No, she shocked herself by considering his offer. Although it was generally acceptable for a widow to take a lover if one was discreet, Bess had never embraced this aspect of widowhood. It felt crass, flitting about from bed to bed. She’d liked being married and having a partner by her side—a companion. “I fear you have misjudged the type of lady I am.”
He studied her, the wheels of his mind moving behind his mesmerizing eyes. “Have I? Tell me, what type of lady are you?”
“The marrying kind.”
“Hellfire!” He dropped his hand from her waist. “Are you serious? Do you want another husband?”
“Why Lord Julius”—she batted her lashes—“a proposal seems premature, but how could I refuse? My very own incorrigible scoundrel for Christmas. Won’t the ladies be jealous?”
He laughed, tossing back his head. The heartiness of his laughter lightened her heart. Not many men appreciated her sardonic sense of humor. She’d honed the skill as a child, growing up with six younger brothers. She couldn’t match them in brawn, so she’d outmatched them in wits.
“You are an amusing woman.” Lord Julius wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps I will propose someday to see how you might wiggle your way out of it.”
“Perhaps I will accept to spite you.” She took a step back to put distance between them before she did something foolish, like peck a kiss to his cheek and wish him goodnight. “Do as you’ve been told and go to bed. I will return early tomorrow to rouse you and send you on your way.”
He was grumbling under his breath about country hours when she pulled the door closed behind her. Gemma met her in the corridor outside of her bedchamber. “Is our guest settled?”
“I don’t think we will hear any more from him tonight,” Bess said. “Would you have a cup of tea with me? I find I’m not ready to retire yet.”
“After all the excitement, neither am I.”
Below stairs, Bess examined the broken lock on the delivery door just outside of the kitchen. “I hope his lordship is handy with repairs. Did you see the damage he has done?”
“Have a little compassion. I cannot say I blame him with the weather.” Gemma was swinging the kettle over the fire when Bess re-entered the kitchen. “Have you ever seen such a sight?”
“Never,” Bess admitted. “He is exceedingly well-formed.”
Her cousin giggled. “I meant the thunder snowstorm.”
“Oh!” A flood of heat washed over her. She busied herself with readjusting Lord Julius’s wet clothes on the line.
Gemma took mercy on her and changed the subject. “I will send Robbie for the locksmith tomorrow.” The young servants had been ordered to bed so they could rise early to attend to Lord Julius.
Bess and Gemma moved to the servants’ dining hall with the pot of tea and sat at the long oak table. Bess questioned her cousin about their unexpected guest and his family.
“The Seabrooks are a close knit brood,” Gemma said. “They will come looking for him when he doesn’t arrive home.”
“What a pity. I thought I might keep him,” Bess said, poking fun at herself.
“I wish you luck. No lady has been able to catch him, much less keep him.”
Bess knew the type well and made a habit of keeping her distance from his ilk.
When Bess and Gemma retired for the night, all was silent on the second floor. Lord Julius was unlikely to stir before morning, given his state of inebriation. Nevertheless, Bess instructed her cousin to turn her lock as a precaution, and she did the same.
By midmorning the next day, Lord Julius still hadn’t made a sound. Bess was growing concerned. “Robbie, was his lordship sleeping when you last fed the fire in his chamber?”
“Yes, milady.” The boy didn’t look up from his task of shoveling ash from the sitting room hearth and dropping it into a metal bucket. “He snores something fierce.”
Gemma, who was knitting winter hats and mittens for the youngsters, cleared her throat. “Robbie?”
“I am not telling tales, Miss.”
Gemma raised her eyebrows. “Are you embellishing?”
The boy dropped his head, his face red. “Not a lot,” he mumbled.
Bess hated to see the servant called out for being a typical boy. “I’m sure it sounds louder in a quiet room,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. That must be it.” Robbie returned to his task with a shy smile.
“Shall we look in on Lord Julius together?” Gemma asked.
“I suppose we should.” Bess set the dusting cloth aside. “Then we can determine if he snores like a bear.”
Robbie snickered.
Gemma crinkled her nose at Bess, but her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Don’t encourage him.”
Bess led the way to Uncle Roger’s bedchamber and pressed her ear against the door.
“I can’t hear anything,” she whispered.
“Should we wake him?”
Bess shrugged. She’d threatened to wake Lord Julius early, but she hadn’t had the heart to carry through. He’d had a rough evening, and even though it was his own fault, a few more winks wouldn’t hurt him. Nevertheless, she wanted reassurance he hadn’t turned ill in the middle of the night. She eased the door open to peek inside. The counterpane was pulled over his head. If not for the dark spikes of hair poking above the covers, it could have been anyone in the bed. The heavy quilt rose and fell steadily, providing no cause for alarm.
Robbie had done a fine job of keeping the room toasty and had taken it upon himself to drape his lordship’s drawers over a chair by the fire to dry. Satisfied, she backed from the room. A puddle of white on the carpet caught her eye.
Is that the nightshirt? Of all the— He was nude beneath the counterpane.
Bess huffed and pulled pins from her hair.
Gemma gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching the rogue a lesson,” she hissed. “Hold these.” She pressed the pins into her cousin’s hand, tousled her own hair, and marched into the bedchamber.
Chapter Three
Julius was having a marvelous dream. Silky soft fingers tunneled through his hair and stroked the rim of his ear. Nails lightly caressed his back. Cool air touched his skin, slowly rousing him from sleep. He murmured as heaviness settled between his thighs. He’d always fancied a morning tup, but he was certain his bed partner was a figment of his imagination.
A she-devil with hair the color of honey, lips like plump cherries, and a tart tongue he’d been tempted to quiet with kisses last night. The encounter with the provocative widow was hazy in his memory, but he recalled holding her close. Her warm hand had splayed on his chest as her eyes heated with desire. He’d seen the look many times from other women. Sometimes, if both parties were agreeable, it resulted in a night of shared pleasure.
“Are you awake, my love?”
Julius yelped and flipped to his back, jerking the covers to his chin like a virgin spinster. “Lady Hadley, what are you—”
“It is Bess, my lord. Elisabeth, actually, but everyone calls me Bess.”
Gooseflesh raised on the back of his neck. The widow gazed at him with tender green eyes, her expression dreamy. Her mussed hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her cheeks boasted a rosy glow as if she’d been thoroughly tumbled. Lying on her stomach, she propped her chin in her palm. Her bare legs were bent at the knees and her shapely feet dangled in the air.