Grace. She should have gone in search of Grace. She should not have come here with this jackanapes.
But she had wanted to come. She had so wanted to go back to that magical time when she was young and in love.
She was an idiot, a complete cabbage-head.
“To how many men have you extended this invitation, Lady Oxbury?”
Oh! She felt as if he had slapped her. How could he think such a thing?
Because he hardly knew her. They had spent only two months of the Season—a few social events—together twenty-three years ago. She had been a child then; she was a woman now. How could he know her?
“That is none of your concern, Mr. Wilton.”
“I am somewhat particular in my associations, Lady Oxbury.”
She should slap him. She should certainly disinvite him. She did not want an ass in her bed.
She opened her mouth to tell him exactly that, but the words wouldn’t come.
The ugly truth was she did want him, had wanted him every day since she’d kissed him in this garden that first Season. She had wished for him on her wedding night after Oxbury had done his duty and gone back to his own bed. She had dreamed of him in the dark—and sometimes at the breakfast table while watching Oxbury read the paper and chew his toast and kidneys. And much as she blushed to admit it, she had often imagined it was he, not Oxbury, above her in bed, working at getting an heir.
She had been fond of Oxbury and had tried to be a good wife to him. She had never taken a lover—but had she been completely faithful?
No, not really. Not in her heart.
Enough! Her husband was dead, had been dead this last year. No one would fault her if she took a lover now—well, no one besides Mr. Saintly Wilton here. She was curious, that was all. She finally had the opportunity to find out what it would have been like if it had been Alex instead of Oxbury in her bed.
She thought it would be good. She’d never before felt the sensations Alex had created in her just now. He’d done little more than kiss her—though she’d never before been kissed like that. Where had he learned to be so skilled? He had not been married.
“You are particular, are you, Mr. Wilton? I would venture to guess you have associated with more women since last we met than I have men.”
Did he blush? Well he might.
“That is a different matter entirely. I am a man.”
True, women were supposed to turn a blind eye to men’s peccadilloes. If he were her husband—she ignored the pang that thought provoked—she would look the other way. But he was not her husband, and he was taking her to task for the same sin he had doubtless committed too many times to count.
“And I am a widow, Mr. Wilton.” She looked away. She couldn’t bear to see his expression. “I believe I am free to behave as I see fit. However, if you are not interested in my invitation, we need say no more. Please, forget I ever mentioned the topic.”
She would not be embarrassed. He did not know how it felt to be so completely alone. She had no husband, no child—no home. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Well, there was no point in dwelling on things she had no power to change.
So, no, Mr. Wilton had no conception of her plight. He was a man. He was in complete control of his destiny. He could choose to marry or remain single. He was the master of his estate. He had not the slightest inkling what her life was like.
“I believe I should like to return to the ballroom now, if you please,” she said. “I have been remiss in my duties. I should see if Grace has returned.”
The cabbage-headed, cork-brained lobcock stood rooted to the spot, staring at her. Well, she could find her own way back to the ballroom if he did not wish to escort her or was incapable of the task.
“If you will excuse me then, Mr. Wilton? I’m sure you will understand when I tell you I would prefer any future encounters we may have be limited to a cordial nod. I believe we’ve exchanged all the words we need to for the duration of our separate stays in London.”
She was very proud of herself. She had got that speech out without crying or even suffering her voice to crack. She moved to step by Alex.
His hand shot out to clasp her arm.
“Lady Oxbury.” He paused. His face was in shadow; she couldn’t see his expression. “Kate. My pardon. I meant no insult.”
She snorted—she couldn’t help herself. Meant no insult? Did the man think she was a complete paperskull?
“No,” he said. “I was just…surprised.”
All right, she could understand that. She’d been surprised herself. She never would have guessed she’d have the temerity to say such a thing.
“Very well. I accept your apology. Now please be so kind as to escort me back to the ballroom.”
He looked away. The moonlight glanced along the side of his face—she could see his jaw clench. He made no move to leave nor did he release her.
What was he thinking? Surely he didn’t intend to keep her here until Grace came searching? How would she explain her presence in this secluded place? She must go inside now.
She opened her mouth to demand he release her when he turned back.
“Kate.” His voice was low and tight.
“Mr. Wilton—”
“Alex, Kate.”
He almost sounded as if he were in pain. “Alex, then.” She put her hand on his arm. “We should return to the ballroom.”
“I…may I…that is…” He took a deep breath and seemed to gather his composure. “If I may, I would like to take you up on your kind offer.”
“My offer?”
“Yes. I would like to…visit you. Tonight.” He was having a hard time getting the words out. “If I may.”
Her stomach roiled with nerves and excitement. This was her last chance to change her mind. She should be sensible. She should be cautious.
She should be daring. She had not followed her heart before and had regretted it for years. She would not make that mistake again.
“All right.” Now what did she tell him? He couldn’t very well knock on the front door—she wasn’t that bold yet. But there was a sturdy tree outside her window…“Give me half an hour—no, an hour—after I leave the ball. Throw some pebbles against my window—second floor on the northwest corner—and I’ll let you in. That is, if you can still climb a tree?”
He grinned then, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. “I believe I can persuade this old body to do that much.”
She frowned. What if he fell? He might do himself a permanent injury. And the scandal! Every last member of the ton would be sure to speculate on what Mr. Wilton was doing on the ground outside Lady Oxbury’s bedroom. “I’ll leave the servants’ door unlocked.”
“You don’t think I can manage the more romantic route?”
She smiled. The teasing note she’d missed was back in his voice. Perhaps this was going to be all right. It wouldn’t be love—at least not on his part—but it would be…all right. If nothing else, it would satisfy her curiosity. She could finally put her infatuation with him in the past where it belonged.
“I want you to be able to manage other things once you arrive.”
“Ha! Ye of little faith. I’ll be delighted to show you I have endless stamina.” He