Leave a Widow Wanting More by Charlie Lane
Chapter 12
Sarah didn’t know which to be more awed by, the hotel she sat in, the array of dishes spread on the table before her, or the man standing next to her. True, Steven’s Hotel was large, fine, and impressive. The food was rich and well put together. But so, too, was her fiancé all these things and more.
Fiancé.
Great Gutenberg.
She’d done it. Without doing anything, really. Novel, that. One little word—yes—had completely changed the course of her entire life.
She listed her usual wants. Work, money, clothes, money, food, money, safety. All these accumulated worries vanished in an instant.
“You are very convenient to have around, my lord.”
Henry looked thoughtfully at the door on the right side of the room. “I hope Miss Smith and Jack are welcoming James to the family properly.” He’d told James to enter a door to the right of the one he’d ushered Sarah into, claiming to need a moment to speak privately with her. He turned from the door and cast her a curious glance. “What do you mean convenient?”
“I woke up cold and hungry and with no sense of what my future held, and now none of those worries are relevant.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Are these your rooms?”
“I pay for several private rooms. A suite comprised of a bedroom, sitting room, and a small dining room. Then a sitting room and bedroom for Miss Smith and her chaperone, Mrs. Limesby, and a bedroom for Jackson.”
“Jackson … your assistant, I suppose.”
“And my nephew.”
His nephew? Why had he not mentioned that before? Perhaps it was of no matter. They’d not had much spare conversational time to discuss the minutia of their daily lives. Why did she feel she knew him so well, then? A fruitless feeling. The presence of Jackson, a hitherto unheard-of nephew reminded her she knew Lord Eaden not at all. Well, then, she’d better find out more and as much as she could as quickly as possible. “And who is Miss Smith?”
“My other assistant.”
“Is she a relation, too?”
“No.”
“Where did you find her?”
“On my ship in the middle of the ocean.”
So spare with details. And when a story like that hinted at so much more. Sarah sighed. “Well, I must admire her, then.”
“Admire her later.” Henry’s fingers wrapped firmly around her upper arms, and he walked her gently into the wall behind her. “Aren’t you impressed with the way I managed to maneuver us into a room alone?”
“I’m more impressed that the room you maneuvered us into is so wonderfully stocked with food. I’m famished.”
“Me too.”
But he didn’t eye the feast on the table; he eyed her. His gaze dropped to her lips. He did, indeed, look hungry. No, starving. “I wanted a moment to continue privately what was instigated and interrupted so publicly earlier.” His hands skimmed up her arms and shoulders until his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck.
Sarah’s hunger vanished, replaced by a new need. Him. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of him the way she would savor the flavor of fresh strawberry; memorized the way his hard arms wrapped like vices around her waist, pulling her closer. His lips touched hers, softly like a gentle breeze or the first rays of the summer sun. No number of Miss Smiths in the world could distract Sarah from the frantic way his kisses made her feel. “Great Gutenberg,” she breathed as his tongue slid across her bottom lip.
His touch skittered across her skin, and Sarah wanted him closer. She hadn’t been this close to a man in years, and now it wasn’t enough. Not near enough. She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him closer, grinding her lips into his and slipping her tongue between his teeth. His hands roamed lower until they bracketed her hips. She pressed her belly against him. He groaned and pressed her to the wall, all the while searing her jaw, her neck, her ear with his lips.
There. He was closer now. Almost close enough. Not quite, though. Sarah ran her hands up his muscled arms and squeezed his rock-like shoulders. Pleasure coursed through her. She’d never touched a man so well built or so strong before. It set off little bells in her stomach and breasts.
His knee parted her skirts and pressed against her aching center.
Had that moan come from her? Great Gutenberg. There were others, most of whom she’d not yet met, just in the other room. She placed her hand on his chest, giving him a gentle push. He removed his knee and lifted his head to look at her, placing his palms flat on the door on either side of her head. They panted into the space between them. They did not touch now, but every inch of her sparked with awareness of him, every inch of her screamed out for him to touch her.
“You’re thinking of James, aren’t you? And Jack and Miss Smith.” His nose dipped, teased the tip of her nose in the lightest of touches.
She nodded. “And Miss Limesby. That was her name, yes?”
“Yes. Zeus.” He dropped one more long, searing kiss to her lips.
Did she have legs? Had she ever had legs? Well, at least the door behind her was smooth as she slid down it.
He caught her and hauled her against him for one final peck on the cheek before he swung her around and into a chair.
“Thank you,” she huffed.
A leer sparkled in his eye. “You’re welcome.”
“Not for the kiss,” she hissed. But, yes, for the kiss. “Inexplicably, my legs have stopped working.” Because of the kiss. “Thank you for the seat.”
Henry bowed. “I have great regard for your legs and look forward to making a more intimate acquaintance with them.” He sat next to her and pulled a plate across the table, then held something up to her lips. “Eat.”
“Bread?”
“Zeus, you’re so hungry, you can’t identify plain food when you see it. Of course, it’s bread. Now eat.”
He was much too high-handed, but the chunk of bread he held to her face made her stomach grumble. She took it and nibbled at it. “Mm.” She tore into it like a starving animal. Politeness be damned.
Henry leaned back and looked over his shoulder at the table behind them. “I had the servants set up a light repast. There’ll be a main course of some sort later.”
“How much later?”
“Now, if you like. Shall I ring for it?”
She chewed her lip. “If everyone else is ready. If not, I can make do with—” She turned around to face the table. And when she finally found words, said, “There’s more than this coming?”
“Of course. There’s six of us, after all. Speaking of, I hear—”
The door opened and two young people entered, followed by James and an older woman. The chaperone?
A tall young man with golden hair and brown eyes so like Henry’s stepped forward. “You’re quite rude, Uncle, leaving young Mr. Pennington to introduce himself. But you’re in luck. I’ve decided not to be cross with you if you introduce me to my future aunt first.”
Henry clasped his hands behind his back. “I had my reasons for rudeness. Jackson, this is Mrs. Sarah Pennington, my fiancée. Sarah, my nephew, Mr. Jackson Cavendish.”
Sarah curtsied. “Lovely to meet you.”
Henry pulled forward the young woman for Sarah’s inspection. “And this is my other assistant, Miss Gwendolyn Smith.”
The girl was one of the most beautiful creatures Sarah had ever seen. All that honey-colored hair and blue eyes. She was a young man’s dream come to life. Except for the pouting. Avoiding Sarah’s welcoming smile, Miss Gwendolyn Smith’s furrowed brow and pinched lips did nothing to sour her beauty. Some girls were like that. And some were not. For most women, pouting created lines and wrinkles, trenches of dissatisfaction in their faces, including Sarah’s own. For other women, however, pouting was almost an improvement in their looks, a defense mechanism that made them lovelier than ever and sure to get their way. Unfair, to be sure. But no use pouting about it, trenches of dissatisfaction and all.
Sarah took a tentative step toward Miss Smith. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m delighted to learn that one of Henry’s assistants is a woman. It’s very forward-thinking of him.”
Henry beamed at her. “I thought you’d approve of that.”
“Just so.” Sarah turned back to Miss Smith. “I, too, am a working woman, or I have been until just recently. I work in a bookshop.”
Miss Smith’s frown melted somewhat, and her head tilted to the side with curiosity. Though she still did not smile.
Encouraging, though. Sarah stepped a fraction closer. “We could exchange work stories.”
Miss Smith seemed to consider it, but then her nose slowly rose into the air, as if pulled to the ceiling on a string. “I would prefer not to just now.” She marched to the table and took a seat.
“Let’s all sit,” Henry said, ushering everyone forward.
Jackson sat next to Miss Smith, and James sat near Sarah.
Henry crossed the room. “I’ll ring for supper.”
James’s mouth fell open. “There’s more?”
Sarah laughed. “James, manners.”
“We don’t even eat this well at Harrow.”
Jackson spread butter over a slab of bread. “You attend Harrow? Nasty place. I left as soon as I could. Apprenticed with Henry instead.”
Oh, no. Sarah could hear James’s thoughts practically whirring. He was getting ideas. Of adventure, of far-off places, of following his soon-to-be-stepfather into deserts, jungles, and foreign cities.
Returning to the table, Henry sat on the other side of Sarah. “You’ll remain at Harrow, James. Jackson’s case was special. His parents had just died. He needed a distraction. If you prefer, we can send you to a different school, but your education is paramount. Besides, your mother will need you in England.”
James sat up straighter, purpose and pride turning him from a slouching boy into an upright almost-man. “Of course, my lord. Naturally.”
Sarah snorted. There was no naturally about it. James had been two breaths away from charting his own ship and sailing into the horizon. How had Lord Eaden done it? He’d curtailed James’s sudden dreams of adventure without actually telling him no. Sarah added that to the list of things she owed him for.
Henry leaned into Sarah. “Wine?”
“Yes, please.” She’d not had a drop since her husband’s death. She sipped and the taste exploded on her tongue, tart and earthy.
“Like it?”
Sarah closed her eyes in pleasure. “Mm-hmm.”
“I like watching you enjoy things. You demonstrate your pleasure with every movement of your body and expression of your face.”
Her eyes shot open. “How embarrassing. I suppose I’ve been too long out of good company.”
“No. I doubt anyone else notices. But I do. I, too, like to savor life.”
James leaned across Sarah, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Jackson says you fought three men single-handedly once. And with no weapon!”
Henry made a grinding noise in his throat. “Jackson exaggerates.”
Sarah took another sip of wine, reveling in the burning slide of the liquid down her throat and quite keen to hear more about Jackson’s exaggerations, but a movement across the table caught her attention. Miss Smith rose and sought out the windows on the other side of the room. Her shoulders were hunched, her head hung low. First pouting, then hostility, now retreat. What ailed the girl? Was it possible … did she …? Had Miss Smith wished to marry her benefactor? The wine burned hotter in Sarah’s gut than it had moments before.
Sarah cleared her throat and placed her fingers on Henry’s shoulder. When he leaned in close, she lowered her voice. “Why do you not marry her? Miss Smith, I mean.”
His face contorted into a look of pure horror. “She’s a—” He looked around, realizing he’d raised his voice. Shaking off the curious glances of the others, he leaned in once more, his whisper a disbelieving hiss. “She is a child. The same age as my daughters!”
Sarah shrugged. “Men twice your age have married women half hers.”
“Not me.” He shuddered.
Of course not him. She wasn’t even sure why she had suggested it. It must be the wine. But she liked knowing that when he left her and traveled abroad it would not be to make love to a young, honey-haired angel. Shame zipped through her stomach. It had been a petty thing to ask him about, a childish thing. But the way Henry sat close to her now, the way he had kissed her against the door, it all stirred something deep inside Sarah that she’d never quite felt before, something primitive and proprietary.
She looked toward Miss Smith again. The young woman seemed so lonely, her pale features and bright hair outlined by the darkening sky outside the window.
Sarah ached to go to her, find out what was the matter, fix it.
No. She’s not worth the trouble.
But what if she was?
Sarah took a large gulp of wine, set down her glass, and followed Miss Smith across the room. She stood silently beside her, observing the passersby in the street. When it became evident that Miss Smith herself would not speak first, Sarah did. “You do not approve of me.”
“I don’t know you. Neither does Lord Eaden.”
Ah. The girl had hit the most absurd aspect of this impending marriage squarely on the head. “I am perfectly cognizant how absurd we are being, Lord Eaden and I.”
Sarah waited but received no reply.
“But consider this.” She would apply logic to the matter. If the girl was at all like her mentor, logic would persevere. “Many couples your age or younger marry without having met one another at all or with very little opportunity to get to know one another. They do so because they are told to do so and have no say in the matter. Perhaps, you are thinking, Lord Eaden and I should know better, being older and wiser. Perhaps we make the same mistake as they, even though we could avoid it, having more power than young couples do.” She paused, weighing each word carefully. “But perhaps we are old enough now to know quicker what decisions suit us best.”
Miss Smith seemed a statue, rigid and still.
“Yesterday, upon meeting Lord Eaden, I thought him an arrogant fellow, best known only through his books.” Sarah gave a little laugh. “Now I know he’s arrogant enough, and too used to getting his own way, but he is also worth knowing outside of his books. In fact, I like the Lord Eaden outside of his books more than the one inside, I think.” She cut her eyes at Miss Smith, hoping for some signal the girl listened. Nothing. Sarah suppressed a sigh. “Yes, it is a perception formed on barely a day’s acquaintance. But I’d like to think I’ve seen enough of the world to know a good person when I meet one.” Sarah paused again, allowing Miss Smith the opportunity to reply should she so wish.
Miss Smith, apparently, did not so wish.
“But it is not my perception of Lord Eden you’re worried about, is it? It’s Lord Eden’s perception of me.”
Finally, the girl moved. Her lips thinned and her arms wrapped tightly about her chest.
Sarah continued once she was sure the girl did not wish to speak. “I think well of you that you are suspicious of me. You do not know me. You are protective of your mentor. He saved you somehow, didn’t he?” What had Henry said about a ship in the middle of an ocean?
No answer.
This one-sided conversation grew tedious. Sarah tapped her foot impatiently. “Tell me. Is Lord Eden often bamboozled? Often an easy mark for tricksters?”
“No!” Gwendolyn exclaimed, breaking the shell of silence she’d built around herself.
“I did not think so,” Sarah said with a smile. “He is wise enough to have survived wilier people than me. I’m afraid I don’t have a single trick up my sleeve unless it’s how to convince an old shop owner to hire me when he would prefer to hire a young man instead. But you know as well as I that’s no trick. It’s more a matter of determination.”
Miss Smith tried and almost failed, to suppress a grin. She listened, then. Thank God.
Sarah leaned closer. “I’ve not known Lord Eden long, but I believe he is a man worth marrying.” His concern for the well-being of others, his gentle leadership, his kiss, his touch. He seemed like a miracle dropped suddenly onto Sarah’s lap, and she had no idea what to do with it other than to accept it exuberantly, almost mindlessly. She turned then, leaned against the windowsill to watch him smiling and laughing with the two boys.
“Well.”
Miss Smith’s single word startled Sarah. She’d begun to think the young girl had taken a vow of silence.
Miss Smith chuckled. “This is hardly the first time this has happened. You’re enamored of him. I’ve seen it a thousand times.” She waved her hand dismissively. “A million. Every woman he meets is enamored of him, but Lord Eden is enamored of only one thing—the hunt. The never-ending search for knowledge. Not even his daughters can keep him still, can hold his heart long enough to hold him.” She shrugged. “Not even me and Jack. Even we don’t have all of him.” She nodded once, determined. “We’ll be back in Egypt by month’s end. A new wife will not change that, no matter how starry-eyed she is.” Miss Smith turned with the precision of a soldier and left Sarah alone while she marched across the room and sank into a chair next to Lord Eaden.
Sarah turned back to the window, trying to control her short staccato gasps, to expand the tightness in her chest. The girl was right. Of course she was. A few hours of kisses and teasing and holding hands had seemed like the beginning of something. And it was, but not the beginning of a romance. She shook her head. What had she, a middle-aged faded spinster, expected? Had she really thought a giant sun of a man could reignite her life into a blazing flame of glory?
Foolish.
He would be gone at month’s end.
Then, she would truly start her new life, one of safety, of security. There would be worry, but at least not the type of worry she was used to. It would be a good life, and if it dimmed in comparison to what she’d felt spark within her at Lord Eaden’s touch mere moments ago …
Ha. Fool. Old fool.
Miss Smith was right to warn her, had done her favor by shattering those illusions. Lord Eaden would leave, and Sarah had best shield herself as closely as possible against the pain that would come when he did.
She felt him first, his huge body warming hers. Then she heard his rough lion’s voice whisper in her ear, “Eat, Sarah. You’re still hungry. I can tell. You look as pale and fragile as a China dish.”
Sarah turned to him, her jaw set firm. She extinguished every spark of energy he ignited in her, imagining them hissing as they fizzled out. “I am no China dish, my lord, but, yes, more food would be nice.” Her smile felt like a tight, polite, practical thing. She allowed him to seat her beside him and fill her plate, and she tried to participate in the conversation. Miss Smith, for the first time, conversed with glee, in loud, boisterous tones. The voices merged into a cacophony as Sarah filled her stomach and had, perhaps, a bit too much wine. When Henry took her hand and raised it to his lips, she startled.
With his other hand, he raised his glass. “To my bride. Tomorrow we wed. A more agreeable arrangement is impossible to imagine.”
Sarah inhaled deeply. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ve a special license.”
“Oh, yes, you did say that.”
“You’ll stay here tonight. You can sleep with Gwen, and James can bunk with Jack.”
Sleep with Miss Smith. Hurrah. But … Sarah shivered, thinking of the thin walls of her lodgings in Westminster.
Henry’s hand engulfed hers under the table. She looked up into his implacable gaze. “Do not go back there tonight. Please. I’ll not sleep a wink for worry if you do.”
Well, she didn’t want to go back anyway, and needing an alert husband on one’s wedding day was as good an excuse as any. She nodded. “I just need to retrieve my belongings.” Meager though they were. “Clothes and such.” She darted a glance across the room where her reticule lay on a table. “I have Gulliver’s with me. It’s truly the only valuable thing I possess.”
“Of course you have it with you.” His voice echoed with admiration. “But not to worry. I’ve already sent a man to pack you up.”
Should she be indignant or impressed? It was hard not to focus on the latter. “My, you do move quickly, my lord.”
“He certainly does,” Gwendolyn muttered. “Both into alliances and out of the country.”
Sarah ignored the girl’s grumble. Gwendolyn was a pain in the side, but she had done Sarah a great favor. She’d reminded her that Sarah’s hold on Henry was only temporary. He’d leave soon, ending the heated marriage his kisses promised and beginning the marriage of distance and convenience he’d originally offered.