The Laird and the Wanton Widow. Ann Lethbridge

into her heart.

      “My husband died two years ago. As well as being Miss Buntin’s friend, I am also her paid companion.”

      A strange expression crossed his face. “A widow.” He swallowed. “My condolences.”

      “Thank you.”

      The silence between them filled up with unspoken questions. And tension. Her body thrummed with the knowledge of his nearness. Her palms tingled with the desired to touch the hard angle of his jaw.

      This was not such a good idea, after all.

      “Did you want something of me, Kate?”

      The sound of her name on his lips pulled painfully at her heart.

      She forced herself to speak coolly. “Is there somewhere we could talk in private?”

      Suspicion, or something like it, darkened his gaze. “I’m sure it could be arranged.”

      The nearest footman, his face as stolid as boiled oats, opened the door beside him. “The drawing room is unoccupied, sir.”

      Harry held out his arm with exquisite politeness. She placed her hand on his sleeve. The lightest touch she could manage without being rude and still heat seared up her arm. Her insides trembled with nerves. The ache in her chest intensified. She wanted to run. She’d only ever run once, with disastrous results.

      The footman closed the door behind them.

      Then he smiled. The smile she had never forgotten. Open and boyish, with a hint of devilment. The sternness of the ballroom evaporated and it was if they were young again, in the first throes of infatuation, sneaking off for a few minutes alone.

      “What can I do for you?”

      The words seem to contain a great deal of meaning. Her stomach tightened. Her breathing became shallow and hard to control. So traitorous, when she knew he belonged to Lizzie.

      Praying her face didn’t betray her inner turmoil, she smiled calmly. “Rather, let me ask what I can do for you, Lord Godridge?”

      His eyes widened. A mischievous smile curved his lips. “Now there’s something a man doesn’t hear every day.”

      Oh, Lord, did he think she was propositioning him? Heat rushed to her face. “It’s about Lizzie,” she hurried to say.

      His face turned to stone. “Did Lizzie send you to try to cajole me into let her stay in London?”

      She took a deep, calming breath. “No.” She swallowed. “I came with advice.”

      His brow lowered. “Out with it, Kate. I never knew you to be short of words.”

      That was in the old days. Before her marriage. Before she’d learned to be sensible. But somewhere inside her, the old fiery, outspoken Kate still resided. And she had to be kept firmly in her place. She gave him her best kindly widow smile. “You will not engage Lizzie’s affections by treating her like a child. You need to woo her like the young woman she is.”