Leave a Widow Wanting More by Charlie Lane

Chapter 22

One night.

Eight Days.

A combination of numbers destined to drive Sarah mad. One night of passion. Eight days of celibacy. Really, she’d survived sixteen years of celibacy with little to no issue. Why, suddenly, could she not escape the grip of lust seizing her night and day?

She tried to focus on the target at the end of the lawn. What had Nora said about aiming?

Sounds of laughter behind her begged her to turn around. She shouldn’t. She knew what she’d see, and she knew how it would affect her. She’d see Henry with Pansy, the twins, and James. They’d be laughing and making merry, and her heart would fill up and overflow. She shouldn’t look around.

She did. The sight of Henry on the other side of the bowling green—his sleeves rolled up, his cravat missing, sweat glistening along the taut cords of his strong neck—assailed her. The source of all temptation. And torment.

She’d not known what she had been missing before that one night of passion. Now she did, and she wanted more. Unfortunately, Henry did not share her desire. He seemed content to spend his days teaching cartography to Pansy and the twins, discussing foreign grammar with Ada, and watching Nora practice shooting. He contentedly spent glorious days like the current one amassed on the lawn with the entire family. Just as she’d asked him to. But did he seek out similarly glorious nights within her arms?

No.

Sarah tried not to grumble. He might not be touching her, but he still thought about her. Yesterday, a row of shelves had appeared built into a wall in the sitting room connected to her bedroom, empty except for a note.

For your own library. Take whatever you wish from downstairs and buy whatever you like to grow it. But always make sureGulliver’s has pride of place.

–H

She’d melted to the floor, clutching the note to her chest, staring dreamily up at the shelves, her shelves. She’d had a revelation, knowing at that moment exactly what it felt like to be Henry’s daughters, showered with gifts by a man who tries his best to avoid you.

The loneliness she’d felt in her room, swooning beneath her new shelves, surged up once more on the lawn, despite being surrounded by six children and one oddly brooding yet simultaneously jolly man. She tried to replace that feeling with those of pride and accomplishment. Wasn’t the Cavendish family learning one another? Wasn’t Henry giving his children the attention they craved? Yes. The promises she’d forced from Henry fixed his family. Life stretched forward for all, better than before.

“Not everyone,” she grumbled. She had shelves, but she wanted more, wanted what she had been afraid of wanting all along—love. She found it impossible to know Henry and not love him.

The old fool.

“Sarah,” Nora admonished. “You’re holding it too tightly. Let up a bit. And for goodness’ sake, turn around and look at the target. Papa made sure to put the bowling green at the back of my shooting lawn, but that care will be for naught if you don’t pay attention.”

Sarah took a deep breath, forced her eyes away from Henry, and focused on the target at the end of the lawn, focused on the weight of the pistol in her hand.

Nora nodded. “Better. Now raise your arm slightly above where you wish to hit.”

Sarah did so, imagining Henry standing at the target on the fence across the field. No, no. She shook her head. Too cruel. She didn’t want to kill Henry. Maim him, maybe … but not enough that he couldn’t work his magic on her body.

Not that he would.

She shook the frustration away and focused on the painted target nailed to a fence post.

Ada ambled up. “Don’t squint like that,” she reprimanded.

“Oh, right.” Sarah opened her eyes.

“Now, pull the trigger,” Nora prompted.

Sarah pulled the trigger, and her arm jerked back. She squealed a bit and closed her eyes tight.

Ada congratulated her. “Not bad at all for the first time.”

Sarah opened her eyes “Did I hit it?”

“Not the target,” Nora said.

“But you hit the fence post,” said Ada. “And I think that’s more impressive. Smaller target and all that.”

“Impressive indeed.” Henry’s voice rumbled across the lawn behind them.

She’d have to turn around. She’d have to talk to him, but what should she say? What should she do? She couldn’t throw herself at him, though, great Gutenberg, how she longed to! Her frustration must have shown on her face because when he reached her, he said, “Are you well, Sarah?”

No. “Yes, of course.” She looked back at the target. “It’s more difficult than it looks.”

“You did well, though.”

“I’m a quick study.” She gave him a meaningful look.

His jaw tightened. “Hot day,” he said absently. A bead of sweat ran down his temple.

Without thought, she stepped forward, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the sweat away. “Very hot, indeed,” she murmured.

Their eyes snagged, her breath caught. Great Gutenberg! If she didn’t step away, who knew what she’d do. In front of the children, too.

Thoughts of the children doused her lust. She stepped away, folded the small square of linen and put it back in a pocket.

Control, Sarah. Control yourself.

Henry no longer wanted an intimate relationship with her. And his reasons made sense. She understood them. She thought. Maybe. But knowing, understanding, didn’t lessen the longing she felt for him or dim the vivacity of her imagination. Her dreams for the past eight nights had been hotter than the afternoon sun currently freckling her complexion.

Henry cleared his throat and turned to Nora, who now stood twenty paces from the target, taking aim. A tall footman held a dainty yellow parasol over her head, tilted backward so as not to impede her view but still keeping the sun off her face.

Sarah leaned toward Ada. “Is the parasol practical or for vanity’s sake?”

“Nora wouldn’t consider it vanity at all. Vanity is entirely a practical matter if you’re in the market for a handsome husband.”

“I see,” said Sarah slowly, pondering this information as she looked at Nora more closely. The girl appeared a fashion plate come to life. Not a hair on her head dared pop out of place, and despite living in the country, she dressed as carefully as any London lady. Was she wearing a corset? She had to be for that gown. But that begged the question, how did one shoot so accurately while wearing a corset?

But, corset or no, she did shoot dead-on. Nora took aim. Nora pulled the trigger. Nora did not flinch, wince, or close her eyes. The bullet hit the center of the target. She dropped her arm to her side and turned to smile brilliantly at her father.

He clapped, beaming with pride. “I thought you couldn’t get any better last time I was home. I was wrong.”

Nora beamed with pride, too.

Ada snorted.

“I think, though,” Henry said, “You are ready for a challenge.” He frowned, deep in thought. “Have you tried shooting at bottles for targets?”

Ada rolled her eyes and Nora huffed. “Ages ago,” they said in unison.

“We could always put you up on a horse,” Henry suggested.

“A horse,” Nora said carefully, “not a bad idea.”

Sarah spoke without thinking. “Do you plan on joining Astley’s Circus?”

Henry’s features turned from thoughtful to concerned in a flash. “I should not be encouraging this, should I?”

Sarah hadn’t meant anyone to take her quip seriously. But she saw, looking into Henry’s face, he felt adrift. He questioned all his parental decisions.

Sarah chose each word of her next sentence as if it were a precious gem needed for a perfect setting with exact measurements. “I think most women have only themselves to look after them. So Nora should be armed with every trick she can manage, even if they are quite literally tricks. Joining the circus is another matter …” She shifted her gaze to the children and James playing across the lawn. “I’m afraid I’m not adept at teasing. It was a joke.”

Ada shrugged. “I thought it funny, Sarah.”

Nora scrunched her nose. “Me too. But my future does not hold a position at Astley’s. I can assure you.”

Sarah continued watching the others, not daring to meet Henry’s gaze. “Who knows when Nora’s preternatural ability to hit a target from twenty paces will come in useful.”

Nora handed the pistol to Sarah, handle first. “You try again. Papa is the best instructor. I wouldn’t be half the markswoman I am without him. Teach her how you taught me, Papa.” She cocked her head to the side, looking across the lawn. “What are they doing?” She signed. “They’re not playing right. Ada, we’d better help.”

“Right,” Ada sighed, lifting her skirts and marching toward the laughing group, Nora at her side.

Sarah found herself alone with Henry. Or, more alone with him than she’d been in eight days, at least. If she could keep from flinging herself at him, all would be well.

She peeked up at him. He appeared entirely unaffected by their solitary situation. Fine. If he could control himself, so could she. “You do not have to assist me, Lord Eaden.”

He sliced her with a glance. “Lord Eaden?”

She nodded, decisively, and when he didn’t continue to question her formal use of his title, she picked up the pistol, reloading it the way Nora had taught her.

He took the pistol from her hand gingerly. “Let me.”

The strong, swift movements of his fingers as he loaded the powder and bullet mesmerized her. When he finished, he handed the pistol to her and took three steps back. “Now, try again.”

She focused on the target, lifted the gun, then—

“No, no, no. You’re stooped and too rigid. And you’re squinting. Here.” He slashed the distance between them until she felt his front close—so close—to her back, almost but not pressed against her body. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, touching her gently, almost imperceptibly, nudging her in the correct position. “No,” he growled close to her ear. “Still wrong. If you’d only—”

Sarah growled, too. Enough. To have him so close, but to still be denied. Enough. She leaned her weight into him. Finally, finally, she felt the hard warmth of his torso pressed against her back, the lean lines of him pushing hard into every soft spot she had. When he didn’t pull away, she tilted her head up till she could see him behind her from the corner of her eye. He’d gone still as a statue. She whispered, unable to keep some of the frustration from her tone, “Lord Eaden, I won’t miraculously conceive a child from your mere touch.”

The words broke a dam inside him. His arms clenched around her; his hips pressed into her backside as he pushed her to face the target at the end of the field. His movements were fierce but purposeful. He didn’t hold her in a lover’s embrace, but neither did he shy from her touch. “Feet apart.” He used his own feet to nudge one of hers into position. His arms lined up with hers, and he stooped over her to support her arms, placing them where they should be. “You did well last time. But you were scared. You flinched. You gave the gun dominion over you. The reason Nora shoots so well is because she knows she has dominion over everyone and everything in her purview. It all falls at her feet. You must master the same control.”

Sarah snorted, though her heart, fluttering in her chest, felt bruised by his every touch.

“Now, Sarah,” he continued, “don’t close your eyes. No, keep them open. All you have to do is move one little finger.”

She pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight, and when the cloud of smoke cleared, she saw she’d hit the target. Not the bull’s-eye, but close enough.

“Well done.” He jerked away from her as if burned.

Great Gutenberg, she’d die with wanting him.

Henry turned to leave the shooting field. “Nora needs a horse to practice on.” He stomped toward the stables. “Nora! You’ll try something new today.”

If Nora looked up or answered or trotted across the lawn after her father, Sarah didn’t see. If Nora had turned flips across the lawn, Sarah wouldn’t have seen. She’d closed her eyes, trying to memorize exactly how he had felt wrapped around her, trying to remember exactly what his kisses had tasted like.

One night.

Eight days.

She could take it no longer. She’d just have to seduce her husband before the ninth day found her in the ground, expired from unfulfilled desire.

“I’ve got to see this!” James called, striding toward her.

Nora gave his shoulder a sisterly pat. “You should try it. Just don’t think you’ll be better than me.”

Ada crossed her arms over her chest. “Children, no arguments, please.”

Nora shrugged. “It’s just the truth.”

James held his hands up in defeat. “I concede. I’ve seen you shoot. The man who disagrees with you takes a dangerous risk.”

“Don’t worry,” Ada said. “Nora won’t really shoot James.”

“Oh, I know.” Sarah craned her neck to look around the corner. How long would it take Henry to return?

“Have you ever been to Astley’s Amphitheatre?” Ada asked.

Oh, they were still talking, then? She focused on her new daughter. The girl deserved Sarah’s undivided attention. “No. I’m afraid not. I’ve heard wonderful stories, though. James has always wished to go.”

Ada linked her arm through Sarah’s, treating her to a warm smile. “We’ll go, then. All of us, when we go to London.”

“Splendid idea.” Sometimes, in the last eight days they’d spent together, Sarah felt as if Ada treated her like an orphan child in need of mothering. It should be the other way around. Even now, Ada looked warily around at her assembled family, as if anticipating any possible problems. She patted Ada on the arm. “I’ll take care of all the arrangements. Your job in London will be to buy clothes and attend parties. And Astley’s, of course.”

Ada’s brow clouded for a moment, her gaze boring into the figure of three children barreling down the grassy hill toward the lake. Pansy and the twins apparently had no desire to watch Nora learn new tricks. Sarah saw the words hovering on Ada’s lips. Be careful.

James barreled down the hill, too. “It’s deuced hot! Everyone in the lake!”

The twins cheered, tackling him on the lakeshore.

Ada’s shoulders sagged in relief. She leaned across Sarah and took the pistol from her hand. “My turn.”

Yes, it was Ada’s turn. In more ways than one.

Sarah surveyed them all, scattered across the lawn. Ada, taking aim. Nora playfully arguing with James. The children shucking their shoes to wade into the lake.

And, look! Henry led a horse around the side of the house. She caught her breath at the sight of him, his bulging forearms tight with exertion …

Ignore the forearms, Sarah, that’s not the point.

What was the point? Henry spending time with his children, that was the point. His children would soon step out into the world and do things they’d only dreamed of before. And Sarah had made all of it possible.

She had fixed things.

She had everything she could ever imagine wanting.

Except Henry’s powerful fingers stroking the length of her spine. Except his rough palms sculpting the contours of her breasts. Except Henry’s breath hot on her neck.

And that’s what she couldn’t have. He considered lovemaking too much of a risk.

Her stomach knotted. Damn, how she ached for him. Had he learned some mesmeric power while abroad, something that kept a woman’s every attention until the day she died? Miss Smith had said she’d seen multitudes of women fall victim to his magnetism before. Sarah was just another in a long line of women Henry helped then left.

But … no, she couldn’t accept that. She wouldn’t. She’d find a way, a perfect argument to convince him to take a risk on her.