Page 3 of The Duke's Tempting Widow
On her own terms.
Lydia spun in the man’s arms, placing a bold hand against his chest and pushing him back against a lamp pillar. A soft yellow glow encircled them boldly, and she had to hope that they were the only couple this deep into the maze. The man’s armsencircled her, resting low on the backs of her hips, allowing her to have the control in this setting far more easily than he had on the dance floor. Her chin lifted, but her gaze dropped to his lips.
“Have you figured out what sort of woman that I am yet?” She asked, unable to stop herself as her gloved hand lifted, brushing her fingertips over his full bottom lip curiously.
The man hummed low in the back of his throat in response. “Perhaps you should show me the sort of woman that you are? If you continue this bewitchment, I shall be far too deeply under your spell to think for myself.” He smiled then, a soft gesture of how pleased that he was to be in her company. Something inviting that she could not stop from returning.
Lydia lifted onto the tips of her toes, her lips nearly brushing his own, a witty response waiting to tumble from her—when he moved. He closed the distance and pulled her right off her feet. It was like something had unleashed in him the moment that she had been about to give the go ahead.
His kiss was unlike anything that she could have imagined. No amount of scandalous stories or innuendos made by Martha would have properly prepared her for such feelings. How was it possible that she could feel the echoes of his kisseverywhere?What bliss would it be to have him kiss her elsewhere?
All rational thought left her mind. The words died unspoken on her lips as a world of new sensations was openedup to her. She fisted the lapel of his coat, pulling herself closer even as he lifted her to mold against his body. It was as if she had been made to fit against the firm planes of his body.
Somehow, her limbs seemed to know just what to do as, in this, she allowed him to have the lead. Lydia’s arms wrapped around his neck, and she molded herself against the firm planes of his body, wanting more,needingmore. The man’s mask bumped against her own, threatening to lift and expose to her who just this mystery man was—
Somebody called her name.
In the distance a hushed, frantic voice called her name again. It seemed to be looming closer.
The man’s mask started to slip as he kissed a heated path over the curve of her jaw and down the side of her neck. His hand shifted, holding her effortlessly with one arm while the other cupped her breast. Oh, she wanted to explore those feelings more than anything.
Martha, it was Martha.
Which meant that something bad had happened. The older woman never would have dared to interrupt what was happening for anything other than an emergency.
“Go,” Lydia breathed. “I have to go. I am—forgive me.”
“What?”
Lydia pushed out of his arms, leaving everything that the evening might have turned into behind her. The last thing to let go of was her hand, which the man seemed to wish to pull her back and keep her closer for as long as possible. She did not even see her handkerchief fall from where she had it as she hurried to Martha’s side.
Perhaps leaving was the part that she was going to forget.
Perhaps this man will be the one who got away.
Chapter 2
Lydia Russell could not cry.
She knew that she ought to. She knew that all of those in mourning around her kept giving her sideways glances and expecting at least a couple of tears to slide down her veiled cheek. But no matter how hard she tried she simply could not bring herself to cry.
It was not as if she did not love her late husband. On the contrary, she had become quite fond of the man over the years. His ruddy cheeks and gasping laugh were things that had become comfortable. Routine, even. She supposed that she ought to have seen his health conditions coming. He was a man who always loved to indulge in excess.
But, as he was the man of the house, she did not think that it was her place to attempt to police what he did. He was a good man. He provided well, was an adequate conversationalist. All things considered. Yes, Jacob, the Earl of Hillsborough was very well liked by all that knew him. Nobody could say anything bad about him. He was just forgettable in his mundaneness.
Yes, Lydia could stand here at her late husband’s gravesite and think of a great many things that she was going to miss about the man. But heartbroken? She was not.
“Will you truly use this as yet another excuse to humiliate me? Have you no shame?!” her father hissed bitterly from her side.
Lydia did not so much as turn her head to look at the bitter old man. She could only imagine what must be going through his head. Being married had been best for the fact that it had allowed her freedom to escape from her horribly smothering father. She could only presume that he was going to take this unfortunate event as a free ticket back into her life whether she wanted him there or not.
“For heaven’s sake, girl. You could at leastpretendto be upset! Honestly, I should have known better than to think that you had a heart anywhere inside of that rebellious chest!” her father continued to hiss through his clenched, crooked teeth.
There would be a tongue lashing to come from him later, she already knew. Father would lecture her about how a widow ought to behave and just how long it was that she was going to be expected to wear her black dresses and veils. Father would seek to dictate every aspect of her life from here forward until such a day comes that he could attempt to profit off of her a second time through another advantageous marriage.
Having her father present was the only reason that Lydia had almost objected to having this large, fancy funeral in the heart of London. It was Jacob’s wish to be buried here, even though their home was in rural Northern England.
Furthermore, she did not wish to have to force her daughter and stepdaughter to be exposed to their grandfather for a second longer than they needed to be.
