Page 40 of What a Widow Wants

Lord, was Matthew to prove a jealous lover now that they were about to be wed? If he thought her infidelity to Stephen was anything but revenge for his odious transgressions, then her betrothed was a fool. She tiptoed to the door and called, “Who is it?”

“It’s Lady Lathbury, Lady Stephen. May I come in?”

CHAPTER 16

Fanny sent a stricken look to Matthew, who had bolted up at the name. Oh, dear Lord, she mouthed at him. What do we do?

He scrambled from the bed and bent to snatch his clothes from the pile where he’d disrobed.

“Just a moment, my lady. I’m not dressed.” A quick glance around the room showed nowhere for Matthew to hide. Neither the wardrobe nor the screen were large enough, and the latter was raised on legs so his feet would be seen in any case. She rushed to him and whispered, “What can we do? What will she say if she finds you here?”

“Nothing you would want to hear in polite company, I imagine.” He’d managed to draw his shirt over his head, but his entire bottom half was bare. “Mother isn’t a high stickler; however, finding her son in a woman’s room in absolute disarray will bring down a firestorm upon my head, and a chastisement upon yours, that we do not wish to experience. Trust me on this if on nothing else.”

“What if we tell her we are betrothed?”

“No difference. Except additional consternation that we hadn’t told her already that we were engaged.” He strode to the window and peered out. “I doubt the fall would kill me, although I might need to say my wedding vows from a sick bed with broken bones.”

“I forbid you to go out that window, Matthew.”

“I see no other choice, my dear.”

“Lady Stephen?” The door handle rattled. “Are you quite well?”

“Dear God.” Fanny grabbed the clothing Matthew was clutching to his chest and threw it under the bed. “Get under there.”

“I won’t fit.” Still he dropped to his knees, then flat to the floor.

Unfortunately, the bed was not as high as some others she’d been in, but there was no time to lose. She put her hands on his derriere and pushed. The uncarpeted floor assisted their efforts and Matthew disappeared beneath the low-hanging blue coverlet. Tossing his shoes after him, she called, “I’m coming,” and hastily spread the covers up, desperately trying to make it seem that only one person had been in that bed.

Thank God she’d never taken off her dressing gown. She pulled at it to make it hang right, then tying the belt, ran swiftly to the door, turned the lock, and opened it.

“Good evening, my lady,” she said, in what she prayed was a calm voice. “Is there something amiss?”

Attired in a pink and gray silk dressing gown, Lady Lathbury stepped over the threshold, calmly peering around Fanny’s room, a frown on her face. “No, nothing of any serious import. I had gone to see to a guest who had complained of a headache and was returning to my suite. Passing by your room I noticed the lights on and thought you might be restless.”

“Oh, no.” Fanny feigned lethargy by pretending to stifle a yawn. “I read for a while and had fallen asleep without blowing out the lamps.”

“I see.” The countess smiled and turned toward the door.

Fanny had just sent up a silent word of thanksgiving for the near escape when Lady Lathbury turned back to her.

“As I am here now, perhaps you will indulge me in a brief chat, Lady Stephen. I have been so taken up with my other guests I fear I have not had the opportunity for us to become better acquainted.”

“Of course, my lady.” Drat. Putting on the best cheerful face possible, Fanny motioned the countess toward the toilette table. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

As Lady Lathbury settled herself, Fanny drew a straight-backed chair from the writing desk and placed it opposite the bed. If the countess would be here, at least she’d face away from Matthew’s hiding place. “Was there something in particular you wished to speak to me about, Lady Lathbury?”

The countess smiled. “I suppose I wish to know everything about the woman my son wishes to marry. Rowley has told me of your circumstances. My condolences on your late husband.”

“Thank you.” Good lord, but Stephen was the last person she wanted to talk about tonight. Fanny cocked her head. “Did you say ‘Rowley,’ my lady?”

“My husband’s family has held the Viscountcy of Rowley since the seventeenth century. Therefore, my son’s title at birth was Lord Rowley. I have always called him that.” She pursed her lips. “He has also informed me that he has proposed to you and you have refused him—three times.” Hard blue eyes met hers with the warmth of an icicle.

Swallowing convulsively, Fanny scarcely managed to answer, “Yes.” Every time she came within the woman’s presence her mouth dried up as though she’d bitten into the tartest lemon possible.

“Four times if you count his proposal before your marriage to Lord Stephen.”