Much Ado about a Widow (The Widows' Club Book 4)

by Jenna Jaxon

  He’d roust Barnes from whatever he was currently attending to and send him to the galley with instructions to fix a meal of grand proportions. Rob’s mouth watered as he thought of beefsteak, seared quickly so the juices ran freely when cut into. In the past, Barnes had created a marvelous cream sauce for vegetables, rich and filling. Over green beans and carrots it would be splendid. Rounded out with a potato and leek pie, this would be a dinner to savor.

  So why eat alone?

  The voice inside his head whispered seductively. He could invite Lady Georgina to dine with him. Such an invitation was only polite, and he could make sure she had suffered no ill effects from the cold. From that cold embrace that had flamed roaring hot. At least it had to him. He had no idea whether she had felt anything other than discomfort. She’d certainly left hurriedly as soon as Ayers had appeared with the blanket. She might very well have returned to her cabin and retired for the night, thinking nothing further of Rob.

  At that point in his musings he almost abandoned the idea of inviting her to dinner. But he was her host, or kidnapper as she would put it, and as such should make the gesture. He’d speak to Barnes about the dinner, then visit her cabin to ask if she cared to dine with him. Glancing down at his disheveled appearance, he swiftly revised that notion. He’d get one of the men to take her a note. That would give him time to repair his appearance and properly prepare for her company, should she deign to give it. And he truly hoped she would.

  When had life become so fraught with uncertainties? That was easy. Ever since Lady Georgina Kirkpatrick had run into him. Would life ever be the same again? Rob smiled and opened the door. God, he hoped not.

  Chapter Twelve

  The remains of a loaf of fresh bread and crumbles of what had been a hunk of light, white cheese lay on the table between Georgie and Clara. As the dinner hour had approached, with no notion of food forthcoming, Clara had ventured to the galley and returned with what would have to suffice for the evening’s meal. The maid had been complaining ever since. “I’m sure the cook and the rest of them are attending to his lordship, but that’s no reason to let the other passengers starve.”

  Georgie leaned back in her chair, stifling a burp. “Well, I for one am quite sated. Bread and cheese is as good as a feast if one is hungry enough.” She snatched another crumb of the soft, nutty-flavored cheese. “This is delightful. I wish I knew what it was exactly. Something local to St. Just’s home, I assume.” She tossed the piece to Lulu, who snapped it up. “There you are, my girl. We’ll have better rations in the morning.”

  Lulu yipped, then turned around in the corner before lying down, curled into a ball on the piece of toweling Clara had dried before the fire.

  “Well, it’s good enough, I’ll grant you, but a little meat to go with it would not have been amiss.” Clara tore off a wedge of the dark bread and used it to wipe up tiny morsels of the cheese from the plate. “Something to drink would have been even nicer.”

  “If you call for Ayers, I’m sure he will accommodate us.” Georgie stretched and yawned. The combination of the stress of today’s excitement plus the comforting food had left her yearning for her bed. She had half hoped to see St. Just again before retiring, a whim that she understood, though wanted to deny. The man had likely taken to his bed and was fast asleep. She would follow suit shortly.

  The close proximity of those two thoughts brought warmth to her cheeks. She must stop this silliness about Lord St. Just. She’d never given the man a second thought before yesterday. Once she was back on dry land and on her way to Blackham, she would forget all about him in the bustle surrounding her wedding. In the excitement of the day, she’d completely forgotten about Lord Travers, and he was the man she was going to marry. It should be far easier to forget a man she would never see, never speak to, never have contact with again. An inkling, lurking in the back of her mind, however, said she would never forget the Marquess of St. Just, if she lived to be a hundred years old.

  A sharp rap on the door startled her, and brought Clara out of her chair and Lulu to her feet, growling. “Who is that?” the maid whispered to Georgie.

  “If you open the door you’ll find out sooner, I’m sure, Clara.” Georgie tried to act aloof, all the while her heart raced and her blood sang in her veins. It wouldn’t be St. Just, but one of his men come to check on them. Clara could then ask him for some wine, perhaps. Georgie would like a glass of Madeira at the moment.

  With a withering glance at her, Clara opened the door a crack. A low murmur of voices ensued, and Georgie slumped back in her seat, disappointment stealing through her. Fool that she was, she’d hoped again to find St. Just at the door. She hoped Clara secured a full bottle for them. For perhaps the second time in her life, spirits would be required to get through the night.

  The maid shut the door and turned toward Georgie, her eyes mere suspicious slits.

  “Are they bringing the wine?” Georgie held out her hand to Lulu, but the dog settled back on her spot once more. Even Lulu had abandoned her this evening.

  “Yes, Mr. Ayers said they’d be bringing my supper to me shortly, including wine.”

  How exceedingly odd. Georgie raised her eyebrows. “Am I being punished and sent to bed without my supper then?”

  Clara held out a folded piece of paper. “I suspect this will explain everything, my lady.”

  Perplexed, Georgie took the note and unfolded it.

  My dear Lady Georgina,

  May I request the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening? The table will be laid in my cabin at half eight, if that is convenient.

  Yr ob’t servant,

  St. Just

  Post Scriptum—Please do come

  Excitement welled up in her; a rush of delight spread a smile over her lips that she could not deny.

  “Well, I suppose you are not to go hungry after all?”

  “I am to dine with Lord St. Just at half-past eight. Good Lord, what is the time?” Snatching up her jewel case, she hunted through it until she found her watch and breathed a relieved sigh. It was only half-past seven. Time enough to become presentable to the marquess.

  “What gown should I wear, Clara?” The blue she’d worn earlier was out of the question, of course. “I was thinking the green with the lace overlay. You always say it—”

  “Deepens your eyes, yes. It does.” Working swiftly, Clara had removed the nightgown and was rummaging for another pair of stays. “So are you now friends with Lord St. Just? This morning you wanted nothing more than to push him out the door.”

  “At one point I wanted to push him off the ship, but having more or less done that, I find I am more pleased with the marquess now than then. He did rescue Lulu at the very real risk of his life. The least I can do is act cordially toward him.” Stays in place, Georgie ducked her head as the maid drew her gown over her head.

  “You had best not act too cordially toward him. It’s very easy to become overly attracted to gentlemen who do you some heroic service.” Clara sniffed as she tied the gown closed. “I’ve seen such things happen before, my lady. The next thing you know you’ll be looking into his eyes and he’ll be taking you into his arms, and who knows where it will lead.”

  Hastily, Georgie stepped away from Clara. The woman had come much too close to the truth to let her see her face. Instead Georgie bent her head over her jewel box, searching for the emerald earrings she always wore with this particular dress. Clara was likely right about the possibility of mistaking gratitude for a more intimate emotion. However, that would not keep Georgie from dining with the marquess this evening. She was on her guard, and forewarned was forearmed, so they said.

  “What are you looking for, my lady?”

  Hoping her cheeks had sufficiently cooled, Georgie raised her head. “My emerald earrings. I can’t seem to find them.”

  “You mean the ones you already laid out there on the table?” Pointing to the square-cut earrings with the teardrop pearl pendants, Clara shook her head and hand
ed them to Georgie. “You need to keep your wits about you, Lady Georgina. That’s all I’m saying. Your father instructed me to look out for you.”

  “I understand your concern, Clara.” Georgie slid the heavy earrings into her ears. “I promise to return unscathed, although I do hope to enjoy Lord St. Just’s company. He is really quite jovial when he is not trying to pour tea down one’s throat.”

  “Just see that he does not try to do anything else. You are as good as a married woman again, my lady.” The maid nodded her head vigorously as she pulled Georgie’s gloves over her fingers. “Lord Travers is waiting for you, and likely frantic if your father or brother have found out our predicament and passed that information on to him.”

  That was unfortunately true. At the end of her journey lay Lord Travers and a marriage ceremony she’d begun to dread even more deeply. Before this . . . adventure, she’d reconciled herself to marrying the earl, for the sake of her father. Now her sensibilities had shifted, her duty to herself weighing as much as that to the family. If Lord St. Just had affixed his interest on her, that was. This could very well be a bag of moonshine she’d concocted, as Clara had said, after the marquess had been so heroic.

  “I cannot help if Lord Travers is frantic or not. I have no way at present to inform him of my situation, nor do I think it wise to do so. We shall wait and see what happens when we reach Cornwall.” Georgie picked up her best silk shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “In the meantime, I propose to enjoy the company of Lulu’s rescuer. I hope you enjoy your dinner as well, Clara.”

  With an aplomb she was feeling not at all, Georgie swept out of her cabin and up the passageway the few steps to Lord St. Just’s. Even though Clara might be correct Georgie intended to find out for herself if the moonshine had some substance to it this once.

  * * *

  Adjusting his cravat for the sixth time, Rob jumped when the firm knock sounded on the door. Lord, he’d better get himself in hand and quickly. He didn’t want to make a cake of himself in front of Lady Georgina, although hope of avoiding that was waning faster with each second that passed. Straightening himself to his full six foot, two inches calmed him, steadied his hands as he strode to the door, and, forcing what he hoped would be taken for a cheerful smile, opened it.

  The words of welcome he’d meant to say died on his tongue at the sight of Lady Georgina. The woman he’d last seen dripping wet, hair straggling about her shoulders, had been replaced with a vision of loveliness. The pale green gown became her both in color and in its simple style. Her complexion, like cream and roses, seemed to glow in the candlelight while her glorious red hair, again simply done but elegant, framed her beautiful face magnificently.

  Smiling sweetly, she looked at him expectantly for a moment, eyebrows delicately raised.

  Tongue-tied like the fool he’d hoped not to become, Rob could only stare at her, unable to form a single word.

  “Thank you so much, Lord St. Just, for your kind invitation to dine. I had hoped you were not feeling any ill effects from your earlier adventure.” She peered at him closely. “The cold water hasn’t made you lose the power of speech, has it? That would be distinctly inconvenient, especially for a ship’s captain. You couldn’t give orders, you know.”

  Laughter cleared his brain, thank God, and Rob bowed, himself again. “Not at all, Lady Georgina. As you can see, I have that faculty fully in hand. Welcome, and thank you for agreeing to dine with me.” He ushered her into the cabin that had been transformed, as much as possible by two sailors and himself, into an elegant salon. “Would you like some Madeira?”

  “Oh, yes, please. My goodness.” She stepped inside the doorway and stopped. “It’s as bright as day.”

  Ayers and Cartwright had gathered every candle, lamp, and lantern on board—save the ones in the galley, where Barnes insisted he needed light to cook—and set them all about the cabin. The light they gave off did indeed make the room glow as though the sun shone inside.

  “The better to see your beauty, my lady.” Rob closed the door, and she headed toward the table, already laid with the rather plain tableware he kept on the ship. He hated that it wasn’t more elegant, but he’d never seen the need for anything more serviceable on board. As soon as they made landfall, he’d remedy that. Even if he never had cause to use the china and crystal again, he’d be ready to entertain in future.

  “I would have thought it the better to see our dinner.” She chuckled softly and let her shawl slip from her shoulders. “I had no idea you were so well equipped for entertaining, my lord. This looks fit for the Prince Regent himself.”

  “I doubt you’d ever find Prinny on this ship, but I thank you. Will you be seated?” Rob pulled out the chair opposite his, and she lowered herself onto it, her back straight, the sweep of her neck tantalizingly close to him. The sweet smell of roses wafted up from her, intensified by the heat of the candles, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything other than her.

  Wine, he’d offered her wine. He hurried to the sea chest that did double duty as sideboard and poured them both glasses of the deep amber Madeira. This should steady him. “Here you are. I hope you like the vintage. I prefer the smoky and fruity flavors, with just a hint of sweetness.”

  “It sounds delicious.” She sipped, and a smile crossed her lips. “Yes, that is nice. An excellent choice.” Another sip and she put the glass on the table and looked directly at him, her green eyes penetrating him like a knife. “I did want to thank you again, my lord, for saving Lulu. It was a kind and brave thing to do for a woman you scarcely know.”

  Rob relaxed, suddenly very much at ease with Lady Georgina. He sauntered to his chair and sat. “You are welcome, my lady. I admit I had second thoughts about it, but what honorable man could stand by and watch your heart break?”

  She grasped her wine again and looked away. “Lulu means a great deal to me, my lord. The one thing in my father’s house that has some affection for me.”

  “I could tell you were very fond of her.” He sipped his wine, unsure how to proceed. “One thing that decided me was the fear you would jump in after her yourself.”

  That brought the lady’s head up, her eyes wide. She moved restlessly in her chair. “I confess, I did think of it. But I cannot swim, and it would have done neither of us any good to have both of us drown.”

  “Ah.” He’d been right about her desperation. And was grateful she’d not acted on it, or the day might have gone quite differently.

  “Was that why you called me by my first name?” Her frank stare held no censure, just simple curiosity.

  Still, he ducked his head. “Umm, well, yes.” He was doing this badly, damn it. “I thought if I called you by your name perhaps it would startle you enough to stop you from going over the side. And it was much quicker to say when time was of the essence.” Steeling himself, he looked her in the face, ready for a dressing down of epic proportions.

  To his astonishment, she beamed at him. “How clever of you. It did make me pause, long enough to realize I couldn’t help her.”

  “I am glad then that I did so, but I assure you, I will not do so again, Lady Georgina. I would not be so familiar with you without your permission.”

  “But you have it, my lord. After what you did, I would be honored for you to call me Georgina, or really Georgie.” She smiled a bright, charming smile that would captivate a hermit. “That is what all my friends call me.”

  Almost speechless again at this unexpected boon, Rob cleared his throat and sat straighter in his chair. “If I am considered one of those lucky few, my lady, I will be honored to address you as such.” He took a sip of the wine and charged forward. “I would be honored also if you would call me Rob. It’s short for Robin, which I have never liked, but is apparently the name that has to be continued in the Kerr family by some sort of royal decree having to do with the creation of the marquessate in 1622. All firstborn sons must bear it, I fear.”

  Her eyes lit up, and she laughed. “I wil
l be delighted to call you Rob, although I think Robin a perfectly fine name.”

  “You wouldn’t if even your friends made fun of you at various points in your life about being Robin Hood.”

  “Oh, dear.” Georgie laughed even harder. “I’m so sorry, Rob. I suppose that was dreadful. Do forgive me.”

  “Of course. Your brother and I became great friends because he was one of the few chaps I met at school who didn’t mention that at all.” Brack had been a very good friend indeed. Rob only hoped running away with his sister didn’t put an end to that friendship. When he finally met with Brack, at St. Just in a week or so, he’d explain why it had seemed the best plan to take Georgie with him.

  Gazing at the beautiful woman across the table, surrounded by candlelight, with the memory of their encounter on the deck so fresh he could still feel her pressed up against him, he feared he might end up having to explain more to Brack than just absconding with his sister.

  The door opened, and dinner arrived in a stream of steaming dishes carried by Barnes, Ayers, and Chapman. They quickly laid them on the table, Barnes arranging each one just so, before bowing and leaving, shooting Rob furtive glances as though they expected he would devour the lady along with the food. Did he actually look as obvious as that? Lord, he hoped not. Not that he had any intention of ravishing the lady, though the experience would be magnificent if it occurred.

  Enough. He rose and served Georgie some of the beef and vegetables before his imagination ran completely away with him.

  Over dinner they chatted amicably about several different subjects, nothing even close to hinting about that interlude on deck. Perhaps she hadn’t experienced the same soul-stirring attraction to him as he had to her. But she should have felt something, shouldn’t she? A worry guarded behind her eyes made him hope so.