Merry Widows 02: Just One Of Those Flings

by Candice Hern

  Thayne shouldered his way through the crowd, making such a determined progress toward her that people stood aside and let him pass. She seemed to sense his approach and looked his way. Her eyes widened slightly. He held her gaze, willing her to recognize him, to acknowledge him. But instead she flushed and turned away.

  Perhaps his urgency had shown too well in his eyes. He had frightened her. She moved closer to a man standing nearby, who smiled at her and took her arm. She clung to it like a lifeline. It seemed his Artemis was indeed a married women, and she did not wish to acknowledge what had passed between her and Thayne that night in the garden.

  Damn. He had suspected that might be the case when she'd bolted so quickly and refused to give her name. She'd been ashamed and even a bit fearful, despite having minutes before melted in his arms. The masquerade had allowed her to be bold and she had ultimately done something rash. As he watched her, he could imagine how out of character the sexual encounter had been for her. There was a demure air about her, almost a shyness, as she clung to the man who must be her husband. She would not want Thayne to approach her, to acknowledge, even with a look, what had happened between them.

  Bloody hell.

  Disappointment slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave. He had been determined to find his huntress and entice her into a love affair. He could see now that it would never happen. She would not allow it. She would not even speak to him.

  Thayne had come to a halt in his progress and Burnett almost crashed up against him before he realized it. "What is it?" he asked. "Why have we ... ? Ah. I see. Bad luck, old man. Married to Vernon, is she?"

  Lord Vernon? Dear God.

  "Well, perhaps she would be interested in a discreet bit of dalliance," Burnett said, grinning. "My father is well acquainted with Vernon and I've met him a time or two. Do you know him? If not, I could introduce you. Then you'd have an excuse to speak with Lady Vernon."

  "Good God, no. Damn and blast. Let's move on. Let's get out of here."

  It seemed that all the possible bad situations he'd imagined had come to pass. She was worse than merely married. She was married to an important minister in Lord Liverpool's cabinet. Thayne would never dare to dally with the wife of such a man. He could hardly believe he'd already done so. God help him if Vernon ever found out, though it appeared his wife would never let on. She would not want her formidable husband to know she frolicked in dark gardens with masked strangers.

  Even worse, Lord Vernon had Liverpool's ear. If Thayne ever hoped for a ministry post of his own, and he did, he could not afford to have Vernon speak against him to the prime minister.

  Thayne turned and walked away, his disappointment now overshadowed with relief. It had been a very near thing. He might have been seen to importune Lady Vernon and lose all chance at a political career. It was unfortunate that he could no longer dream of a love affair with his huntress. But there was nothing for it. Their one mad moment together would simply be a sweet memory, never to be repeated.

  "Ah, there is Miss Thirkill," Burnett said. "She has seen us. You know what they say, Thayne. One door closes and another opens. Forget about Lady Vernon. The prettiest girl in the room is smiling at you."

  Burnett was right. Thayne had no time to pine over the loss of a lover. He had to woo a wife.

  Miss Thirkill, however, did not need wooing. Radiant in shades of pink, she was surrounded by a group of young men who might have been admirers, or simply other guests conveniently crushed into her vicinity. She gifted Thayne with her brightest smile as he approached. He glanced to her side to see Lady Somerfield. She was even more attractive in evening wear, fashionably dressed in a shade of deep green that set off her beautiful hair. She smiled, too, but there was a hint of challenge in it. Had she sensed his attraction to her that afternoon, and was warning him off?

  That awkward stir of heat in his loins flared again at the sight of her. Dammit, he must get those blasted urges under control. Why could he not direct them toward Miss Thirkill? Her beauty dazzled the eye, and yet she awakened not the tiniest twinge of hunger in him. Not like those jolts of raw desire that her aunt caused to shoot through his vitals. He was no doubt regretting the loss of Artemis, but if his traitorous body thought there was a possibility of replacing her with Lady Somerfield, it was dead wrong. How could he, when he was about to pay court to her niece?

  What the devil was the matter with him, lusting after women he couldn't have?

  The fact was, Thayne was not accustomed to being denied what he wanted. But he was generally not foolish enough to want what he could not have. What had happened to him? Had India changed him somehow?

  Perhaps he simply needed a woman. It was time to find someone else to satisfy his urges. And soon.

  "Lord Thayne!" Miss Thirkill snapped open her fan and fluttered it before her face. She raised her voice to be heard above the cacophony of hundreds of other voices. "Is this not a terrible squeeze? We will never be able to have a conversation amidst such a din. What good luck that we were able to speak together earlier today at Doncaster House."

  Clever girl. She made sure those near her would know of their prior acquaintance, and that she had been to his family's home, which hinted at greater intimacy. Thayne had to admire such skillful management of the situation. Miss Thirkill was a force to be reckoned with. No wonder the duchess liked her.

  "I am pleased to see you again, Miss Thirkill. And Lady Somerfield." He sketched a bow to each of them. "You remember Mr. Burnett."

  His friend stepped forward and made his bows. "Ladies. It seems an age since we last met, does it not?"

  Burnett's lopsided grin had won many a female heart during their years abroad. But the single-minded Miss Thirkill was not moved. She ignored Burnett and continued to smile at Thayne as she moved even closer to his side.

  "I do not believe you have met some of my friends," she said, touching his arm ever so briefly with her fan. "Allow me to present them to you, if I may."

  And so Thayne was introduced to several young ladies and even more young gentlemen. It was done with a subtle possessiveness, as though Miss Thirkill wanted to make it clear, particularly to the other ladies, that he belonged to her.

  Amazing. Thayne had spent his entire life in command of everything around him. Except for the bargain with his father eight years ago, he had never allowed anyone to manipulate him or any situation that involved him. He was a man who liked to be in charge. But he'd had no experience of the marriage mart. The female players in this game—young ladies and their mamas alike, or their aunts, not to mention his own mother—had him easily dancing to their tune like a marionette. He had lost all control of the situation in an afternoon.

  And they called women the weaker sex!

  Thayne had a niggling notion to take back that control somehow, to let it be known that he was his own man and would make his own decisions. But when he looked at Miss Thirkill, he thought better of it. In the first place, he was loath to embarrass her publicly in any way. In the second place, he doubted he would find a better bridal candidate on his own, so why not let her—and her aunt and his mother— have their way in this one matter? Once he was married, his bride—whoever she might be—would discover that he would not be so easily manipulated.

  Thayne and Burnett stayed and chatted with the group for several more minutes. To be perfectly honest, Burnett did most of the chatting, charming all the ladies into laughter and wide-eyed interest with brief anecdotes of their travels. With the constant shifting of people through the room, Thayne found himself suddenly at Lady Somerfield's side. A rotund gentleman made his way past and caused her to brush against Thayne.

  And there was that surge of heat again.

  He muttered an apology and stepped away quickly, putting a decorous distance between them.

  Lady Somerfield smiled. "If you insist on apologizing to everyone you bump against, you will have no time for other conversation, my lord. Such accidents are unavoidable in a crush like this."
<
br />   "Undoubtedly," he said.

  "You are a man of few words, are you not, Lord Thayne? Your friend is full of tales of India, and yet you say very little."

  "It is difficult to converse in such a crowd."

  "Indeed. But I still mean to get to know you better, my lord. I shall insist on a lively conversation during my barge party on Thursday."

  He cracked a small smile. "I cannot promise to be lively, Lady Somerfield, but I shall try, once again, to answer all your questions."

  She laughed, and it reminded him of temple bells. And of another woman he could not have. "You no doubt think me an inquisitive old busybody," she said.

  "On the contrary. I do not think you at all old."

  She laughed again. "You are too kind, sir. But I see you do not deny that I am a busybody. It does not matter. I will expect a conversation on Thursday in any case. Do I have your promise?"

  "Of course. I look forward to it." And he found that he did.

  But for the proposed conversation, or for the chance to stand close to her again?

  Beatrice looked about her with the pride of a successful hostess. She could not have been more pleased. The barge was lovely, the river calm, and the weather glorious. It was a perfect day for cruising leisurely down the Thames.

  "What a splendid idea this was, Beatrice." Penelope was one of only two of the Fund trustees, the Merry Widows, who had been able to attend, though they'd all been invited. "Whatever made you think of it?"

  Beatrice gave a little shrug. "I don't know. I wanted to do something different for Emily. We've been to so many breakfasts and garden parties and such, I couldn't bear to host another one myself. When I learned that some of the livery companies rent out their ceremonial barges when they are not in use, it occurred to me to hire one. Isn't it simply gorgeous?"

  The small shallops one could rent from various bargehouses could accommodate no more than six or eight passengers, whereas the ceremonial barges were enormous and could hold as many as fifty. The one Beatrice had hired for the day was all polished wood and gilt, with eighteen liveried oarsmen. It was a magnificent vessel, and she was very proud to have acquired it.

  "It rather makes one feel important to be on such an elegant barge," Penelope said. "Very queenly. I almost feel like waving to the masses as we sail by in such splendor."

  "It definitely outshines every other vessel on the river," Beatrice said. "Even in lesser boats, though, I have always enjoyed river travel. It is rather relaxing, don't you think?"

  "Delightfully so." Wilhelmina, gracefully ensconced on one of the velvet-cushioned benches, held up her glass of champagne and saluted Beatrice. "Kudos to you, my dear."

  Beatrice raised her own glass in acknowledgment and took another sip. She'd paid an exorbitant amount to obtain the French champagne. It was almost certainly smuggled into England, though the wine merchant pretended he'd had several pre-war cases on hand. But Beatrice had had her mind set on champagne and strawberries, and was pleased to have both in abundance. Huge silver bowls of ripe strawberries were placed about the cabin, along with pastries, cheeses, and other fruits, while footmen kept everyone's glasses filled.

  "I know this party is for Emily and her young friends," Wilhelmina said, "but I am pleased you invited a few of us elders."

  "They do make one feel one's age," Beatrice said as she glanced around the cabin, "do they not?"

  "Nonsense," Penelope said. "I wouldn't want to be seventeen again for any amount of money, if such a thing were possible. I'm much more content with my life now."

  "Yes, so am I," Beatrice said.

  "So tell us," Penelope said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Have you had any luck locating your masked lover?"

  "No, and I have stopped looking. I have too much on my mind with Emily to think about secret lovers. Besides, I have become more regretful of that incident and rather prefer to forget it."

  "But I thought you enjoyed it," Penelope said.

  "I did. But it was madness. I should never have done such a thing. It has only served to make me crazy, worrying that some dark-haired gentleman will recognize me and announce to the world what we did together. I prefer to forget it ever happened."

  "Silly woman!" Penelope said. "You should not forget it. You should find the fellow and partake of his lovemaking again. Perhaps you will be more inclined to do so once some young man has taken Emily off your hands."

  "It looks to me as though that might be sooner than later," Wilhelmina said. "Lord Thayne is very attentive, is he not?"

  "If you call that stiff formality of his attentive," Beatrice said. "But Emily seems determined to have him."

  "Who can blame her?" Penelope said. "The man is exceedingly handsome. And a marquess. Every girl's dream, I should say."

  "Emily's dream, to be sure," Beatrice said. "But I must confess I would prefer a man to show a bit more warmth of feeling. Lord Thayne is so reserved with her, so aloof. And he is terribly arrogant and proud. Even a bit intimidating. An aristocrat down to his toes."

  And one who had the unfortunate ability to make her own toes curl up in her slippers when she merely looked at him. That, of course, was the worse problem, but it was her problem, not his or Emily's.

  "Of course he is," Penelope said. "He is a marquess, the heir to a duke. What did you expect?"

  Beatrice shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose I am worried that all his highborn detachment suggests an intractable, severe nature. He might be a difficult, demanding husband. I would not wish that for Emily."

  "You are imagining troubles before you have cause to do so," Wilhelmina said. "Give him a chance. You barely know the gentleman."

  "Actually, I announced to him quite boldly that I wanted to get to know him better. I have been trying to goad any kind of a response from him that is not strictly formal and impersonal."

  "And have you succeeded?" Wilhelmina asked.

  "I have caught a glimpse or two of something beneath that patrician restraint, but only a glimpse. I really do want to get to know him better. For Emily's sake. She is too young to understand that a rigid temperament could make for a less-than-happy marriage."

  "I don't think you have anything to worry about with Emily," Wilhelmina said. "She will use her beauty as a tool to get what she wants from her husband and from life."

  "And what happens when her beauty fades?" Beatrice rose from her chair and shook out her skirts. "I made Lord Thayne promise to have a conversation with me today. It is time I called in that promise. Excuse me, ladies."

  Beatrice made her way carefully to the front of the cabin, threading through groups of chattering young people, both seated and standing. She stopped to speak with each group, ensuring they had all the refreshments they wanted and were enjoying themselves. She was roundly congratulated for a splendid time on the river, which made her feel rather smug with self-satisfaction.

  Lord Thayne stood near Emily, who was smiling and chattering gaily. The charming Mr. Burnett was on her other side; Lord Ealing, Sir Frederick Gilling, and Lord Ushworth also stayed nearby, in hopes, no doubt, that she would favor them with a smile. But Emily's smiles were, Beatrice knew, for one man alone.

  His lordship's demeanor was as formal as ever, his expression inscrutable. He nodded now and then in acknowledgment of something Emily said, and once went so far as to offer a tight-lipped smile. Beatrice wondered what it would take to receive a full-blown smile from the man. She suspected it would suit him better than his usual dour dignity.

  And probably cause her knees to buckle, blast the man.

  She spoke to Emily first. "Are you enjoying the day, my dear? Would you like more strawberries?"

  "Thank you, no, Aunt Beatrice. Everything is wonderful." She looked at Lord Thayne. "Just perfect."

  The girl had hardly left Lord Thayne's side the whole trip. Every gesture, every word, was calculated to let the rest of the party know that Lord Thayne was her property, so to speak. And since this was her party, no one dared to disagree. A matc
h between them seemed so right—the prettiest girl and the most eligible gentleman—that most everyone seemed to accept it as inevitable.

  Thank heaven. Ophelia would be pleased.

  "I'm glad you are having a good time," Beatrice said. "We shall be at Kew shortly and will be able to stretch our legs a bit. I'm sure the gentlemen will enjoy that."

  She turned her attention to Lord Thayne. He gazed out the open-air cabin, through the tall, pillared arches, watching the passing scenery. The entire party had stood at the arches or stepped outside the cabin to admire Fulham Palace as they'd passed, and several other places before that. Since then, the riverscape had been gentle and quiet, with no great houses or other marvels to be seen, and so most of the guests had retired to seats inside the cabin.

  Beatrice moved to stand near Lord Thayne. "There will not be much to see until perhaps Brandenburgh House, which is lovely but not terribly grand. Then Chiswick, of course, shortly before we arrive at Kew."