How to Woo a Widow (2 page)

“He was handsome, I suppose,” Tony admitted with a frown. “It is grossly unfair. The good-looking ones are forever beguiling the cleverest ladies.”

“Which you should know from personal experience,” she quipped, nudging his shoulder with her own. “You have grown up splendidly, you know. I am not sure how I recognized you with those sensible shirt points. Are they not supposed to restrict all movement of your neck?”

Remembering how proud he’d been of the ridiculously high collars he’d worn in his youth, Tony threw back his head and laughed. “They were abominable, were they not?”

“There.” Portia had turned to look fully at him. “I had thought perhaps your smile had been wounded in the war as well. It was merely hiding, I think.”

“Which is precisely what you must be doing here, in the shadows of Vauxhall’s dark walk.”

“How do you know I am not keeping an assignation?” Her voice was low, sending a frisson of lust through him even as he felt a jolt of anger at the thought of her with another man.

“Have I kept you from meeting some secret lover?” Tony kept his tone cool, though he waited with his heart in his throat for the answer. If she were trysting with someone else he would have to leave her to it. No matter how possessive he felt about her. All these years apart and it had only taken a few minutes to fall back into his old patterns.

Instead of answering, however, Portia merely smiled. “If I were, you’d surely have frightened him off by now. How fierce you look, Tony. If I didn’t know better I’d think you still wanted me for yourself.”

Chapter
Two

What a foolish thing for her to say. Portia fumed at herself. She was in his presence for the first time in years and what did she do but remind him of his humiliation at her hands? Had she but known it at the time, Tony’s had been the better offer.

She felt his gaze intensify, and like a rabbit trapped in the gaze of a hawk she froze. Her heart raced and for the breath of a moment she wondered what it would be like to have those sinfully sensuous lips pressed against her own.

He had grown into a breathtakingly beautiful man. He had always been attractive, of course. The slender, aquiline nose, the high cheekbones, the clear green eyes fringed with soot-black lashes—they were the same features she remembered from before. But there was a solidity to his athletic frame now. Whereas he’d been a slender young man, he was now hard and lean, his perfectly tailored coat and breeches molding his muscular body to perfection.

“Perhaps I do want you for myself,” Tony said softly. “Would your answer still be the same?”

“I cannot say,” she responded honestly. “I haven’t seen you in years. Perhaps you have become a scandalous rake.” She waved a hand in the air to imply more.

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating the fine hairs on the back of her neck. “Perhaps I have. Would that frighten you?” As he leaned closer, Portia casually unfurled her fan and waved it before her face, its breeze cool on her cheeks as she tried not to let his words affect her.

“I should hardly think so,” she exhaled, her voice not quite as steady as she wished it to be. Perhaps he had become a rake, she thought. The idea should have frightened her, but instead it sent a spark of excitement coursing through her body. “It is difficult to be frightened of someone you’ve seen in short coats, you know,” she said, trying through her words to replace some invisible barrier between them. But it was too late for that.

“I’m not in short coats now, Portia.” As if to emphasize his very adult, very male presence, he stood, and pulled her up with him, towering over her small frame. They stood close enough that she inhaled the scent of him, something clean and woodsy, mixed with a note of something all his own. As he bent his head to her ear she felt the whisper of his breath on her cheek.

“Shall I show you that I’m all grown up?”

And before she could protest, before she could even consider resisting, she found herself pressed tightly against the solid warmth of him. Felt his arousal hard and strong against her belly. There was no time to think, only to feel. His lips came down on hers in a surprisingly gentle caress. Softly, oh so softly, he covered her mouth. Tasted. Tested. Pressed his advantage, then finding her willing, took. Portia opened to him, took his tongue into her mouth and sucked lightly. Followed his lead in a sweet, carnal kiss that mimicked the joining of bodies they both knew so well.

William had been a lusty lover. Never much caring for her pleasure, in the way of handsome men he’d relied on his looks to carry him through. It was enough that he offered his beautiful body to a woman without having to work toward her fulfillment as well. Portia had known instinctively that William was selfish, though she had no one to compare him with. She’d known it every time he reached completion, panting over her, calling her his “good girl” while she lay there feeling the disappointment of the unfulfilled.

Now, with only a kiss between them, she knew with that same instinct that Tony was different. Felt that difference in every caress.

There was something compelling, utterly overwhelming, about the gentle strength with which he caressed her mouth. The way he demanded entrance even as he waited for her to join with him in this fiery dance. He was sure without brutality, gentle without meekness. It was a partnership he asked for with his lips. An invitation she couldn’t refuse.

She slid her hands up the front of him, savoring his warmth through the superfine of his coat. Felt the broadness of his chest, his shoulders, as she reached up to link her hands around his neck. Every thrust of his tongue sent a wave of heat and longing through her. His every caress stoked the fire that threatened to consume her.

I want, her body seemed to say. I want. And as if she’d said the words aloud, he gave. His oh so large, and oh so firm hand reached up and slipped the shoulder of her gown down exposing one aching breast to the cool night air. But it wasn’t cool for long. Breaking their kiss, he brought his lips down. Over her chin, her neck, his mouth moved ever closer to the peak that strained toward his hot kiss.

She whimpered as his mouth closed over the darkened skin of her budded flesh, then gasped as he closed his lips over her.

“God,” she exhaled. Though surely it was a pagan who roused such wicked sensations.

His hand crept up to lower the other side of her gown and she reached up to help him. Aching to feel his lips on her again.

“I should have known you’d find a willing wench, Leighton!”

It took but a moment for the voice to slice through the fog of passion enveloping Tony’s brain.

Dammit!

He felt her stiffen against him. Immediately missed the feel of her body pressed against him when she drew away and turned her back so that the interloper would not see her dishabille.

“For God’s sake, Noakes,” Tony bit out over his shoulder. “Lower your voice.” He reached up to straighten his cravat, which was in a sorry state now.

He wanted to assist Portia with her gown, but sensed she would not welcome his interference. Already he felt the bonds that had wound them together snapping beneath the weight of reality. But he did step in front of her to shield her from Noakes’ curious gaze.

“Sorry, old chap,” Noakes said in a stage whisper that would have been funny if it weren’t so damned annoying. “I thought I’d best warn you that I saw your mama headed this way.” He craned his neck to get a better look at Portia prompting Tony to offer him a hand gesture that suggested his friend attempt the anatomically impossible.

Noakes being Noakes, simply shrugged.

“What the devil is Mama doing on the dark walk anyway?”

“She’s got some schoolroom chit in tow. I suspect she’s got a plan.”

“Always does,” Tony returned. And seeing his friend was oblivious as always, he added, “Could you perhaps give us a moment?”

But as the other man turned to leave, Tony spied his mother striding purposefully toward him, a blushing young lady on her arm

“Ahh, Anthony,” Lady Leighton trilled. “There you are! I have someone here I’d like you to meet.”

He heard a noise of frustration just behind him. There was no way for Portia to make her escape because they’d been in a sort of antechamber of shrubbery, which at present seemed as busy as the market at Covent Garden. Fortunately, a glance behind him showed that Portia had righted her gown.

“But of course, Mama,” he ground out. “Any friend of yours…” He broke off at the jab of Portia’s finger in his ribs. “I mean, that is to say…perhaps you can take her back to the box. I’ll be along in a moment.”

Lady Leighton paused. “Anthony, who is that behind you?”

“No one, Mama.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Anthony. It is plain to me that someone is standing behind you. Introduce us please.”

Deciding there was little he could do to spare Portia further embarrassment, Tony gave her an apologetic look before allowing her to step forward.

“Mama, perhaps you will remember Mrs. Daventry? Sister of my school friend James Bascombe?”

His mother’s lips tightened. She’d not been over-fond of Bascombe, he knew, but surely she could find no fault with the man’s sister. “Ah yes, Mrs. Daventry,” Lady Leighton said, her smile projecting delight while her eyes transmitted distrust. “Imagine seeing you here.” Her words suggested that Mrs. Daventry likely spent a great deal of time on the dark walk.

But if she understood the older lady’s jab, Portia gave no sign of it, but sank into a polite curtsy. “How do you do, Lady Leighton?”

“Very well, I thank you,” Lady Leighton returned. “I’m sure you will excuse us, Mrs. Daventry, for I’ve brought Miss Milling to meet my son.” Her words were a dismissal, of course. And Lady Leighton’s decision not to introduce Mrs. Daventry to her young protégée spoke volumes.

“Mama,” Tony interjected. “I do not think…”

“No, Lord Leighton,” Portia said, her hand hovering over his sleeve as if she restrained herself from touching him. “I must get back to my party. Perhaps Mr. Noakes will escort me back to the pavilion?”

“By all means, Mrs. Daventry.” Noakes, damn him, looked pleased at the prospect.

Tony ground his teeth together as Portia took his friend’s proffered arm and they walked back toward the well-lighted paths.

“Dash it all, Mama,” Tony tried and failed to keep the exasperation from his voice.

“Oh do not bark at me, Leighton,” she returned, not chastened in the least. “You will embarrass poor Miss Milling.”

He bit back a blistering retort. It would do no good to unleash his wrath on her as if she were an errant soldier. His mother was intractable at the best of times and at the worst of times? Well, she certainly would not take kindly to a dressing down before a chit just out of the schoolroom. Besides it wasn’t Miss Milling’s fault his mother had decided to parade her before him like a prize cow at the county fair.

And so Anthony exchanged pleasantries with the debutante, his mother following along behind, as they made their way back to their private box. Portia was, as he’d expected, nowhere to be found. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to track her down tomorrow. And when he found her? Well, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

But with any luck there would not be an abundance of talk.

Chapter
Three

“Shall I fetch you some lemonade, ma’am?”

Lord Tretham, a foppish young man who had been at school with her brother James, led Portia to the edge of the dance floor at Almack’s. Despite having his marriage proposals rejected by her three times already this season, Tretham still made a point of hovering over her whenever they attending the same social functions. Which, given the insular nature of most ton activities, was more frequent than she’d have liked. Now, slightly breathless from the vigorous country-dance, she was thirsty. Any refreshment, even the warm lemonade for which the establishment was notorious, would serve. And any errand that saved her from Tretham’s banal conversation was to be encouraged.

“Indeed, thank you. Lemonade would be just the thing.”

When her unwanted suitor had bowed and left her side, she unfurled her ivory-handled fan with a flick of the wrist and put it to use.

It had been a week since the incident at Vauxhall and to her surprise no gossip about her encounter with Lord Leighton had surfaced. Perhaps his friend Noakes was more trustworthy than he seemed, she mused. She knew that Lady Leighton would shift the stars in the firmament to keep her son’s name and Portia’s from entangling. And even the young lady she’d had in tow had seemed too green to know what mischief could be got up to in the shadows of the dark walk.

Just as well, she decided. She’d been mad to even speak to Tony, much less fall into his arms like a shameless wanton. She’d watched the boy grow up for heaven’s sake. Even the thought of it should bring her to the blush. But, he must have breathed life into a long dormant side of her personality, for instead of shame at her behavior with him in the pleasure gardens she felt only exhilaration. It had been a long time since she’d felt man’s touch, and if she were honest with herself, she’d found him nearly impossible to resist.

She fanned herself as she remembered the feel of those surprisingly soft lips on her neck, her breast.

“Mrs. Daventry.”

Despite the noise of the room, Portia nearly jumped at the sound of the voice behind her.