What a Widow Wants

Book 3: Widows' Club

by Jenna Jaxon

Genres: Historical Fiction; Women's Fiction; Regency Romance

Synopsis

After mourning her husband, Fanny goes out to experience freedom like never before until she becomes enamored with a man who only wants one thing: a wife.

Release date: December 18, 2018

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 352

Sample

Glittering candles, the flames wafting to and fro with the gentle June breeze, illuminated Lady Beaumont’s ballroom just enough for Frances, Lady Stephen Tarkington, to see the other revelers near her without being so bright as to take the fun out of the masquerade. As far as Fanny was concerned, masquerades should be conducted in semi-darkness at all times, even the unmasking. So much better to hide one’s identity when one wished to be a little naughty. And oh, but she wanted to be the epitome of a naughty widow.

Her husband, Major Lord Stephen Tarkington, had died at the battle of Waterloo. Tonight, after a long year of mourning his passing, she had emerged from her widow’s weeds in the most scandalous costume money could buy. Aphrodite in a filmy white muslin gown, the fabric so sheer she could scarcely feel it against her body. Arching her neck, Fanny pushed her breasts forward until they threatened to spill over her tight bodice, so low cut it skimmed the tops of the dark circles of her nipples. After a year of almost no social interactions, she wanted to burst back onto the stage of ton life in the boldest way possible. She smiled behind her glittery silver mask. From the looks of the costumed gentlemen, she had hit her mark.

“Good evening, my beautiful Aphrodite.” A tall gentleman in a black mask and the red and white tabard of a Knight Templar bowed low before her. His deep voice seemed forced, obviously disguised.

“Good evening, Sir Knight.” She curtsied, giving him a closer look at her décolletage. “Are you just returned from the Crusades? You seem to have the dust of the road still upon you.”

“Gads, I do seem to.” The knight brushed at his shoulders and a burst of motes flew upward. “M’valet took it out of the attics yesterday and the man obviously didn’t attend to it properly.”

“You must smite him forthwith, Sir Knight. Such insolence from a lowly squire cannot be tolerated.” Ah, Sir Arthur Fremont. His annoyance at his valet had made him abandon his deep voice. She’d recognized the man’s high-pitched tone. A dead bore really, although a wonderful partner at whist.

Sir Arthur laughed. “Off with his head, what?”

Holding up her slender golden snake, one of Aphrodite’s symbols, she shook it at the wayward knight. “Be sure you do, Sir Knight! Accept no insubordination.”

The man danced backward, bumping into a rather plump woman in the guise of some medieval lady in waiting, knocking off her precariously balanced cone-shaped headdress.

“My steeple! You’ve ruined my steeple!” Clutching the hat, now dented in the middle, the woman stormed off, Sir Arthur following and spouting abject apologies.

Laughing and looking for someone interesting to talk to, Fanny took advantage of the change of sets to make her way across the ballroom toward a rather brightly costumed man wearing the traditional green and brown garb of Robin Hood. He carried a bow and a quiver of arrows on his back; however, what drew her attention was his legs. Encased in fine brown stockings, Robin Hood’s shapely legs set her heart to thudding. Of course, she saw men all the time in ballrooms in pantaloons and stockings, but something about those finely muscled calves fed a long dormant hunger and drew her toward him.

“Well met, Prince of Thieves.” Fanny smiled up into the masked face, trying to determine who he was. A flirtation with this handsome gentleman might start the evening off well indeed.

“Any meeting with your loveliness, goddess, is sheer fortune.” He sketched a bow and moved closer to her. “Are you not afraid I will steal something of value from you?”

Yes, a gentleman willing to play and one she did not recognize. That added spice to the wager. “What thing of value might I possess that you would desire?”

“I believe you possess many delights I could fancy, goddess.”

“Indeed?” Again she lifted the snake. “I have only this bauble.” She twirled it around, making it catch the candlelight. Oh, but she was enjoying this.

His eyes twinkled and he smiled. “Quite a bauble indeed.”

She laughed and tucked the snake into her magical girdle, a leather belt of sorts, and reputedly Aphrodite’s sole weapon. “And these.”

From her pockets Fanny produced two golden apples, another symbol of the Goddess of Love. She held them before her bodice, right in front of her breasts. “Might you like these, my lord?”

The gentleman’s eyes widened behind his mask, then went deepest black. “Ah, yes. You do have treasures I desire.”

A shiver raced down her spine.

“I believe I will steal those jewels, goddess.” Swaying closer to her, he took the gold-painted apples, his warm fingers brushing hers. He clutched the fruit and her body flushed.

Lord, it had been such a long time since she had flirted so shamelessly with a man. Years before Stephen had died. She’d need to keep her emotions under control while she was learning to navigate this world once more. Almost like being out for her first Season, yet fully aware of all the pleasures that could be the result of such a wild flirtation.

“Take pity on me, kind sir. Those are all I have, save my little snake.” Fanny sent a soulful glance toward the thief’s face and pulled it forth. “Would you let me exchange something for my apples?”

Robin Hood glanced around and grasped her arm. “Perhaps we should discuss this in a more private setting. I’m certain something can be arranged.” A gleam of white teeth behind the mask and he was tugging her toward a darkened corner.

Too fast, even for her. Fanny slowed her steps. Yes, she’d come here tonight hoping for an assignation to a dalliance. A dalliance that might grow into something more than she had bargained for. “I think we should remain here, in the light of this sconce, lest you steal something more than I can afford.” She plucked the apples out of his hands and stuffed them back into her pockets. “Even a goddess must be wary of a thief, no matter how handsome.”

“Perhaps you shall change your mind before the night is out. May I help persuade you during the next set?”

“Not the next, but the one after it. By then I will have my guard in place.”

“Do you think yourself impervious to me?”

“Is not a goddess more powerful than a mere woodsman?” She tried to look down her nose at him, but had to laugh at the effort. A mask made the gesture ridiculous.

“Not if the woodsman can overpower the goddess.” He grasped her hands, warm skin to warm skin, no proper gloves between them. Peering deep into her eyes, he leaned forward, breathing into her ear, “Let us continue this lovely interlude in a more private place. The library—”

“There you are, my dear.”

Fanny jerked back from the bold gentleman, who also straightened as a demure-looking Diana, complete with quiver and bow, appeared as from nowhere. She pounced on Robin Hood, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. “I have been looking for you, my dear. Wherever have you been?” The petite blond woman, in Greek robes and a white full face mask, smiled at her prey. “Not hiding from me, I hope?”

“Never that, my lady.” Robin Hood’s smooth voice betrayed a hint of annoyance.

“I have just been informed that Lady Beaumont has asked us to perform in a match of our archery skills for the entertainment of the guests. Two bowmen of strength, evenly matched.” She cocked her head, cool eyes behind her mask glittering. “We don’t want to keep our hostess waiting, do we?”

One lingering look from Robin Hood, then he took the lady’s arm. “I am afraid duty calls, my goddess. Perhaps we shall continue our discussion of apples at a later time?”

“Assuredly, good sir. As we are promised for the third set, perhaps then.” Fanny nodded to them both, thankful her silver mask hid her heated face. She made a shooing motion. “By all means, you must not let a lowly goddess keep you from the all-powerful hostess.”

“I’m so glad you understand,” Diana said, shooting her a nasty look that Fanny recognized at once. Lady Phoebe Campbell, who’d been out for two Seasons and had just managed to catch Lord Bayberry’s youngest son. That must be Robin Hood here, to judge by the fierceness in Lady Phoebe’s voice. An arranged marriage, or so her friend Charlotte had told their circle last week, which would explain why the lady wanted to keep Fanny as far away from her betrothed as possible.

“I wish you well in your competition. May the best bowman win.”

The couple walked swiftly toward the doors that led to the main part of the house, Lady Phoebe grasping Robin Hood’s arm in a death grip. Somehow she doubted Robin would be allowed to return for their set. No great loss if the gentleman was truly betrothed elsewhere.

Fanny stared after them, a smile forming on her lips. Where Lady Beaumont intended to hold such a match, she had no idea. Perhaps there was to be no such exhibition at all. A clever or determined woman wouldn’t be above lying to secure her a husband. Fanny considered herself both, but didn’t think she could stoop to lying to a man she loved. Stopping short in her musings, she shook off the image of her late husband, tall, wiry, always laughing. By the time she’d lied to him, she had no longer loved him. Anyway, that was in the past. Tonight was the beginning of her future life and she would damn well make the most of it.

With a shake that was partially a shiver, Fanny threw her head back and turned once more to the ballroom. The second set was making so if she waited just a little she could soon find an unoccupied gentleman to dally with. Even though she loved dancing and had not been able to do so for the past year, dancing was the last thing on her mind tonight. As though the clock had rolled back ten years to her own debut Season, she wanted to flit and flirt, to stretch her wings and soar amongst the ton’s most eligible gentlemen. She had a deal of time to make up for and the possibilities were deliciously spread out before her.

Several Greek gods in strategically draped robes—everyone from Zeus with his thunderbolts to Hades clutching a huge drinking horn to Poseidon armed with his trident—mingled along the edges of the ballroom floor. A Roman soldier in a shiny breastplate towered over the crowd in the far corner. He must be Lord Walston, the tallest man by far in the ton, standing head and shoulders above all the other gentlemen. Height was impossible to disguise, unfortunately. That must spoil the fun for him every time. A sprinkling of Renaissance courtiers, one of whom she recognized as her brother-in-law, Lord Theale. A shock to her, to find him in attendance. Was her sister-in-law here as well? Strike her dumb with a noodle. She’d always known him to be such a high stickler; now to see him cavorting with a pretty shepherdess made her skin crawl.

She turned away quickly. Theale was the last person she wished to encounter when she was in search of a dalliance. Something he would never approve of, even though she was out of mourning. Speaking spritely to a couple of what she assumed were gentlemen in richly colored dominos, she continued her hunt for a flirtation. She spied a lowly shepherd in rough clothing, and a splendidly dressed sultan in colorful robes and a bejeweled mask. Surely a feast for a lady in search of male companionship.

About to head for the dazzling sultan, Fanny glanced about one more time, just to make sure no one else interesting had entered the ballroom, when she caught sight of two identically dressed men bearing down on her. Dark-haired, tall, and broad-shouldered—with shoulders and arms almost bared beneath a thin cape trimmed in gold braid—their slim hips covered in a skirt resembling a pleated kilt of white linen, showing off shapely legs in white stockings and sandals, the duo was breathtaking. Before she could blink they stood beside her, true Greek gods in beauty and stature. Her evening had just taken a most satisfactory turn. A pity their faces were obscured with identical silver half-masks, embossed with a cantering horse across the forehead. She’d wager they were equally handsome underneath.

“Goddess Aphrodite, we greet you in the name of our father, Zeus.” The twin closest to her bowed and grasped her hand.

Suddenly unnerved by his very large, looming presence, she stepped back, trying to pull away but to no avail. The rogue held tight to her hand and raised it to his lips. “Do not be alarmed, my dear. We come to honor you with a request for the next set.”

Warily, Fanny studied first the man holding her hand, then his partner. Twin Greek gods was an easy one to identify. “You are impertinent, sirs, as I cannot discern who is who. Are you Castor or Pollux?”

“I am Pollux, Aphrodite,” the gentleman holding her hand said, giving it a squeeze that sent sudden tingles all along her arm. “My brother is Castor”—the other man bowed—“though friend, rather than brother, in earnest.”

His rich baritone voice tugged at her memory, as did the deep blue eyes behind the mask. The warmth of his hand, however, addled her brain, turning it to mush. Grasping the obvious, she managed to ask, “How . . . how do you propose to both dance with me in a single set, unless one of you secures another partner?”

“An apt question, from an astute goddess.” Castor grinned. “I have already captured such a lady for my dancing delight. We four shall make up a set.”

“Who is your partner?”

“That very pretty shepherdess over there in pink.” He pointed to a young girl in a modest costume, laughing with a group of other young ladies. Well, she’d not have much competition in keeping the twins’ attention.

“I should be delighted to make up your set. However”—she turned her attention back to Pollux—“the second set has not yet begun.” Fluttering her eyelashes up at the handsome man, she squeezed his hand. “How are we to pass the time until our dance?”

His sharp intake of breath made her hold her own. Even more amazing, his eyes changed from deep blue to black in an instant. The wave of his desire hit her like a tangible thing. Her mouth dried, her heart raced, her whole head heated as though it had caught fire. Who was this man that he could affect her so?

“Come with me.” He pulled her toward the double doors behind them that led to the other part of the house.

Heart pounding, Fanny ran on tiptoes in an effort to keep up with him. This was madness. Wherever was he taking her? And what on earth did he have in mind? Oh, but she knew what that was. That deep desire in his eyes told her exactly where his intentions lay. Would she allow him to have his way with her? She didn’t quite recognize him; the mask hid just enough of his face. Still he reminded her of someone. Someone who had been most dear to her what seemed a lifetime ago. But that man had left London, swearing never to return to the ton years before. He’d retreated to his country estate and had not been seen in Town for seven years.

They raced down the corridor, Pollux still in the lead, Castor right behind her. That gave her some comfort. Pollux wouldn’t ravish her in front of his brother, or friend rather. Still, the urgency of his headlong flight, dodging wide-eyed guests left and right, persuaded her that this man would stop at nothing to get her alone.

He turned a corner into a deserted hall and slowed finally. Stopping at a door on the far end, he glanced around then put his hand on the latch. “Keep watch, Cas. No one enters.”

Castor grinned. “Not a soul, Pol. My word as a gentleman.”

Pollux pushed down the latch, opened the door into a shadowy room, and drew her inside.

The flickering fireplace across the room gave the only light. Fanny’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. A moment in which Pollux pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts against his unyielding chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to him, and sank his mouth onto hers.

Fanny’s building panic subsided at the touch of his lips. Soft, warm, almost tender, he kissed her with a gentleness that surprised her after the fierce desire that had erupted in him. She slipped her arms round his trim waist, every muscle hard beneath her hands. Oh, but she had missed this intimacy for such a long time. So good to be this close to a man again.

He slid his tongue along the seam of her lips and without thinking she opened them, eager for more. Their tongues tangled, then she drew him in, drinking in the glorious feeling once more. Here was the passion she had shared all too little in her married life and seldom with her husband. Only with . . .

Realization hit like a blow from a fist. She pulled away, her hand going to her mouth. It couldn’t be.

“Do you finally know me, Fanny?”

Speechless, she nodded, her heart beating oddly in fits and starts.

Pollux smiled and pulled his mask off over his head.

“Matthew.” She whispered it, still unsure if it was truly him.

“Without a doubt. Did you truly not know me? I haven’t changed that much, surely.” He smiled and her stomach dropped. He’d not changed at all. Big, brooding, with a face like a dark angel, Matthew, Lord Lathbury, was just as she remembered.

“You vowed never to return to London.” That had been the last time she’d seen him.

“I found never to be much too long a time.” He stalked toward her and she retreated until she bumped into a bookcase, the spines of the books knobbly against her back. “I missed you, Fanny. Every day I missed you.” His eyes fixed her like a bug on a pin. “Did you miss me?”

Fearing she’d reveal too much, Fanny snapped her eyes shut. Of course she’d missed Matthew. Had wished to see him back in Society more than once. Guilt and duty to Stephen, however, had forbidden her to even ask about him these past years. But she’d thought about him. Oh, yes. On the long, dark nights without Stephen, she’d thought about Matthew quite a lot. “On occasion I believe I wondered what had become of you.” Opening her eyes, she allowed herself a careful smile. “How have you been, Matthew?”

“Tolerably well, although deathly bored by the country.” He leaned a hand on the bookcase by her head, shutting her off from the main part of the room.

A thrill of excitement shivered down her body. Always a physical man, Matthew knew how to intimidate, to protect, to cherish. Sometimes all at once. “Have you truly remained at Lathbury for seven years? One would think you could travel to other places if London no longer amused you.”

Shrugging, he leaned closer to her, bringing the exhilarating smell of bergamot to swirl about her head. “I spent some time shooting in Scotland each year with Kinellan. Then hunting with Braeton in Kent in the fall. I followed racing, as long as it didn’t take me too near London.”

“Not too difficult for you, then. The best racing’s always been at Newmarket and many other tracks are far from Town.” The proximity of his presence seemed to press upon her, heightening her senses. He’d always had that effect on her, from the night they’d met at her come-out ball. She’d be drunk on him in minutes. “But why stay away, Matthew?”

“You know why.” He straightened and she could breathe easily again. “I couldn’t remain in London and run the risk of meeting you at some ball or the theatre. Seeing you and knowing that you had decided you were Stephen’s wife, not my lover.”

“I didn’t decide anything.” Fanny retreated toward the fireplace, any place away from him.

“You chose to marry Lord Stephen instead of me.” On her heels, Matthew could be as relentless as one of his hounds after a fox. “And you returned to him rather than run away with me.”

“I married Stephen years ago.” She glanced toward the door, but that was the coward’s way. They needed to thrash this out, though why it must be tonight of all nights she didn’t know.

“You never told me why.” Brows furrowed, he pulled her around to face him again. “Why you would turn down an offer from an earl to marry the youngest son of a marquess.”

God Almighty. She might have known that would be his first question. How could she explain a decision she’d wished to take back a thousand times? “Don’t do this now, Matthew. I’ve not seen you in seven years. Can we not renew our acquaintance in a more amicable manner?”

Smoldering black eyes bore into her. “Just answer the question, Fanny. Why him? Why not me?”

What did it matter if he knew or not? She squared her shoulders. Time for a confession. “I was just out of the schoolroom, young, impressionable. Ignorant. Lord Stephen Tarkington personified excitement in a way no other man ever had for me. A rakehell with a reputation to make any girl swoon if he even looked at her. He danced the first set with me and it was over. I could hardly breathe when he touched my hand.” Staring straight into his face, she frowned. “All my friends were jealous of his attentions to me and I lorded it over them. I thought he was in love with me, lost my head, and when he asked me I said yes.”

“Someone should have been looking out for you. Someone who knew how unsuitable he was.” His frown deepened, something she would have sworn impossible.

“You know what ladies always say. ‘Reformed rakes make the best husbands.’ ”

Matthew grunted. “Pity Lord Stephen never reformed.”

Sighing, Fanny shook her head. “I should have known better. My aunt brought me out, but she wasn’t as worldly as she could have been. I was dazzled by Stephen and she was seduced by his brother’s title. Another woman might have advised me better.”

“Might have advised you to marry me.”

Fanny lowered her eyes. “Yes, she might have done.” How many times had she wished that were true? “You would have been a brilliant match, I cannot deny it. You were handsome, tall, strong.”

“Did I annoy you, perhaps?”

“No, you were quite charming.” She slipped her hand over his chest and heat poured through her. “And very persistent, if I remember correctly. Two bouquets of roses after that first ball.”

“Too persistent, then? Or too eager?” The bullish look returned to his face, brows lowered, cheeks puffed out.

“Neither.” Grasping his hand, Fanny attempted to draw him over to the sofa. She might as well have been leading a statue. “You were everything a girl could have wanted.”

“Almost every girl.”

“I’m sorry, Matthew.” She dropped his hand, now annoyed herself. “Yes, I chose to marry Stephen. I was young and inexperienced and didn’t know what he was really like. Had someone, anyone, taken me in hand, I’d likely be your countess this moment and you wouldn’t be standing there looking like you wanted to murder someone. And I wouldn’t be standing here wanting to plant you a facer.”

He laughed, and the tension eased. “I’ve been working out at Jackson’s, so I think I can manage to avoid a blow or two.”

“You do look marvelously in shape.” A hunger kindled in her belly. Each time she’d touched him she’d felt the coiled steel of his muscles.

“I had to be if I was to wear this costume.” His chuckle floated in the flickering darkness.

“Well, I for one am very glad you made the effort.” Her eyes feasted on his form from top to toe as her hunger grew. It had been too long since she’d had a man in her bed. This man in her bed. But not here. Not now, but maybe soon. She smiled up into his face, letting all her joy shine through.

“You are very welcome.” With a fingertip he smoothed back her hair and Fanny feared she’d melt into the floor. “I hope you know you still can be.”

“Can be what?”

“My countess.”

The air around her seemed to harden, as though she’d run into a wall while standing still. Had she actually heard what she thought she’d heard? “I beg your pardon?”

“Shall I go down on one knee, Fanny?” He suited the movement to his words and dropped to the floor, her hand captured in both of his. “You cannot be surprised, my dear. Why else would I have come to London?”

“But . . .” Gazing into his upturned face, shining with a joy she’d not seen in years, her powers of speech deserted her.

“Please, Fanny, do me the very great honor of becoming my wife and you will make me the happiest man in Christendom.” Matthew’s insistent tone, the look of longing in his eyes tu. . .