In the Widow's Bed

Still, the memory of his deception, imitating his late mother’s people, sat ill with him. But if the lady had known she’d entertained Jonathan Oliver—a gentleman younger than her stepson—in her bed he’d have been kicked from the room posthaste. However, the French had a way with words that never ceased to arouse his lovers. So he’d disguised his voice and used the cover of the darkened chamber to share the night with the lovely Lady Warminster. He couldn’t regret that fact.

Cautiously, Jonathan glanced down at the paper in his lap. When he shifted it aside he discerned that he might need to stay seated for a bit longer until his aroused state was less noticeable to others.

“Morning Selwood,” Lizzy sang out as she swept into the room. “What are you doing here so early?”

Thank heavens for small mercies. The presence of his sister would surely dampen any amorous inclinations. “And a good morning to you too, Lizzy.”

While he watched, Lizzy filled her plate to alarming proportions, avoided eye contact with the lingering bachelors, and sank into the chair on his other side. Jonathan eyed the plate. “If you consume all that you shall have the gentlemen stampeding in the other direction. Be sure not to overdo,” he whispered.

Lizzy’s lips lifted in a sweet smile. “Occupe-toi de tes affaires, Selwood.”

“Sois sage, enfant.” The warning quip to behave rolled off his tongue in French easily in response. However, when silver clattered against china to his right, dread trickled through him. He turned to Lady Warminster. She stared at her plate with fixed attention, grasping her retrieved knife and fork with a tight grip, an alarmingly high color pinked her cheeks.

Concerned, he set his fingertips to her hand. “Are you at all well, my lady?”

The countess shrugged and his fingers were dislodged. “Yes, yes, everything is fine.” Then she hastily shoved food in her mouth. Unsure if he had given himself away or not, Jonathan finished his coffee. Given that his sister’s presence had a strong cooling effect on his desires, he no longer had any need to linger at the table. He excused himself and, despite failing in his mission to speak privately to Lady Jocelyn, he went off to find his friend.

As usual, Lord Warminster was in his study, resplendent in shockingly bright shades of green silk. Warminster glanced up swiftly as the sound of the door opening reached him then buried his head in his confidential report again. Jonathan paced the room until he was done. “I came to say goodbye.”

“Forget it.” Warminster advised in his usual voice, devoid of the grating cheeriness. “You are here for the duration.”

Jonathan stared at his friend, or soon to be ex-friend if he ever learned where he had spent last night. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t be trusted not to expose himself to Warminster’s stepmother in more ways than one. “I do have other responsibilities, old man.”

Warminster crossed his arms over his chest, and Jonathan noticed he sported yet another garishly vulgar gold fob chain. He really did dress the part well.

“Elizabeth is here. She’s your responsibility. You couldn’t hope to have a better excuse to linger around the ladies.”

“Ha.” Jonathan shook his head. Lizzy refused to follow his advice, and after many a pitched battle, he’d given up. Besides, life had become infinitely more peaceful since he stopped trying to force her down the matrimonial path. Once Lizzy ceased all her blustering, he found her surprisingly good company. However, most men did not consider their sister’s happiness when planning such alliances. Like Warminster they remained at loggerheads for all eternity, determined to marry them off for political and financial gain. “Lizzy will go her own way regardless of my presence.”

“She needs a leash.”

Jonathan wearily sank into a chair as the exertions of last night, the lack of sleep, overwhelmed him. He planned to put his feet up and take a nice long nap when he returned home to Dalemain Court. “Then someone else will have to fit it to her. She bites.”

Staying for the whole of the house party might provide him with the opportunity to woo Lady Jocelyn out from under Warminster’s nose, yet after the adventure of last night the debutante’s charms were less appealing than they should be.

Warminster looked up, a scowl creasing his face into fury. “Do you not care how she is perceived by others? The gossip about her is quite offensive. I considered calling Perkins out last night over some unflattering comments about her ability to make a match. I sim

ply cannot lose my temper around these fools.”

Amused by his friend’s strong reaction, Jonathan leaned forward. “Settle your feathers. Have you not worked it out yet? She has a grand plan in mind for her life. Marriage does not feature in it at all.”

“Ridiculous. You’ve let her run wild.”

“Well, if you believe that’s the case, my friend, you’re welcome to attempt to take her in hand,” Jonathan urged. “Just don’t come complain to me later when the wound turns septic.”

Warminster skin darkened, his lips pressed tight together. The other man didn’t remain silent long. “If this is how you speak of Elizabeth then it is not surprising she remains unmarried.”

Jonathan was too weary for Warminster’s games. “Oh, for God sake. You know Lizzy very well. She won’t marry without love. Our parents’ unhappy union taught us too well. And don’t pretend this is all my doing that she’s still here to tempt you. If you’re so concerned, you should have trusted that she could keep your confidences. You should have wed her years ago and been done with these foolish games.”

Warminster scowled, tugging on his pea green waistcoat. “Don’t be ridiculous. In my line of work a man can’t have an intelligent female clinging permanently to his arm. She could be badly hurt if anyone believed she was in my confidence.”

Secretly, Jonathan pitied Warminster. Perhaps his friend didn’t understand his sister after all. “You’d be surprised how well Lizzy can defend herself. Just last week she blackened Lord Archer’s eye for touching her arm.”

Warminster’s eyes widened. “She didn’t?”

“Knocked him right on his presumptuous arse. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.” Jonathan shrugged. “At least, not since the last swain came to pester her.”

Warminster stood suddenly and started pacing. After three turns around the room, he stopped at the door to the terrace. “Just how well can Elizabeth defend herself?”