The Widow and the Rake. Lyn Stone

      Chapter One

      Neville Morleigh happened to be gazing out the window of his modest flat over a stationer’s shop just off Abermarle when he spied his solicitor, Randal Tood, rushing across the street as if he were being chased. Morleigh went to his door and opened it as Tood thundered up the stairs and hurried inside.

      “Sir, I have the most extraordinary dilemma. You will not believe the scheme that has involved me.” He laid his hat and cane on the sofa and plopped down beside them, wiping his fingers across his sweaty forehead. “I am so distraught!”

      “Easy there, Tood,” Neville Morleigh said, worried about the little man who had been such a good friend to him the past few years. It wasn’t like Tood to exaggerate a problem. Generally he went about solving it without any fuss. “Shall I get you a brandy?”

      “Oh, please. Yes, thank you.” He raked a hand over his face, sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, obviously trying to calm himself.

      Neville handed him a snifter. “What is it, man? I’ve never seen you this upset. Has the market plunged again?”

      “No, no, it’s to do with her ladyship.” He took a gulp of brandy and winced at the burn.

      Ah. Tood’s other client. He only served two, Neville himself and Ludmore’s widow. “I assume you mean Lady Ludmore. Is she back in society yet? It’s been a year since the old baron died, hasn’t it?” Neville had been counting the weeks, fifty to be precise. Now she was no longer forbidden fruit and he discovered he was still damned hungry for her.

      “She wants to purchase a man!” Tood gasped out the words and quickly took another swallow.

      Neville laughed out loud. “Whatever for?”

      “A husband. She wants to have children, keep control of her money. And control of the man in question. That is one strong-minded female, Mr. Morleigh.” He upended the snifter and emptied it. “And she’s ordered me to help her arrange it!”

      Neville sat down, crossed his legs and sipped his brandy as he thought about the woman he had not been able to get out of his mind for the past two years. Government business and Napoleon’s antics on the continent had provided some distraction, but not enough to make him forget her.

      She was a fair-haired vision in anyone’s estimation, but it wasn’t only her looks that had captured and held his regard. There was something about the way she moved, her voice, her laugh. She had spirit, that one, and you could see it well across a crowded room. Vivacious, yet graceful. Inclined to humor, though not loud about it. He had kept his distance. Miranda had been married and happily so it seemed.

      Though admittedly envious of Ludmore, Neville truly admired the lady’s obvious devotion to her elderly husband. That spoke of both her caring nature and her loyalty.

      He had never met her formally, nor had he wished to at the time. The temptation might have been too great. Ludmore had been a respected gentleman who did not deserve cuckolding, even if his wife had proved eager. In any case, Neville staunchly avoided wives.

      However, widows did have the freedom to take lovers if they were discreet. He might be able to charm her into an attachment now that she was free. She might not remain at liberty, though, unless he could dissuade her from this ridiculous plan of hers. “Does she have anyone particular in mind?” he asked Tood.

      His solicitor whipped out a paper and handed it over. “Here is a list she made of a few to begin the process. She wants someone penniless, grateful, strictly opposed to violence and not fond of cards or loose women. I’m to ensure their qualifications before setting up the interviews.” He got up and helped himself to another tot from the sideboard. “This is why I came directly to you, in hopes you know the candidates.”

      Neville was already perusing the names she had written in a beautiful flowing script. Ever aware of subversive elements, he made it his business to know everyone in the ranks of society who did not actively support England’s effort in the war by either word or deed. These three were politically uninvolved in any way, probably the only point in their respective favors. He scratched his stubbled chin as he mused over each name.

      “Well, let’s see. Bathgate’s a toad. He’ll put her off with the first words out of his mouth, which are likely to be profane. Simpson is set on the church, so I hear. Quite preachy.” He thumped the list. “And Lawney. Now there is an obnoxious bore, even when he’s not cupshot.” Neville sighed and tossed the list aside. “But they’re all in hock up to their overstarched collars and should be delighted to bow and scrape for a license to bed and a few quid a week.”

      “Oh, my. Do you know any other more acceptable men that I might suggest to her?”

      Neville grinned. “Bachelors who meet her criteria aren’t exactly thick on the ground, but I was about to add one who might do nicely. Why don’t we let her meet the others first, though? Advise her not to decide until she has looked over the lot.”

      Tood had relaxed after two snifters of brandy. “So who is your addition to her gang of three?”

      “Why, me, of course.” Neville smiled.

      Tood almost choked. “You would marry her?” he gasped.

      Neville inclined his head, but avoided answering. He could not name a worse choice of husband for any woman, let alone one he esteemed. He trusted no woman enough to commit to her for life. He had seldom witnessed a marriage that remained happy. Most were simply endured.