What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  With a cocky wink, he dove into the chilly gray water, disappearing from sight like a sleek fish. Or merman, perhaps. Like a mythic creature, Matthew had risen from the depths of her past, seducing her with his charm and wit. Would she allow him to spirit her off to his world?

  Sighing, Fanny tore her gaze from the murky water into which her lover had vanished and stood. Time enough to think of that this afternoon. As she picked up her shift, she hoped Elizabeth would not notice the completely dry state of her hair. Bathers usually submerged completely and here she wasn’t damp at all. She struggled into her stays.

  Of course, she could declare that she had decided not to bathe at the last minute, which was true enough. She just wouldn’t tell her friend about the other invigorating activity she’d engaged in instead.

  * * *

  Shivering as he broke the surface of the damn cold water, Matthew gasped, shook his hair out of his eyes, and climbed the ladder into the bathing machine so fast his feet scarcely touched the rungs. He grabbed the linen drying cloth and commenced rubbing his arms, legs, and torso briskly to drive the blood back into them.

  “Have a refreshing dip?” Kinellan turned around in his seat, warmly bundled up in a mean coat, hat, and gloves. His disguise as a driver meant he was well protected against the chilly morning air.

  “God, it’s been a long time since I swam in cold water.” Toweling off his lower body, he tried to produce some feeling down there, then swiftly donned his drawers. He hoped he hadn’t frozen his parts. That entire half of his body seemed quite numb. “Refreshing is not the word I would use to describe it.”

  “Let’s hope you haven’t done yourself ‘a mischief,’ as my old granny would say.” His friend’s voice held hardly a scrap of sympathy.

  “Well, even if I had, it would have been worth it.” He grinned at Kinellan. “The lady was startled, but very warm and willing after a moment or two.”

  “Ah, I thought I might have heard a scream or two. Wasn’t sure if it was the reaction to her dipping into the water or you dipping into—”

  “Watch yourself, Kinellan.” Matthew paused in pulling his shirt over his head to fix the man with a steely eye. “You are talking about the future Countess of Lathbury. I will brook no lascivious language about her.”

  “My lascivious language? What about your downright obscene actions of the past half an hour?” Cocking his head, Kinellan raised an eyebrow. “Then she’s accepted you? I’m to finally wish you happy?”

  “Not exactly.” Matthew popped his fine linen shirt over his head and settled it over his shoulders. He was finally beginning to thaw. “She seemed very flattered by my attentions and by my choice of wicked ways and eager to extend the dalliance during our stay in Brighton.”

  “Then you are no further than you were when you met her at the masquerade.”

  “Indeed?” Matthew thought back to the tryst they’d just engaged in—her warm lips, her supple body that seemed to meld into his at their moment of completion. “I’d say I was much further along than in June, although I wish to be further still by the time we quit the city.”

  “Based on the morning activities that I could hear”—Kinellan cleared his throat—“um, surmise there was little else you could do save send out the wedding invitations.”

  Sighing, Matthew tucked his shirt into his breeches. “I do need her to say yes. Though I could be closer to that now than ever. If she ends up breeding, she will have to marry me.”

  “That is one strategy, although if you wish it to be more effective you’ll have to arrange several more ‘dips in the ocean.’ ”

  “God, right now I’d rather suffer through any number of Mrs. Frangipani’s arias, than get back in that blasted water again.” Stomping to settle his feet into his boots, Matthew reached for his coat, finally beginning to feel some warmth in his fingers.

  Kinellan peered over his shoulder. “I might have to call you on that one, Lathbury. Mrs. F. is in frightfully bad voice this Season. A quick plunge, you’re in, you’re out, it’s over.”

  Matthew held out the damp toweling, shuddering at the very thought. “Be my guest to try for yourself.”

  “On second thought, perhaps I’ll simply stick to being an accomplice. Much warmer work, I’ll tell you.” His friend grasped the ribbons and started the horses. They lurched forward and Matthew thumped into the chair.

  In some ways, Kinellan was correct, however, he recalled Fanny’s soft, burning body pressed against his, her insistent lips, her hot sheath heating him to the boiling point. A sudden stirring below assured him he’d not sustained permanent damage. He chuckled. The earldom would likely see an heir and as quickly as he could get the stubborn Fanny to agree to marry him.

  Of course, she might even now be increasing. Sobering, he sat back in the hard chair and his shoulders slumped. If he’d just gotten her with child it would make his situation that much easier. For all that Fanny loved the danger of flirting with scandal, she’d abhor being the center of such a thing should she be pregnant and unmarried. He’d expect her to assume, and rightly so, that they would marry as soon as the ink was dry on a special license.

  However, that was not the way he wanted to win his love.

  He wanted Fanny to marry him because she loved him, not to escape ruin. She’d been deeply, almost tragically hurt by Stephen’s perfidy. It was only natural now that she needed to be completely certain of his own loyalty to her before she agreed to give up a freedom she must be greatly enjoying. Her beautiful face seemed perpetually smiling or teasing him or excited with a carefree joy he’d not seen there in a very long time. He didn’t want her to have to relinquish that, but rather choose to continue so with him forever at her side.

  So if she wasn’t increasing now, perhaps he needed to have a care during their subsequent encounters. There were things he could do to help prevent getting her with child. He sighed deeply. Such measures wouldn’t increase his pleasure—far from it. But they would increase his peace of mind.

  “Not going to sleep, are you?” Kinellan called as they turned onto the roadway behind the promenade. “I’ll drop you at our lodgings, return this lot to Jeffries, reward him suitably, then join you for coffee and the largest breakfast you can order.”

  “Capital plan, Kinellan,” Matthew said, stealing glimpses of the early morning traffic surrounding them. His exit from the bathing machine must be done without notice of anyone. “Bracing water and brisk exercise will give me an appetite every time.”

  “I suspect once you marry, Lathbury, you won’t even need the ‘bracing water’ to accomplish that state.”

  “Beware, Kinellan.” Matthew popped his head out of the wagon and, finding the street deserted, jumped to the ground. “You will go a-wooing in earnest one day and it would behoove you to remember that sauce for the goose makes an even more delicious one for the gander. I will have no compunctions whatsoever against bedeviling you at every chance I get.”

  “Lead on, MacDuff!” The earl grinned and started the horses again, their hooves clopping jauntily on the cobblestones.

  Matthew adjusted his hat to hide his still damp hair and trotted up the steps to their rather grand digs. He’d rented two opulent suites of rooms for him and Kinellan, side by side, with an eye to impressing Fanny if he could find a way to spirit her up here. Not that he thought she’d succumb to mere decor or the luxurious appointments the landlord provided. Still, seduction was much easier to accomplish in attractive surroundings and while he didn’t want Fanny’s choice stripped from her, he’d not scruple on the lavishness of his attempts to make her change her mind.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Lady Marchant has quite the best singers and musicians I’ve heard during our time here, don’t you think, Fanny?” Elizabeth whispered as Mrs. Violetta Fremont’s soaring voice rendered the popular Italian aria “Caro Mio Ben.”

  “I have to agree, my dear.” Fanny peered around the crowded room, searching for a glimpse of Matthew. He’d promised her he
would be attending Lady Marchant’s musicale, though he’d yet to put in an appearance. “Mrs. Fremont’s voice is divine, although I will confess to a preference for Mr. O’Shea’s ditties. So humorous I want to laugh out loud.”

  “He does have a lovely tenor voice, although I think some of his selections a trifle risqué.” Settling back in her chair, Elizabeth smiled but then tensed as Mrs. Fremont hit a note that quite shook the pendants in the crystal chandelier overhead and set them to tinkling. Pray God the woman didn’t bring the house down.

  Still no Matthew.

  Tonight was her and Elizabeth’s last night in Brighton. They would leave for London just after breakfast in the morning, which saddened Fanny, to her surprise. Had she realized she would have such a delightful time here she would have arranged a longer stay. At least until Matthew quit the resort town.

  Matthew had proved the most charming companion in the three weeks since she’d arrived. After their tryst in the bathing machines, they’d managed to meet almost every day at some public or social function and thoroughly renew their acquaintance. Less frequently they’d met in private, although they’d managed three more passionate dalliances, one in a rather inventive place. Who would have guessed one could engage in sexual congress in a ruined castle without being discovered or tearing one’s gown? Not the most comfortable of places, but the thrill of danger again made it worth the discomfort of hard, rough stone walls. Soon she’d be surrounded instead by the equally unyielding presence of her prim and proper brother-in-law and his equally proper wife. Theale was an old tyrant, although Lavinia had her good moments. Still, she could look forward to a much more constricted existence once she returned to London. She’d just have to endure and look forward with longing to seeing Matthew at Charlotte’s house party.

  Where was the wretch?

  “Good evening, Fanny.”

  She jumped in her chair as Matthew slid into the empty seat she’d been holding for him. “Shhh. Mrs. Fremont is not finished.”

  “I beg your pardon.” He straightened, his attention focused on the singer.

  Surreptitiously cutting her gaze toward him, Fanny repressed a sigh. Matthew was in fine form tonight. His black evening dress was the epitome of elegance, from his exquisitely tied cravat to his impeccably cut pantaloons and white stockings that showed off his thickly muscled calves splendidly. A twinge of longing to have those solid calves entwined with hers once more smote her, heating her face. She glanced away, firmly turning her attention back to Mrs. Fremont, who held her final note another two full measures, then bowed to the company with arms spread wide.

  Enthusiastic applause kept Mrs. Fremont bowing for another several minutes. Well, she deserved the recognition for such a display. To Fanny’s left, Elizabeth clapped loudly, a wide smile gracing her lips. She’d wager her friend would miss this pleasant life when she returned home as well.

  Lord Kinellan appeared on Elizabeth’s left. “Good evening, Mrs. Easton. How nice to see you again.”

  “And you, my lord.” Elizabeth’s smile had narrowed, though she nodded pleasantly to the earl.

  A touch on her hand jerked Fanny back to the man beside her. His eyes shone bright in the candlelight. “Would you care to go to the refreshment room or do you prefer to remain here for more music?”

  “I think something to drink is a splendid notion.” Fanny gathered her reticule and fan and rose. “Would you like to come with us, Elizabeth?”

  Her fellow widow arose and glanced from Fanny to Lord Kinellan. “His lordship has asked me to accompany him to the Marchants’ drawing room. There is a very fine Turner Lord Marchant has recently acquired.”

  “By all means, my dear. I know how you delight in Mr. Turner’s works.” Fanny bit back a grin as Elizabeth draped her cream silk shawl around her shoulders and gingerly took Lord Kinellan’s arm. “Enjoy yourself.”

  The couple moved off, and Fanny turned to Matthew who was gazing at her with his piercing blue eyes. “I believe you suggested refreshments, my lord? Must I starve or need I take the lead?”

  Grinning, he offered his arm. “I am yours to command, my lady.”

  “I should certainly hope so.”

  “I suspect Kinellan is about to make a conquest.” He nodded toward the couple, just clearing the doorway.

  “Hardly.” Fanny chuckled. “Elizabeth Easton is still very much in love with her husband, the lieutenant colonel.”

  “But the man’s been dead over a year now.” Wrinkling his brow, Matthew steered them through the doorway and down a busy corridor thronged with chattering guests.

  Fanny shrugged. “Not everyone was as unaffected as I at the death of their husband. Theirs was quite a love match, I understand, and remained that way until the day he died. She has told me she absolutely adored him from the moment she set eyes on the man. I don’t believe she’s ready to let that go. She may never be.”

  “But she has children, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, a boy and a girl. About my daughter’s age.”

  “Then the boy especially needs a man’s influence. Kinellan would be a good one.”

  Fanny sent him a cool look through slitted eyelids. “Then I suppose it is as well that I have only a daughter.”

  He grinned, unperturbed. “And daughters need a father to champion them, spoil them. Love them.”

  They had arrived in the bright refreshment room and Fanny’s mouth watered at the prospect of lobster patties. Spying a small table unoccupied by any save an older lady finishing a glass of ratafia, Fanny nodded to it. “Shall we sit here?”

  “Excellent, my dear. I shall return shortly.” Matthew carried himself off to the sideboard and was soon busily filling their plates.

  Fanny settled herself and smiled at the lady who had finally set her glass down. “Good evening, Lady Hermione. I did not realize you were in Brighton. I have been here these three weeks and have not met you a’tall.”

  “Good evening, Lady Stephen Tarkington, is it not?” The older woman’s head trembled, making the plume on her bejeweled headpiece flutter. “I had heard you were in Town from Lady Marchant, but sad to say I get out rarely these days. I am here now only because it is Sarah’s entertainment. She’s my cousin, though more like a sister to me. No more gadding for me. There’s a pity. I come to Brighton in the summer for the waters.”

  “To drink them, my lady?”

  The older woman drew herself up in her chair. “Indeed not. To be dipped in them, of course.”

  The image of Lady Hermione Rochester, clad in bathing dress or, even worse, au naturel, being dipped in the ocean behind a bathing machine struck an unnerving chord in Fanny. Unsure whether the image amused or horrified her, Fanny gave a lukewarm smile and prayed for Matthew to return before Lady Hermione could elaborate further.

  “Have you availed yourself of the seawater, my dear? Most refreshing. It is an experience you will not forget.” The woman’s small dark eyes seemed to stare straight into Fanny’s soul, as if searching for some confession.

  Could the woman know something about her meeting with Matthew in the bathing machine? No, that must simply be her guilty conscience. Casting her gaze down, Fanny suddenly worried with the way her shawl covered her shoulders. “I . . . um, well, I did go out once.”

  “Pah.” Lady Hermione pursed her lips. “You’d best go every day, if you value your health. Do not allow the coldness of the water to deter you. If you steel yourself . . .”

  Desperate, Fanny looked toward the serving table. What was taking Matthew so long? She caught his gaze and smiled in relief as he turned toward her, a full plate in each hand.

  “Ah, but I see where your attention lies. Very good, my dear.” The sudden approving gleam in Lady Hermione’s eyes took Fanny aback. “Lord Lathbury is a very eligible parti. You will do him credit and he you. Such a handsome couple you make.”

  “I . . . um . . .” Fanny desperately hoped she was not blushing. “Lord Lathbury and I are old friends, my lady. We have been rea
cquainting ourselves after many years apart.” Why didn’t the wretch come and sit down? A glance toward him and she could have screamed in frustration. Matthew had stopped to speak to Lord Daughtry.

  “I wouldn’t wait too long to bring him up to scratch, my dear.” Lady Hermione shook her head and rumbled to her feet. “Men don’t like to wait. If you dangle them along overlong they will lose interest and stray. Mark my words: strike while the iron is hot!” The elderly woman stabbed her finger in the air with that pronouncement. Then she leaned toward Fanny. “Be good for you to get out of Theale’s house too. The man’s heading into his dotage according to my granddaughter.”

  “Your granddaughter knows the marquess?” That was a bag of moonshine.

  “She’s married to his heir.” Lady Hermione sniffed and peered down at Fanny, a look of sour lemons about her mouth.

  Taken aback, Fanny’s hand went to her throat. “You are Lady Craighaven’s grandmother?”

  “Why would that surprise you? She must have at least two grandmothers. I happen to be one. So mark my words, young lady.” With a final sharp nod of her aigrette feather, she ambled off toward the card room. God help whoever the Fates decreed to be her partner.

  “I remembered that you particularly liked the lobster patties, so I made sure to give you several,” Matthew said, placing a plate and utensils before her.

  “What took you so long?” she hissed, feeling her face with her hands. As she suspected, her cheeks were hot as a flame.

  Matthew peered at her, a concerned look on his face as he deposited his own plate on the table. “What is wrong? Has something happened?”

  “Lady Hermione just interrogated me as though she were a Bow Street Runner.” Relaxing her shoulders, Fanny picked up her fork, determined to enjoy the patties, which were indeed a favorite of hers.

  “Did she?” Matthew chuckled, the wretch. “What about?”