One Week To Wed. Laurie Benson

deep pitch of his voice rumbled through her body. There was no warmth in his eyes or expression, just a keen watchfulness, as if he was studying her, before he turned to Ann and offered another respectful bow.

      ‘I did not expect the two of you home this early,’ Ann said, looking pleased with the unexpected encounter. ‘I imagine, Lord Andrew, there is little to entertain a man late at night in this part of the country. It must be rather dull, compared to what you’re accustomed to.’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘Lord Andrew is from London,’ she informed her yet again before turning back to him. ‘Lady Charlotte has a sister who lives in London.’ There was a helpfulness to her tone and her eyebrows rose as if she fully expected his attention to shift to Charlotte.

      Dear God, was Ann trying to find her a husband? Is that why she had invited her here?

      His eyes skirted briefly to Charlotte before he addressed Ann’s question. ‘While I am partial to London, you do have some well-run establishments here that serve fine food and good ale. That is all a man truly needs.’

      Thank heavens, he did not feel obliged to follow Ann’s direction and converse with her. If Charlotte could think of a polite way to excuse herself, she would leave immediately.

      ‘Would you care to join us for tea?’ Ann raised her white cup with pink rosebuds. ‘A good cup of tea and a seat by the fire are lovely on such a windy night as this.’

      The men looked at one another. Whatever silent communication passed between them seemed to indicate Lord Andrew did not object to curtailing their plans to sit with them for a bit. The four wingback chairs made a cosy, inviting group around the hearth, but before the men where close enough to choose a seat, Ann had to open her mouth again.

      ‘You may sit there, Lord Andrew,’ she said, gesturing to the chair beside Charlotte. ‘And you may sit by me, Toby.’ She gave her husband a beaming smile, patting the cushion of the chair beside her.

      Charlotte caught the disapproving purse of Toby’s lips. Why had she never noticed Ann’s lack of subtlety before?

      ‘You never did say why you returned so early from the village,’ Ann continued.

      ‘Word was spreading throughout the inn that the roads were getting rather treacherous,’ Toby replied, watching Ann retrieve two teacups and saucers from the tea stand beside her.

      ‘Treacherous? But we had been walking in the garden a short while ago. There was nothing to indicate we should be concerned for the quality of the roads.’

      ‘A storm is coming down from the north. After hearing of it while we were dining, I had no interest in having one of our horses injured or being forced to turn back because a tree had fallen and blocked the road, so we ended our dinner early.’

      ‘Did you go to the Swan and Swallow?’ Charlotte asked, finding an urge to draw Lord Andrew into the conversation, which had nothing at all to do with the sound of his voice.

      But now that his attention was back on her, she once again found it unsettling.

      ‘We did,’ his deep voice rumbled. ‘Are you from the area, Lady Charlotte?’

      ‘I was raised in Warwick, but now reside here, near the Knightlys. The Swan and Swallow is a fine choice for a man looking for a bit of excitement, more so than the White Hart.’

      She felt the stares of Ann and Toby more than saw them, since her attention was fixed on Lord Andrew.

      He shifted his body slightly, as if he was studying her just as much as she was studying him. ‘And I appear to be a man looking for excitement? I assure you, I came to the country seeking pleasant conversations with my old friend and bucolic pastures for riding. Excitement is the furthest thing from my mind.’

      ‘Then you will be happy you have chosen our sleepy corner of the world. You won’t find much to excite you here.’

      ‘Except on a night like this.’ His gaze dipped momentarily to her lips, then travelled lower before his eyes locked with hers.

      Could he possibly feel what she was feeling, too? Just the sight of him and his voice was making her insides flutter. She didn’t like the sensation. It was unsettling to say the least. She tried to look away, but she noticed a small birthmark just under his right eye. It was just a small mark, but it was enough to keep her attention on his hazel eyes, framed with thick dark lashes.

      ‘And what excites you this evening?’ she said in a breath, not able to completely gather her voice.

      There was a distinct pause while he seemed to taste his own lips. Was he a man who preferred ale or wine with his dinner? Were there remnants of either on his lips?

      ‘The weather is proving enough excitement,’ he drawled, leaning back in his chair and startling her out of her musings. ‘With tales of carriage accidents, your village has been full of harrowing stories.’

      She blinked a few times, recalling the thread of their conversation. Of course, he meant the weather and not being close to her! What a foolish woman she was to assume he was referring to the way he felt meeting her. She had never flirted with a man in her life. She and Jonathan grew up together in a comfortable friendship. They had never flirted with one another.

      Would she even know if a man was flirting with her? Apparently not, since she thought Lord Andrew had been—and she had had the unnatural desire to flirt back!

      Charlotte took a sip of tea so she wouldn’t open her mouth again and make a cake of herself. Thank heavens no one else in the room had any inclination of what she had mistakenly assumed. She needed to leave before she started to blush.

      * * *

      Andrew rubbed the back of his neck. What possessed him to utter a flirtatious comment to the woman beside him? He never flirted with respectable women and didn’t recall drinking that much ale with dinner.

      It was obvious from the lavender of Lady Charlotte’s gown she was in mourning, which made flirting with her completely beyond the pale. And to make the situation even worse, he would guess it was her husband who had passed away based on the gold signet ring she wore around her neck...a very graceful, long neck which was accentuated by the gauzy fichu tucked in the neckline of her silk gown, obscuring any view of what appeared to be enticing cleavage. A few wisps of her wavy black hair had come loose from her upswept coiffure and contrasted sharply against the white fichu. But it was her lips that continued to draw his attention. They were full and rosy. And when she spoke, he was imagining her biting down on those pillowy lips in the throes of passion.

      Mrs Knightly cleared her throat and held out a teacup to him. How long she had been sitting like that, he’d rather not contemplate. ‘The roads are that treacherous?’

      ‘Quite,’ Toby confirmed, his attention on the tea his wife was fixing for him.

      ‘Then Charlotte must stay the night,’ Mrs Knightly stated, pouring milk into his cup.

      The woman beside Andrew let out the faintest gasp, which stirred his blood.

      ‘Certainly, they cannot be so bad. And I have not brought anything with me. How can I possibly stay?’

      Mrs Knightly waved her hand dismissively after handing Toby his tea. ‘We are practically the same size. I’m certain I will find things to fit you. If the roads are as bad as they say, it’s safer for you to remain here tonight.’

      It was apparent Lady Charlotte had no interest in spending the night, and who could blame her after the blunder he had just made. What recently widowed woman in her right mind would want to be near a man who flirted with her?

      Lady Charlotte looked to Toby for help. ‘Please inform your wife the roads are not that bad,’ she practically pleaded, raising her brows high above her green eyes for emphasis.

      Much to her obvious displeasure, Toby was no help. ‘But you will be heading straight into the storm on your way home. Ann is right. The roads are becoming hazardous with the mud and trees are at risk of coming down. It took