o’clock had scarcely struck. Still, she must leave now so Alan’s departure would not be remarked upon as too soon after her own.

Jane. As Charlotte’s companion, she could stand in as hostess. Keeping her strides short and slow, Fanny ambled toward her sister-in-law. “Jane, dear. Please make my excuses to Charlotte. I have a sudden headache and think it best I make it an early evening.”

“I am so sorry to hear that, my dear.” The soulful look of concern that deepened the lines on Jane’s face were immediately replaced by one of annoyance as she steered them both toward the door. “If you are thinking of a tryst with Alan Garrett, Fanny, you’d best be on your guard. The rogue has been bedeviling Charlotte for months. If he’s moved on to different game, I say good riddance, for the man is a scoundrel.” She grasped Fanny’s hands at the threshold. “However, if there is anyone here, other than me, who can sheathe the lion’s claws, I will wager it is you. Enjoy your evening, my dear.” Jane rapped her furled fan smartly on Fanny’s arm and turned back into the room.

Mouth open, Fanny resisted the urge to call Jane back. To be given dispensation to bed Alan Garrett and outright approval of the deed stunned her. Was independence always this thrilling? If so, she’d begin planning a long and healthy widowhood.

* * *

By the time Fanny reached her room, she’d decided to call off her assignation with Alan Garrett at least three times, though currently she’d decided to allow the tryst to take place.

Needing to be alone as quickly as possible, she dismissed the maid saying she didn’t need further assistance, and all but pushed the girl out the door. After pacing the room several times, she’d at last settled down to brush out her hair, though somehow she’d managed to tangle the bristles in her hair so badly she had to yank some of her thick locks out to free it. Why was she nervous? She wanted this rendezvous with Alan. Didn’t she?

Banging the brush down on the table, she rubbed lotion on her hands and arms, then climbed into the pristine bed and stretched out, stiff as a ramrod.

Relax. She must relax. Taking a deep breath, she lay back on the soft mattress, the crisp linen sheets and beautifully embroidered counterpane pulled up to her chin, her gaze firmly attached to the door. Waiting for Alan.

She’d never had such qualms about Matthew coming to her bed. In Brighton, they would have been in each other’s arms constantly had she not insisted on discretion. If the wretched man had just appeared this weekend, they’d be here together now. Her heart gave a lurch at the remembrance of Matthew’s strong arms cradling her, his big body covering her, entering her, loving her. That was what she wanted.

Thoughts of Alan Garrett touching her that way made her clutch the covers closer. This was wrong. She could not go through with this assignation. Head clearing for the first time since she left the drawing room, she threw off the counterpane and sheets and slid to the floor. She would write a note to Alan telling him she’d become indisposed in earnest. A weak excuse, but at the moment, with his knock about to sound at any minute, she wasn’t going to try to be inventive.

Seating herself at the toilet table, she rummaged through her case in search of her writing materials. Paper, pens, ink, penknife, she spilled the implements onto the table, seized a pen and paper and began to scratch across the smooth cream surface, so frantic she didn’t stop to mend the pen. How he’d ever read the splotchy words she didn’t know. But she mustn’t lose a second. Scrawling her name at the bottom, she grasped the sheet, ink still wet and dripping, and raced to the door.

Charlotte had told her all the gentlemen had been housed conveniently down the opposite corridor from the ladies. Ironically, Alan now occupied the room Matthew would have had. Brushing that aside, she grasped the latch just in time to hear a soft scratching and whisper.

“Fanny?”

Gritting her teeth, she slowly turned the key below the latch, praying it made no sound. Gaze locked on the handle, she held her breath and stepped slowly backward until she bumped into the foot of the bed.

The handle rattled and her heart seized as though the hand on the other side of the door had it in its grip. The chattering of the latch sounded as loud as gunfire.

Please go away. Just go away.

One final jiggling of the latch that almost started a scream out of her, and the handle went slack. The faint sound of footfalls faded to nothing and Fanny slumped onto the end of the bed. She drew a deep breath after what seemed like an eternity, and lay back on the counterpane, still clutching the note to Alan.

Somehow she didn’t think she’d lived up to Jane’s expectations in this affair. However, her heart and conscience were clear.

Groaning, she sat up and tore the note into shreds. Striding to the fireplace, she tossed the scraps on the cheerful blaze and watched the hungry flames devour the evidence of her folly. At peace now, she returned to the toilette table, straightened her writing accoutrements, and went about the business of mending the pen. There was one more letter she needed to write tonight.

CHAPTER 11

Sunlight poured through the bank of windows, flooding the breakfast room of Hunter’s Cross with a pearly morning brightness that made Matthew’s spirits soar after three days of unrelenting rain. Sipping his coffee, he gazed outside at the dazzling day and smiled. He’d already called for Spartan to be brought around front. Morning rides were most invigorating here on the estate and he’d missed his sorely these last few days. It would be even better with a companion, but Kinellan had continued to his estate in Scotland after accompanying him this far from London. He wouldn’t see his friend again until he went north for the grouse shooting in September.