A Wager for the Widow. Elisabeth Hobbes

they be as soft to kiss as he imagined them to be? A prickle of excitement ran down his spine at the thought.

      Edmund eyed him for a moment. A familiar mocking glint flashed across his eyes. He stood up, wobbling slightly, and patted Will on the back. ‘Your limited charms won’t be enough to win my sister over anyhow. She’d never look twice at you.’

      Lady Peyton was listening to her mother speaking but, as though she had felt Will’s eyes upon her, she glanced across, seeing the three men staring in her direction. Her green eyes narrowed suspiciously. Will remembered those clear, wide eyes scrutinising him in Sir Edgar’s library as she had hinted at their encounter. She could have told her father everything and yet something had stopped her. He had seen interest there, he was sure, and he had most certainly seen the flush in her cheeks when she was in his arms.

      His jaw tightened as he recalled her declaration that she would never kiss him. She had been so confident of her assertion that his sense of pride flared at the thought of such a challenge.

      As he poured another round of drinks, playing for time, Lady Peyton rose from her seat. She crossed the hall—still not putting the weight fully on her foot, Will noticed. Edmund hailed her with a cheery goodnight and she bent unwillingly while Edmund planted a drunken kiss on her cheek. Her eye fell on Will. He inclined his head towards her and she gave him a nervous smile. He watched her depart, her skirt swaying gracefully despite the unevenness of her step, emphasising her narrow waist and the curves of her hips.

      ‘You’ve got a fancy for her, haven’t you, Brother? I can tell,’ Rob said. ‘Well, you can put her out of your mind. It’s common knowledge she has no time for any man.’

      ‘Rob’s right. I’d be happy for you to kiss her. I might even welcome you as a brother-in-law, but you’d be on a hiding to nothing,’ Edmund agreed. ‘I reckon Mother will be looking at the duke’s entourage for husbands for my sisters.’

      ‘Why should that concern me? I’m not looking for marriage,’ Will said. ‘I’ll leave it to Rob to exceed the terms of the wager so foolishly.’ Of course a noblewoman such as she would have her eyes on a mate of equal status. He sat back in his chair, arms stretched behind his head. ‘Very well, I’ll bet five groats I can kiss her by midnight on the night of the midwinter feast.’

      Rob laughed, ‘You’re aiming too high this time. In fact, I’m so sure you’ll fail that I’ll make it ten groats.’ He chortled.

      ‘Ten from me, too,’ Edmund agreed.

      Will sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Twenty groats was almost a month’s salary, much more than any wager previously. He could ill afford to lose such an amount. To win it though was tempting indeed. Visions of Master Fortin’s ship laden with wine barrels passed before his eyes. Twenty groats more to invest and for what hardship? Doing something he wanted to do anyway.

      Why was he even hesitating! A widow must miss some comforts of marriage after all.

      ‘One kiss, nothing more? And you assure me I will not incur your father’s wrath?’ he asked once more.

      Edmund nodded. ‘How would Father ever find out? Eleanor would never tell him. On the lips, mind,’ he said. ‘None of this virtuous hand-raising or brotherly cheek-brushing.’

      Brotherly cheek-brushing was the last thing on Will’s mind. He drained his goblet and slammed it down on the table.

      ‘I’ll do it. The wager is on!’

       Chapter Four

      An insistent knocking at the bedchamber door dragged Eleanor from her sleep much sooner than she would have liked. She buried her head beneath the warmth of the covers, but the rapping became louder until it had the rhythm and intensity of a drum and she could ignore it no longer. She climbed out of bed with a groan. Her foot was still tender as she hobbled to the door.

      Anne stood with one hand raised, caught mid-knock.

      ‘I thought you were never going to wake up,’ the younger girl said petulantly, twisting a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair around her fingers. ‘You left the hall early enough last night to have had more than enough rest.’

      Eleanor smiled and beckoned her in, relieved it was only her sister and not her mother. Lady Fitzallan had definite opinions about the hour her daughters should be dressed by. Even after running her own establishment for years Eleanor found herself squirming at the thought of a scolding. She half-hopped back to the bed and climbed in, stretching her leg out.

      ‘Open the shutters, please, Anne,’ she instructed and watery daylight flooded into the room. Eleanor peered down at her ankle, wincing at the sight. Released from her tightly laced boot, the foot had swollen overnight and an ugly bruise crept from her instep across and round her anklebone. No wonder it hurt to walk on. Anne gasped in disgust at the sight of Eleanor’s ankle and climbed on to the bed, leaning heavily against her sister and drawing the thick blanket close around them both.

      ‘You said nothing of this to Mother last night,’ Anne exclaimed accusingly. ‘How did you do it?’

      Eleanor reached down and gave her ankle an experimental prod. A biting pain shot across her foot as she touched the tender flesh. It would take days to heal, she was certain of it. Her anger at Rudhale’s ludicrous actions on the ferry returned in a rush.

      ‘I slipped on the ferry crossing the Taw and twisted it,’ she explained crossly. She threw herself back against the pillow in annoyance. ‘It was not my doing. I was almost knocked overboard thanks to the reckless behaviour of...’ Her voice trailed off cautiously. Last night she had passed up the chance to tell her father what had passed between herself and the steward. She could hardly now share that with Anne, at least not if she expected it to remain secret any longer than it took for the girl to leave the room.

      Anne was watching her closely, her hazel eyes wide. ‘Of who?’ the girl asked eagerly.

      ‘A stranger on horseback. No one important,’ Eleanor continued. Her irritation mounted as she recounted the incident. Anne’s reaction was not at all what she had expected, however. Her sister’s eyes shone and she clutched Eleanor’s arm passionately.

      ‘Eleanor, that’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard!’ Anne’s voice was a high-pitched squeal. ‘He saved you from the water and pulled you into his arms, yet you didn’t kiss him? How could you have resisted him?’

      ‘How could I have resisted an arrogant man who thinks he could demand such an intimacy from a woman travelling alone?’ Eleanor asked in surprise. There were six years between them and sometimes she forgot how silly Anne could be.

      Anne snorted and hugged herself tightly, her face wistful. ‘A kiss from a dashing stranger! It’s like something a troubadour would sing about. It’s so romantic, Eleanor. Was he handsome?’

      The steward’s face rose in Eleanor’s mind and an unwelcome blush began to creep around her neck at the memory of his eyes flashing in her direction. She bit her lip and reached for the comb that lay on the table.

      ‘I don’t recall,’ she said frostily, pushing down the memory of the way her heart had thumped. ‘Besides, however handsome he was, it would not excuse such rudeness.’

      Anne took the comb from Eleanor’s hand and began to run it through the tangles of her sister’s hair. ‘So he was handsome!’ Anne said triumphantly. ‘Promise me that if it should ever happen again you will not refuse,’ she begged.

      Eleanor’s heart lurched at the thought. She caught the direction her thoughts were leading and scolded herself. The steward’s manner towards her in Sir Edgar’s library had been courteous and there was no reason to believe he would be so brazen in future. It most certainly would not happen again.

      ‘I would do no such thing,’ she said calmly. ‘And neither would you unless you wanted to ruin your reputation.’

      Anne