The Wanton Widow - A Regency Novella (2 page)

On top of everything, he lacked the eloquence he would require to woo a woman like Jane Abrahms. Ever since he was a boy, he had a terrible stutter that he could never quite overcome. The more nervous he was, the worse it got. And Miss Abrahms certainly made him nervous!

About the only thing he could offer her was a good heart. As far as Edward was concerned, Miss Abrahms already had his heart. He fancied himself in love with her, which was a ridiculous notion, since his entire acquaintance with the lady amounted to two awkward encounters and a few exchanged pleasantries.

“Well,” Olly went on, “you do have
one
thing to offer her that the others don't have.”

“And what might that be?” Edward asked, sighing. “The fact that I am a hopeless slowtop?”

“No!” Olly gave his friend a reassuring slap on the shoulder. “You are just as chaste as she is! I'm sure that would have some kind of appeal.”

“D-d-doubtful,” Edward disagreed. “I think women would prefer a man with experience.”

“Maybe.”

“And it isn't as if I could tell her I'm a virgin!” Edward exclaimed. “That is a secret between you and me and... a select few.” And now, his secret was also known by a scowling old matron, whose gaze swiveled in his direction. When he saw her raised eyebrow, he realized he had spoken too loudly.

“Look, old boy, have you even spoken to her since you arrived?!”

“No.” Edward arrived at the assembly rooms over an hour ago, but all he could do was stare at her in silent admiration.

“Then... at the very least, you need a speak to her!”

“Really?” Edward narrowed his eyes at his friend. “A moment ago, you were telling me I should court unicorns! Why should I even bother?”

“You're practically frothing at the mouth for her!” Olly noted. “At the very least, you should indulge yourself in some friendly discourse with the woman of your dreams.”

“I should?”

“Yes, old chap, you should!” Portly Olly gave him a little shove, prodding his friend in the right direction. As he shuffled toward the lady, Edward cast a few desperate glances over his shoulder. He kept looking back at Olly, hoping his friend would offer him some last minute guidance.

He could feel his stomach coiling in knots as he approached. The closer he got, the more beautiful she looked. She was surrounded by at least a half-dozen besotted beaux, each one more aggressive than the next. As he drew near, Edward was wondering how he was supposed to muscle his way in.

“M-m-m-m.” He couldn't get her name out of his mouth.

“So you like to paint, Miss Abrahms?” asked one of her suitors, with whom she was conversing.

“Oh, I do! I have a particular fondness for watercolors,” Jane said. “Last year, my mother and I spent the summer with my uncle in Florence, and I am sure that city is every artist's dream. I got to paint a lovely watercolor of the Ponte Vecchio.”

“Do you often go abroad, Miss Abrahms?” asked another suitor.

“Not often enough, although I do love to travel.” As she spoke, she gave her silk fan a coquettish flutter. “Have you ever been to Italy, Lord Covington?”

“Once, but it was several years ago. I was in Venice, not Florence.”

Edward turned his gaze on Lord Covington, who was likely the embodiment of everything Miss Abrahms was looking for. He was tall, tanned, titled, and had no problem conversing with the lady.

“M-m-m-miss...” Edward thought he would try to address her again, but his tongue was particularly disagreeable at the moment.

“You are also an accomplished pianist, are you not?” asked another admirer. He was a bit short, but he had the most impressive facial hair Edward had ever seen. His mutton chops were dark, groomed, and extended all the way to his chin. Once, Edward had tried to grow a beard, but all he could manage was a tuft of pitiful pubescent fuzz.

“I would hardly say I am
accomplished
, Mr. Beaumont, but I do have some skill on the pianoforte.”

“I would love to hear you play sometime,” said Mr. Beaumont with the mutton chops. “Will you be attending Lady Albreight's musicale by any chance?”

Edward closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and forced her name out of his mouth. “MISS ABRAHMS!”

He shouted her name so loudly, Miss Abrahms had no choice but to look in his direction. “Oh! Mr. Harcourt! How long have you been standing there?”

“I j-j-just arrived,” Edward told her. As he spoke, his lips were tilted by a slight smile. The fact that she remembered his name gave him satisfaction.

“Well, it is a pleasure to see you again.” And just like that, her gaze went back to Mr. Beaumont. “Yes, I do believe I might be at the musicale, but I am not certain I would be confident enough to play. I have never been too comfortable being the center of attention.” Her words were ironic. At the moment, she was surrounded by seven potential suitors. She was certainly the center of attention!

Edward pouted. He had shouted her name, which was likely the height of rudeness. His chance at making a good impression was gone.

“Would you care to dance with me, Miss Abrahms?” asked Lord Covington. He confidently held out his arm, as if certain she would accept.

“I would love to, my lord. Thank you for asking!” When Jane took his proffered arm, Covington led her out to the dance floor. Her other suitors were left behind, sulking, wishing they had been the one to ask her first.

“She's like Aphrodite come to life,” one of her neglected suitors sighed. He and Edward exchanged glances, so Edward gave him a nod of agreement. “Our very own sea foam goddess.”

“And she deserves a better man than Lord Covington!” Mr. Beaumont complained. “The man is a rake!”

With a snort, another man asked, “Aren't you old enough to be her father, Beaumont?”

“No! I am five and thirty! In what world could I possibly be her father, you dastard?!”

Since he had no interest in communing with Jane's other beaux, Edward shuffled a few inches away from them. If their argument was going to get heated, he wanted no part of it. He held his tongue and waited for Jane's return.

When he found her on the dance floor, Edward's eyes swelled. As graceful as she was, she was like the personification of a swan. Every movement of her arms was fluid, as if they were feathers drifting on the air. Her gown swayed around her ankles like a billow in the breeze. He watched her as long as he could, until she disappeared behind a wall of dancers, and he silently lamented the fact that he could no longer see her.

Her absence felt like an eternity. When she finally returned, six gentlemen perked up in an instant.

“You dance so well, Miss Abrahms!” one of her suitors chimed.

“Thank you, Mr. Stevens.”

Though their dance had ended, Lord Covington hovered by her side, as if continuing his claim on her. Edward caught him burying his nose in Jane's hair, inhaling her.

“You put all other ladies to shame!” Mr. Beaumont exclaimed. “There isn't a woman in London who does not pale in comparison to you!”

Jane swatted his arm with her fan, a decidedly flirtatious maneuver. “That's doing it a bit too brown, Mr. Beaumont... but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless.”

Say something!
Edward's conscious was begging him.
Compliment her!

“
M-m-m-miss Abrahms?” The fact that he sputtered her name without shouting at her was a small miracle.

When she turned her eyes on him, he could feel a lump forming in his throat. “Yes, Mr. Harcourt?”

“
You l-l-l-l-ook lovely,” Edward stammered. “You have l-lovely h-hair.”

Behind her, Edward saw one of her suitors snickering at his stutter.

“
Thank you, Mr. Harcourt.”

“
W-w-w-would you...” Edward swallowed hard and tried again. He had to invest every ounce of concentration into every word he said. “Would you like to d-dance with me?”

“
I...” When his question was initially met with hesitation, Edward had to frown. If she accepted, it would surely be out of obligation. “Certainly, Mr. Harcourt. How about the next quadrille?”

“
O-of course!” Edward seized her arm from Lord Covington, who flashed a threatening scowl. As they lined up for the next set, Edward's poor heart was beating out of his chest. It was his first time dancing with her, and nothing in his life made his pulse race quite as headily as this.

Unfortunately, he was so nervous he could hardly concentrate on the steps of the dance, which meant he ended up making a cake of himself. He sauntered across the dance floor like something undead, like his feet were made of lead. And it was a good thing his feet
weren't
made of lead, because he tread on Miss Abrahms' feet.
Three times.

When the steps of the dance brought them in close proximity, he tried to converse with her. But every time he opened his mouth, he couldn't bring himself to speak.

When the dance was over, Edward sputtered, “S-sorry about your f-f-feet, Miss Abrahms.”

“
It is quite alright, Mr. Harcourt,” Jane said. “Now... if you'll excuse me...”

Jane Abrahms couldn't get away fast enough. She ran back to her other suitors as quickly as she could, and she didn't look back.

Chapter Three

Wilomena Worthington was lying naked in his bed, which meant he had to be the luckiest man in the world. Her hair, the color of a raven's wing, was fanned across his pillow. Every inch of her milky white skin was exposed for his perusal. He studied the exquisite curve of her breast, which was topped by a rosy pink nipple. Everything about the moment was perfect, until she had to ask--

“
So, Philip, are you going to marry me or what?”

The widow's question caught him off guard. His jaw hung open for several seconds, dislodged by the ridiculous notion. “Um...
what
?!”

His gobsmacked reaction made her dissolve into a fit of giggles. Willow lifted her pillow and swatted him on the head so hard, a few feathers scattered. “I'm not serious!”

“
You're not?”

“
No! Of course not!” Willow rolled in his direction and started trickling her fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “I knew what I was getting into when I decided to live with you in
sin
.”

The last word of her sentence was so prominently pronounced, it actually made him wince. “It isn't a sin to be in love.”

“
Aww,” Willow cooed. “Are you in love with me?”

“
Perhaps.”

“
Well, as touched as I am, you will have to forgive me if I don't exactly return those sentiments.” When she saw him grimacing, she added, “That's not to say I don't care for you tremendously. If I didn't, I wouldn't be sharing your bed. But I would be a fool if I did not keep my heart guarded. It isn't as if you'll
ever
marry me.”

“
Marriage
again!” Philip groaned. “You've uttered that word two times in the last two minutes. Are you secretly hoping to catch me in parson's mousetrap, minx?”

“
No.” Her answer was resolute. “Rest assured, I have no designs on your freedom, nor do I have any intention of remarrying.
Ever
. Besides, I know what sort of girl you must marry. She will be about eighteen, and as pure as a Christmas snow.”

“
Please, let us change the subject! At the moment, I have no desire to marry
anyone
, chaste or unchaste.”

“
I am certainly
un
chaste,” she added with a grin.

“
Furthermore,” he went on, “I may be nearing thirty, but I still have a few wild oats to sow.”

“
And you are more than welcome to sow them with me.” Willow rolled on top of him, blanketing him with her naked body. She kissed his shoulder, his neck, his nose. She ran her tongue along his earlobe in a way that was most seductive. As soon as she felt his arousal, Willow leapt from the bed and dashed across the room.

“
Get back here, you tease!”

“
Not a chance.” Willow found his beaver hat on a chair, so she placed it on her head. She strutted around the room, as naked as ever, and modeled the hat for him. She kept one hand on her hip, and the other hand on the hat's brim. “Do you like it?”

“
I most certainly do. My hat makes you look quite handsome!”

“
Handsome?!” Willow stopped strutting and whipped the hat from her head. “No woman wants to be
handsome
! Beautiful and pretty and fetching, certainly... but not
handsome
!”

“
Your brows are quite thick, and your bone structure is slightly... masculine,” he observed. “I think handsome is an accurate description.”

“
Grrr!” Willow tossed the hat at him and went to collect her clothes. “You are terrible, Lord Mowbray! You really know how to charm a woman, do you not? Your compliments are practically melting my heart!”

As he watched her shove her legs through her petticoat, Philip grinned. “I am only teasing you, dear. You know you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman. But you left me so painfully aroused, I had to get revenge on you somehow.”

“
So I'm not... masculine?”

“
No!” he laughed. “Not in the least! You are as womanly as a woman could possibly be.” Philip held open his arms, beckoning her back to him. “Come to me.”

She shook her head.

“
Please
,” he insisted. “I want to hold you. I need you in my arms.”

He sounded so sincere, Willow had no choice but to leap on top of him and cover his face in kisses. She was wearing her undergarments now, but that didn't stop his hands from roving over every inch of her. Philip deftly caressed every curve of her body, which had her moaning against his lips.

Willow lifted her head and asked, “Did you really mean it when you said you loved me?”