The Laird and the Wanton Widow

Apparently not.

What would he think when he saw her again? That she was much changed, no doubt. And not for the better.

Good Lord, she was mad to think he’d remember her after all this time. For one season in Edinburgh, they’d lived in each other’s pockets. Less than a season—a month. Then he’d departed for a family celebration promising to return. A few days later, a mutual friend had relayed gossip from a letter she’d received that he’d fallen for a beautiful woman visiting his parents.

She’d been so hurt.

And angry.

So stupidly angry.

“Good evening, Miss Buntin,” he was saying in that deep voice laced with the burr of the Highlands. “Lizzie.” He bowed. “I trust I find you both well?”

Diana fluttered her fan. “Very well, my lord. This is a surprise.”

“Is it?” There was an edge to his voice. Impatience. “Lord Mcrae could not come himself, so he asked me to ascertain the truth of your letters and take whatever action I deemed needful.”

Lizzie gasped. “You wrote to my father, Aunt? What on earth did you say?”

Diana shot Lizzie a warning look. “Nothing to which your father could take exception, I am sure. Lord Godridge, may I introduce you to my companion, Mrs. Anderson?”

Kate held out a hand. “My lord.”

Silence greeted her. He was staring at her. With…shock. And what? Horror? “Mrs. Anderson.” His voice sounded strained as he took her hand.

“Do you two know each other?” Lizzie asked, glancing at them in turn.

Heat fired Kate’s cheeks. “We met many years ago.” She took a deep breath. “Before I was married. It is good to see you again, Lord Godridge.”

Harry was still staring at her as if he had seen a ghost. She understood the feeling. Her skin felt as if it had shrunk and her chest had been banded in iron.

“Did you have a pleasant journey, my lord?” Diana asked in a faint voice.

He seemed to recollect himself, straightening his shoulders and turning back to Lizzie’s aunt. “It rained.”

“Did you see Father before you left, Harry?” Lizzie asked. “Is he well?”

“He is worried,” Harry said. “About you. And his gout is bad.”

The weight of that statement sent Lizzie’s shoulders up to her ears. She smiled stiffly.

Good Lord, he was making a complete mess of this. Was he always so brusque with the girl? No wonder she called him an ogre. Though he certainly wasn’t the octogenarian the young woman had led Kate to expect.

Just at that moment, Lord Denton, a poetically brooding young man with a lock of brown hair flopping on his forehead, wandered up with the glass of lemonade. Kate was surprised he’d remembered the drink. The young poet often went off in a trance. He gave Lizzie a besotted smile along with the glass. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look this evening, Miss Mcrae? Can I compare thee to a summer rose?”

Lizzie giggled. Lizzie didn’t usually giggle at Denton’s nonsense. Indeed she’d been known to give him a sharp setdown if he put her to the blush. But tonight, in the presence of the man her father had chosen, she giggled.

“Shakespeare couldn’t have said it better,” Harry muttered drily.

Didn’t he see that Lizzie was testing him? If he’d just be a little more…well, adoring, he would surely sweep Lizzie off her feet. Denton couldn’t hope to compete with a real man like Harry.

“Do you have business in Town, Lord Godridge?” Diana asked, plying her fan with enough vigor to stir the air around Kate’s cheeks.

“Yes,” Harry said, his hard gaze focusing on Diana. “I’m here to drive Lizzie home. I will call upon you in the morning to make the necessary arrangements.”

“I won’t go,” Lizzie declared.

Oh Harry, Kate thought miserably. A heavy hand on the bridle would not work with this girl, not when she had been courted, flattered and adored by every eligible male in London. If Godridge wanted Lizzie, he was going about it all wrong.

“You cannot take our goddess,” Lord Denton proclaimed. “It will be like removing the sun from the sky.”

Lizzie bestowed him with a dimpling smile of approval.

The boy flushed bright red.

Harry’s left eyebrow shot up. The corners of his lips twitched. “Then London is about to experience a chilly summer.” He turned to Lizzie. “Would you care to dance with me, Lizzie?”

She tossed her head. “All my dances are promised, I’m afraid. And we are engaged all day tomorrow.”

Kate winced.

“The following morning will be fine,” Diana said in a strangled accent.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Ten o’clock, then, two days hence.” He hesitated, glancing at Kate as if he would like to say more, then he bowed. “I wish you all a pleasant evening.”

Kate watched him stride away, a man whose commanding presence made others give way. In the eight years since she’d seen him, he’d become a confident man, sure of his place in the world. But he looked far from happy.

“Oh dear,” Diana said. “How very awkward.”

“I won’t go,” Lizzie said. “It’s not fair. The Season has barely begun.” She glowered at Harry’s departing broad shoulders. Her expression turned thoughtful. “You are an old friend of his, Mrs. Anderson. Can you not make him see reason? He never listens to me.”

That was clear. He was like a bull let loose in Mr. Wedgwood’s factory and he was about to be hurt by flying shards of china. One thing was certain—if he didn’t walk a little more gently with Elizabeth, the next thirty years or so were going to be hell for them both.

She’d seen it with her parents.

“The sets are forming,” Lord Denton said, holding out his arm. “This is my dance.”

Lizzie sent Kate a pleading look over her shoulder as Denton led her away.

A look hard to resist.

“I am going to murder my brother-in-law,” Diana said grimly. “I wrote to tell him of his daughter’s success, and what does he do? He calls her home.” She pursed her lips. “I must say Godridge is nothing like I expected from Lizzie’s description. I really should visit my brother-in-law one of the these days.” She turned to Kate, her eyes full of curiosity. “You never mentioned you were acquainted with Godridge.”

Acquainted. What an understatement. “He was Le Clere when I knew him. I failed to make the connection.” Because she never could bear to think about Harry and what she’d done.

“He’s a fine-looking man, if rather overbearing,” Diana mused, turning to look at Lizzie.

Kate’s fingers curled into fists.