Page 48 of What a Widow Wants

Grasping her arm, Matthew pulled her aside. “He’s breathing at least. Do you know what caused Wrotham to draw his cork in the first place?”

“I have no idea. We were in the drawing room, sitting down to whist when the commotion started. I wish we’d come out sooner. It seems pretty much over now.” Fanny sounded put out that she hadn’t seen more.

Raising his hands, as if to quiet the crowd, Wrotham spoke again. “Let us say Lord Kersey insulted me in a manner I will take from no man.”

“Devil the man. Sounds like he had it coming.” Matthew shook his head and gulped from the glass he’d brought out with him when summoned by the noise. “Are Lady Cavendish’s parties always so lively?”

“This is a new height, I must admit.” Excitement had brought a pretty blush to Fanny’s cheeks. “Last time all that happened was Lord Fernley kissed Charlotte and Wrotham threw him over a balustrade into a rosebush.”

“Indeed.” Considering Kersey’s condition, the man had likely done much worse than steal a kiss from his hostess.

“Alan!” A shrill female voice brought their attention back to the staircase where a small woman, dressed only in a blue dressing gown, raced toward the fallen lord. “Alan, who did this to you?”

“I believe we may be in for act two of this Drury Lane drama. Who is this woman? One of your circle of friends?”

“Yes, well, no, not really. Maria Wickley. She is a widow and a distant relation of Jane’s who she invited to the last party. What is the woman doing?” Fanny stepped forward, looking ready to join in the fray, as Mrs. Wickley drew back her hand to take a swing at Lord Wrotham.

“I think we’ve had enough uproar for one evening, my love.” Executing a neat strike, Matthew snared Fanny’s arm and propelled her, protesting, toward the now empty drawing room. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against it. “I would, however, be ready for excitement of a completely different sort.”

“That sort being?” Her tone was biting, but she came willingly into his arms.

“One for your eyes—and body—alone, my love.” Enfolding her against his chest, Matthew pulled her lovely face up to his, still in awe that she had finally consented to their marriage. “Although we did not discuss the wedding trip, my dear, I do have some thoughts on the matter. I suggest we remain at Hunter’s Cross for a week after the wedding, then travel on to whatever our final destination may be.”

“Why stay at home for a week?” Her puzzled frown delighted him.

“Because I vow to you I will not let you out of my bed for a solid week after we are wed.”

“Matthew!” She squealed and hit his chest.

“So if we will see nothing but the inside of the earl’s chamber, I see no reason to spend good money on—”

“Wretch.” Settling her head onto his chest once more, she stroked his arm in sudden silence. “Matthew.”

“Yes, love?”

“If I told you an awful secret, something truly dreadful”—the stroking stopped—“would you be able to forgive me?” Fanny tensed in his arms and waited.

“I suppose that would depend on what the secret concerned.” A deep foreboding raised its head. What had Fanny done? His mind leapt to the obvious, most devastating conclusion imaginable: She had in fact lain with Alan Garrett at the first house party, had lied about it to him, and now carried that man’s child. That might account for her odd behavior of late. A phantom hand squeezed his heart until it hurt to breathe. “Does it involve Lord Kersey?”

Fanny jerked back, her face screwed up in disgust. “Lord Kersey? No, of course not. What secret could I have concerning Lord Kersey of all people?”

“Well, you did say dreadful, so I thought you might have—”

“Good Lord.” She dissolved into giggles, all her tension draining away. “Are you still bothering over a rendezvous that never took place?” Shaking her head she slipped her arms around him, pulling him closer. “Your jealousy is very sweet, Matthew, but I have truly desired no man save you in seven years.”

“Is that so?” Relief washed through him, bringing a surge of passion to his cock that swelled it in moments. “Would you care to demonstrate your desire?” He claimed a kiss, and his hunger for her soared. “Now?”

“Mmm. Now, but not here. The others will certainly be upon us shortly. Come to my room as soon as you can.” She kissed him again, stabbing her tongue inside him, hardening him fully, then she was gone.

Exhaling shakily, he prayed he made it to her room before he burst. He’d go now, find his hostess, and excuse himself from the rest of the evening. That should cool him down a bit. It dawned on him, as he left the drawing room, that Fanny still had not told him her dire secret, but no matter. If it did not involve another man, it was likely not as calamitous as she believed. As with her, he could forgive anything save infidelity.

CHAPTER 20

“If you had told me Lady Cavendish’s house party was going to be a debauch to rival the Hell Fire Club, I’d have said you were daft.” Matthew pulled Fanny toward the circle of torches that ringed the Harvest Lord and his four prospects for the title of Corn Maiden.

Wrotham Village’s Harvest Festival today had been a merry time for all the house party members, enchanting them all with stalls of local goods, games of skill, and the awarding of prizes for best produce. Now, however, the festival would close with a pagan fertility rite called the Crowning of the Corn Maiden and the mood of the spectators had sobered strangely into something darker, more sensual than Matthew would have thought possible given the cheerful atmosphere of the day.

The Harvest Lord, a strapping lad named Michael Thorne, ogled the four young girls—not one of whom looked over sixteen—who were all swishing their skirts and holding bouquets of flowers in front of their breasts. Oh, yes, Mr. Thorne was getting an eyeful, as was every other man with enough age on him to know how to use his member. Matthew, who’d thought himself impervious to anyone’s charms save Fanny’s, found he needed to adjust himself now and then to disguise his erection.