Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (9 page)

Lord Charrington was proposing marriage to an inconsolable widow, and she wasn't that. But she was certainly turned off romantic nonsense for life. She assured herself that to accept would be honest enough.

She stacked the last of the ironing, and rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. She should go to bed. Apart from anything else she couldn't afford to be burning candles like this.

If she married Lord Charrington, there'd be candles to spare forever. Wax candles instead of tallow. And servants, and new clothes, and schools, and entertainments, and horses. And no fear of the workhouse.

How could she possibly say no?

She went up to bed prepared to accept Lord Charrington's proposal, then spent a fretful, sleepless night changing her mind a dozen, a score, of times.

* * *

The next day, Judith was hard-pressed not to snap at the children for no reason at all. In fact, with impeccable instinct, they faded into the background and neither so much as raised the subject of Lord Charrington, or Hartwell, or riding.

This strengthened her determination to accept the earl's offer. Both her children clearly wanted it so. Weren't children supposed to have an instinct about people?

In fact, she was a little doubtful about that. Children were creatures of the moment, and these children had been bribed with lemonade, cakes, and horses.

In the end she lost patience with their quiet expectation and sent them off to glean any remaining rose hips in the hedgerows. If they didn't become part of the aristocracy they would need the healthy tonic in the winter. That told her she still had doubts, and she couldn't afford doubts. For once in her life she had to be hard and firm and, as he had said, grasp opportunity.

It wouldn't be melodramatic to say it was a matter of life and death.

She settled to wait, working on a pair of slippers for Rosie's Christmas gift.

When the knock came at the door it felt like a welcome end to a period of torture. She should have given him his answer yesterday. Any notion of choice had been illusory.

It was a chilly day, and he was dressed in a beautifully tailored greatcoat, a glossy beaver, and supple leather gloves. He looked more handsome, more substantial, more polished even than before. Though he was not a big man, his presence seemed to fill her small front room, and the notion of the marriage became once more absurd.

She looked rather helplessly at her two shabby chairs. "Please be seated, my lord. Would you like some tea?"

He smiled quizzically."Delaying still? Mrs. Rossiter, please give me your answer, or perhaps
I
will have a fit of the vapors."

She turned away. "You sound as if this is important to you, whereas I know you could find a woman to marry you under any hedgerow."

His tone was amused. "I assure you, I would never consider marrying a woman I found under a hedgerow."

He let the silence run and in the end she had to turn back to face him.

"Mrs. Rossiter," he said, "the whole point of this marriage is to avoid sentimental flummery, but I can say with complete honesty that I want you to be my wife. In fact, you are the only woman I have ever encountered whom I have wished to make my wife."

He seemed so sincere.

"Do you promise never to write odes to my eyes?" Now why on earth had she asked anything so ridiculous?

Indeed a spark of laughter lit his eyes, and he placed his hand on his heart. "On my honor as an English gentleman."

She was smiling at him, enjoying the twinkle in his eyes. The words escaped without her conscious volition. "Very well then."

He smiled. It was a shining smile, and it startled her that she could cause it even in a simple matter of practicality. He put his hat and gloves on the table, and shrugged out of his coat to lay it on a chair. He came over and placed a finger under her chin. She realized he was going to kiss her.

She swung away. "Oh don't..."

Then she looked back, knowing that had been singularly foolish.

He was frowning slightly. "If this is to go any further, ma'am, you must come here and be kissed."

"We are still virtual strangers, my lord."

"Even so."

Judith had taken the impression that he was young and over-civilized, unlikely to assert his will. She was learning her error. She remembered he was a veteran of the wars. Her doubts resurfaced but she brutally shoved them down. A betrothal kiss was a silly matter upon which to balk. She slowly returned to stand in front of him.

He took her hands in a firm, warm grasp, capturing her with those intense eyes. "I understand that you loved your husband dearly, ma'am, and I don't expect to supplant him in your heart. In fact his hold on your affections is one of your greatest recommendations. But I expect you to be able to accept my kisses and my attentions in bed without shrinking. If you cannot do that, then tell me now."

There was always a price to pay, but marital duties would not be an unbearable burden. She just didn't much like to be kissed on the lips. It was such a sloppy business.

"I will be happy to do my duty," she said.

He nodded, though a brow quirked slightly at her tone. "There is another condition of which I should have told you yesterday. If we are to be married, I insist that you leave off mourning entirely."

Judith thought how strange, and pleasant, it would be to be out of black, then remembered she must not let that pleasure show. He was offering for the inconsolable widow.

"Very well," she said with just a trace of reluctance, then added frankly, "but you will have to pay for my new wardrobe."

He stared at her. "Do you mean you are in black because you cannot afford new clothes?"

"No," she lied quickly. "I could not have borne to wear colors. But I understand now that you will wish it. I merely point out that I have nothing else, and if you wish me to be in colors you must provide them."

His expression lightened. "It will be my pleasure to do so." He stepped back slightly and studied her. "Blue, deep rose, warm browns, peach..."

His frankly roaming eyes were flustering her. "Are you going to dictate my wardrobe, my lord?"

"Great ladies have begged for my advice, Mrs. Rossiter."

He was dangerous in a funning mood. She raised her chin. "I think you should apply your mind to more important matters, my lord."

"Slavery and the national debt, no doubt." He released a plaintive, and insincere, sigh. "Very well. I leave fashion to you. But no black, beige, gray, or violet I forbid it."

It was ridiculous to have this young man forbidding her anything, even in jest, but she sensed that he could enforce his will. What on earth was she letting herself in for? She waited tensely for his kiss, but he hesitated thoughtfully then drew her toward a chair. He sat and pulled her onto his lap.

"My lord! What are you doing?"

"Forgive me for being forceful," he said while holding her with quite remarkable strength, "but I need to be sure we are physically compatible."

With a gasp Judith braced her hands on his chest "If you think for one moment that I... that we..."

He relaxed his hold and laid a hand over her lips, laughter in his eyes. "Of course not. In broad daylight in your parlor? You could have avoided all this, you know, by accepting a decorous betrothal kiss." He captured her hands so she could not push away, and turned serious. "You see, ma'am, despite your best intentions, you may not be able to overcome a natural reluctance to be intimate with a man other than your first husband. That would be fair neither to you, nor to me."

Judith wondered just what he did intend, and what she should do about it. She didn't like to be sitting on his knee like this. In his fondest moods, Sebastian had taken her on his knee in this very chair, calling her his angel. In the first years she had loved it, but then later it had become ridiculous, and ridiculous was what she remembered.

"It would help," he said dryly, "if you would relax a little, and not sit like an apprehensive child on a surly great-uncle's knee."

She thought perhaps she saw a way out of this situation. She composed herself piously. "My husband used to hold me like this in this very chair," she told him, and glanced soulfully at the portrait hanging over the mantel.

He followed her eyes and studied the picture. Judith wished she hadn't drawn his attention to it. It showed Sebastian at his most absurd. He was dressed "poetically" in a loose lilac dressing robe, with a soft cravat knotted at his neck, and his hair in its best curls. He held a Judith Rossiter rose in his left hand and a quill in his right as he stared into the distance seeking inspiration.

She looked at manly, vital Lord Charrington, wondering if he would withdraw his offer on the spot.

He met her eyes with a flicker of naughty humor that startled her. "You are uncomfortable to be watched by him? Then it will make this an even better test, won't it?" He abruptly moved his supporting arm so she swayed back, and had to go limp or strain her spine. Sebastian had certainly never done that! She felt positively carnal to be sprawled across a man's lap in this manner.

The fingers of his left hand curled around her neck to play gently there, but she was perfectly aware that they could also hold her down. His right hand came to stroke the side of her face. "Judith," he said softy, using her name for the first time. "Judith, my wife to be, within weeks we will be naked in a bed. Can you welcome me?"

Naked!
She felt herself go stiff. She and Sebastian had never disrobed.
Never.
But she forced herself to relax. She had come too far to retreat. She reminded herself of all the advantages there would be for the children. "Willingly," she lied.

He looked understandably dubious. "Then call me Leander."

"Leander," she muttered, studying the pearl pin in his crisp cravat.

He turned her head up to his. "
I
am more interesting than my clothing, as you will find."

Judith knew she had colored at this blatant reference to bodies, but hoped it didn't look as if she were afraid. Nor was she precisely afraid. She would prefer that their marital duties were performed in the manner to which she was accustomed, but if he wanted her clothes off that was no reason to balk.

She remembered his remark about her dancing naked before the fire and wondered if he'd been serious. Even that would not be too high a price to pay.

Somewhat hesitantly, she raised a hand and touched his cheek.

He relaxed and turned to kiss that hand. Then he frowned at its roughened, reddened state. "We will have to give this poor member some loving care." Holding her eyes, he pressed a kiss into her palm.

Nothing like that had ever happened to Judith before, and she found she was well and truly relaxed in his arms, as limp as a rag. She gasped as his moist, warm tongue tickled her, tracing up from palm to fingertip. Goodness gracious! It must be his European upbringing. Everyone knew they were a strange lot abroad.

He placed her hand against his heart, and raised her slightly to put his lips to hers. They were not puffy and moist, but dry and firm. The taste of him was not unpleasant. Unlike Sebastian, his teeth must still be good. She just lay there in a daze, allowing him to do as he willed.

Then she realized his other hand had released hers in order to touch her breast. She tried to gasp a protest, and his tongue invaded quickly then retreated. Returned, then tickled her lips. It was all strange but Judith recognized wickedness. Vague whispered scandals of the goings-on in London came to mind, and even the ancient stories of the Hell Fire Club.

As she had been warned as a child, however, wickedness was not without its attractions. Judith felt the power of something...

She knew she should close her mouth and clench her teeth tight, but with a clever mouth on hers and a hand teasing her breast, she was trapped in a surge of hot, inexplicable sensations. She closed her eyes and let the feelings take her. When he drew back she kept her eyes closed, afraid of what they might reveal to him.

That she was shocked? That was certainly true.

That she had wanton impulses? That was true, too, but he had no one to blame but himself for discovering it.

That she was afraid of this difference, this newness? He must never know that or he might withdraw his offer.

She was set on her feet and only then did she open her eyes to find the room unsteady around her. "My goodness."

"My sentiments entirely."

She looked up, startled, to see he was both flushed and amused. "I promise not to challenge you again until we are married, Judith, but I am satisfied that we are compatible. Are you?"

Judith wasn't sure , but she was determined on this marriage. She cleared her throat. "Er... entirely."

"I thought so."

She flashed him another wary glance. "You still wish to marry me, my lord?"

"Most definitely." He shrugged on his coat. "Will we have banns read, or would you prefer a license?"

"Banns," she said. With a license they could be married in days and she needed time.

"In three weeks then," he said.

"Three weeks," she repeated numbly. "That... er... does not give much time to notify people. Will you not want to invite anyone?"