Lord Garson’s Bride (Dashing Widows 7)

He always treated her as if they shared a joke that the rest of the world had missed. It made her feel special. He made her feel special. When she came to London, unhappy and uncertain, she’d been deeply grateful for his suppor

t. Tonight, happy and confident, she remained deeply grateful. “Helena has been talking.”

He straightened and released her hand. “Perhaps she dropped a hint here and there about the evening’s finale.”

She couldn’t contain a smug smile. “My party is a great success, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed.” He regarded her from under tawny eyebrows, his gaze sharp. “I congratulate you on your victory over society.”

She flicked her fan open and cast him a flirtatious glance as she fell into their familiar bantering. “I intend to enjoy myself.”

“You deserve to kick up your heels a little.” The fondness in his expression made her heart swell. She wondered if he knew quite how much his friendship meant to her. His immediate approbation had done wonders for her self-assurance when she’d been new in Town. Without it, she doubted she’d have had the nerve to claim a prominent place in the ton.

“Oh, I plan on doing more than a little,” she said on a laugh. “I’ve spent my life as someone’s dutiful daughter or someone’s obedient wife. Now I seek amusement on my own account—and nobody can say me nay.”

“Until you find another husband.”

All the color and music and movement around her jangled into cacophony in her head. Her throat clogged with horror. Another husband? She’d rather die.

“Caro?”

Silas’s voice brought her back, reminded her that she need never enter the smothering hell of married life again. Instead, here she was with handsome Silas Nash and she was free to enjoy herself precisely how she wished.

She took in the tall, rangy build set off to perfection in evening clothes, the thick honey-brown hair, his intense, intelligent face with its Roman nose so like Helena’s. It all made for a man of more than average appeal. His title was singularly inappropriate—anyone less like a stone was impossible to imagine. He was the most alive person she’d ever met.

She waved her fan slowly in front of her face, chasing off all her dark memories. Tonight was hers, and she didn’t intend to waste it on unhappy thoughts. “I don’t want another husband.”

He frowned. “Of course you do.”

“Of course I don’t.” She tilted her chin and took advantage of the small island of privacy surrounding them to confide her wicked intentions. “I am, however, in the market for a lover.”

As she’d expected, her pronouncement didn’t shock Silas. His tolerant attitude was among the many things she liked about him. He regarded her thoughtfully. “Is that an invitation, Caro?”

She stared into his unwavering hazel eyes. Around her, the crowded ballroom receded strangely until she and Silas seemed alone together.

Caroline hadn’t blushed since before she’d married Freddie. But something in Silas’s expression brought color to her cheeks and a disconcerting stumble to her heart. Which was absurd. Even without Helena’s warnings—and her friend had early dampened any thought of setting her cap at Silas—she’d soon recognized that he never took his conquests seriously. While for all their shared jokes, she did take this friendship seriously.

When she’d mentally listed the men she’d consider inviting to her bed, she hadn’t included Silas. She couldn’t bear for him to dismiss her the way he dismissed all his flirts beyond the immediate seduction.

And if he didn’t dismiss her, what then? She didn’t want anything that required a commitment. As she’d told Silas, she was never going to marry again. Tiptoeing around Freddie’s feelings had been hard enough. Catering to a man who loved her, a man she wanted to please, was signing up for another life sentence.

Far better Silas remained her dear friend and she sought physical pleasure elsewhere.

After a month in society, she’d seen enough to know that a dashing widow would easily find a lover. Replacing a true friend was an entirely different matter. Which meant she stalwartly ignored the unprecedented catch in her breath when Silas focused that green-gold stare on her. Even if he looked like he’d need little encouragement to sweep her off and prove his reputation as a devil with the ladies.

“I’m more than you can handle,” she said lightly with a flutter of her fan. “You like them silly and flighty. Neither word applies to me.”

His mouth firmed when she’d hoped to make him smile. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Startled, she looked at him properly. Their interactions were usually unshadowed, a blessing in a world that had varied between black and gray as long as hers had. She’d imagined, once she left her seclusion behind, that the easy camaraderie would continue. Perhaps she’d been naive.

He looked disgruntled. It took her so long to interpret the expression because she’d never seen it on his face before. Sulking sat surprisingly well on Silas’s vivid features. Which obscurely annoyed her more than it should.

No woman could miss how attractive Silas was, but so far, she’d admired his spectacular looks as one might admire a fine painting. A brooding Lord Stone became unacceptably compelling. She forced a laugh and wished she sounded more natural. She snapped her fan shut and tapped him on the arm. “You’re teasing.”

Still he didn’t smile. “Am I?”

A horrible thought arose, scattering her archness. “Good God, Silas, don’t say you disapprove of my plans? I never imagined you’d be mealy mouthed about a few adventures, not when you’ve been mad for the girls since you went to Cambridge.”