The Widow and the Rake. Lyn Stone

winsome Miranda more than anything else he could imagine, Neville was not certain he would marry any woman just to have her. Thus far, he had never found it necessary.

      Chapter Two

      Miranda paced the floor of her parlor and hugged herself. She had all but given up on finding anyone else to provide hugs. Mr. Tood should have warned her of what to expect.

      She now realized that eavesdropping on her gossiping peers at charity events was no way to obtain a list of candidates. Perhaps she would hire an enquiry agent next time around.

      Mr. Bathgate, she had dismissed within two minutes and would have done sooner if she had not been shocked speechless by his boisterous greeting. “Ol’ Tood says you want to pick my brain about choosing a curricle.” He had leaned close and winked salaciously. “But I know it’s a bloody tupping yer after! Been a damn long dry spell, eh?” Tupping indeed. The man was brain-sick. And he smelled as though he hadn’t bathed for a week.

      The handsome reverend Mr. Simpson had arrived a half hour early and overstayed by that length of time for what had amounted to a holier-than-thou sermon on the sins of Eve. Pontificating wretch. Apparently he was to have the living at Martlesby, a crumbling estate in the Northwest. Tood had told him she had asked him here to offer a donation. She had given one, too, just to be rid of the man. She kicked a footstool out of the way and continued pacing as she reviewed the prospects.

      An hour later, Mr. Lawney had arrived, talking nonstop, obviously well into his cups. Not only had he not known why he was there, but he probably had not even known where he was. So much for Mr. Tood’s investigations.

      The situation seemed hopeless though there was one yet to apply, due at any moment to round out an exasperating day. She did not bother checking her hair, pinching her cheeks to give them color, or smoothing wrinkles from her new green gown. What did it matter how she looked while tossing out yet another undesirable?

      Ravensby, her butler, appeared as expected. “Mr. Neville Morleigh to see you, madam.” He leaned forward and whispered. “This one’s sober.”

      “Show him in,” Miranda said on a sigh as she threw up her hands. How much worse could he be? She stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the floor waiting.

      “Good evening, Lady Ludmore. Neville Morleigh at your service.” The voice was deep and bore a touch of amusement. He bowed. “Mr. Tood advised me that you wished to speak with me this evening.”

      Miranda stared. She simply couldn’t help it. His eyes were arresting, the blue-green of a sunlit sea. His features were so nearly perfect; the small scar on his chin seemed a mere accent to add interest. His dark hair, cut in the latest fashion, waved naturally over his brow. He was a head taller than she. His wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped form was well turned out in buff pantaloons, a dark blue superfine coat, embroidered waistcoat and polished Hessians. She noted how his sun-browned complexion contrasted beautifully against the stark white linen of his cravat and collar. His looks quite took her breath away.

      Aside from the fact that he was extremely handsome, he looked familiar. She knew she had seen him before, but where? Morleigh. The name had not registered when Tood gave it earlier. She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly to regain her wits. “You are the Earl of Hadley’s heir, are you not?”

      He continued smiling as he shook his head. “No, ma’am. My father was a second son. My cousin, Caine Morleigh, is the heir. Have you mistaken me for him then? He is on the Continent with Wellington at present.”

      “Oh. A soldier?” she asked, simply for something to say.

      “A captain. So was it him you wished to see?”

      “No, no, not him.” Certainly not if he was the heir. This one was perfectly fine. Almost too fine. “Would you care for a glass of sherry?”

      He nodded. “That would be most agreeable if you will join me.”

      Miranda went to the sideboard, steadied her hands and poured. With a bit more composure, she returned and handed him the drink. “Won’t you sit down?”

      She took a seat so that he would. He sat beside her, not close enough to seem presumptuous, but near enough for her to catch the clean male scent of youth, sun dried linen and a mere hint of bay rum. Without being obvious about it, she inhaled more fully. Intoxicating.

      He appeared uncommonly comfortable with the silence, but Miranda’s nerves thrummed with apprehension. Or perhaps excitement. It was hard to tell. Her senses felt dangerously and deliciously full of him. She adjusted her skirts and her position, hoping to disguise her restlessness. “So. Have you lived long in London, sir?”

      He studied her with polite interest and took another sip of sherry. “Not very. I was born in Suffolk, schooled at Stowe, took ship at fifteen and traveled for years. I returned now and again for visits, but have only recently taken up residence in Town.”

      He was succinct without being curt, she thought. “That seems very young to set out on your own. Did your family object?”

      He looked away and for a moment she thought he might decline to answer. It was impertinent of her and much too personal a question on such brief acquaintance, but she was too curious to retract it and apologize.

      “My father was probably relieved.” Morleigh studied her for a moment then continued. “My grandfather, then the earl, had been funding my education since Father could not. You see, Father had inherited a generous sum from my grandmother, but promptly lost half at the gaming tables. The actress he married happily disposed of the rest and then abandoned him with nothing but a two-year-old son and a pocket full of regrets. He died when I was seventeen and away at sea.”

      Miranda winced and wanted to ask what had happened to his mother, but thought better of it.

      He answered the unspoken query. “My mother lives in New York. I have not seen her since she left us.” After a few seconds silence, he looked up and smiled. “But as you can see, I have survived and thrived.”

      “Good for you, sir.” She was quite impressed by how he had gone out into the world on his own. “And what courage you had for one so young. It’s quite admirable.”

      “I trust you were more fortunate than I,” he said.

      She nodded thoughtfully, deciding she should share her background, as he had done. “My father was a baronet and mother, a governess. As the only child of older parents, I was properly spoiled. They arranged my marriage to Ludmore when I was nineteen. So yes, I have been quite fortunate in my childhood, my education and in marriage.”

      “You were tutored at home?” he asked, turning to face her as he sipped the sherry.

      Miranda almost lost her train of thought as she watched his tongue trace the inner edge of his upper lip. She cleared her throat and looked away. “Um…yes, tutored. I was never sent away to study. Did you ever return to school?”

      “No, but I am fairly well read. Are you requiring another tutor? If so, you might need to look farther afield.” His smile changed to something warmer, somehow more intimate. “Depending, of course, upon what you would wish me to teach you.”

      His flirtatious expression seemed to suggest worldly lessons not included in regular classrooms. The thought of such instruction by him held definite appeal.

      “Did you enjoy being at sea?” she asked, hoping he was not a born wanderer. That could be his one fault. He sorely needed a fault, but not that particular one. “Will you go out again?”

      He shook his head. “That experience served its purpose. Unless required to sail for some reason, I doubt I ever shall.”

      Miranda noted that he seemed perfectly at ease and willing to answer anything she asked.

      “Did Mr. Tood tell you why I wanted to meet you?”

      He shrugged. “He said you have a mind to travel and since I have seen most of the known world, that I might suggest a