The Laird and the Wanton Widow by Ann Lethbridge Page B

wish you all a pleasant evening.”
    Kate watched him stride away, a man whose commanding presence made others give way. In the eight years since she’d seen him, he’d become a confident man, sure of his place in the world. But he looked far from happy.
    “Oh dear,” Diana said. “How very awkward.”
    “I won’t go,” Lizzie said. “It’s not fair. The Season has barely begun.” She glowered at Harry’s departing broad shoulders. Her expression turned thoughtful. “You are an old friend of his, Mrs. Anderson. Can you not make him see reason? He never listens to me.”
    That was clear. He was like a bull let loose in Mr. Wedgwood’s factory and he was about to be hurt by flying shards of china. One thing was certain—if he didn’t walk a little more gently with Elizabeth, the next thirty years or so were going to be hell for them both.
    She’d seen it with her parents.
    “The sets are forming,” Lord Denton said, holding out his arm. “This is my dance.”
    Lizzie sent Kate a pleading look over her shoulder as Denton led her away.
    A look hard to resist.
    “I am going to murder my brother-in-law,” Diana said grimly. “I wrote to tell him of his daughter’s success, and what does he do? He calls her home.” She pursed her lips. “I must say Godridge is nothing like I expected from Lizzie’s description. I really should visit my brother-in-law one of the these days.” She turned to Kate, her eyes full of curiosity. “You never mentioned you were acquainted with Godridge.”
    Acquainted. What an understatement. “He was Le Clere when I knew him. I failed to make the connection.” Because she never could bear to think about Harry and what she’d done.
    “He’s a fine-looking man, if rather overbearing,” Diana mused, turning to look at Lizzie.
    Kate’s fingers curled into fists.
    Dash it, the man reeked of loneliness. He and Lizzie would make a wonderful couple. She should be helping him, not feeling jealous.
    She rose to her feet. “Can you manage without me for a moment? I need the withdrawing room.”
    Her attention fixed on Lizzie on the dance floor, Diana nodded absently.
    Kate squeezed her way through the crowds to the door. No parting of the Red Sea for her. A casual glance and the lofty members of the ton knew exactly how much courtesy to extend. None. Poverty-stricken widow-companions were one step above servants. One very small step.
    She drew in a breath and squeezed between an elderly gentleman and a potted plant. No need for bitterness, Kate, she upbraided herself. You made your own bed.
    Out in the entrance hall, the noise of the ballroom faded to manageable levels. And there, staring at a portrait on the wall while awaiting his outer raiment, stood Harry. Square jawed, broad shouldered and narrow of hip, he looked gorgeous in his evening clothes. A perfect specimen of manhood.
    The breath left her lungs in a rush.
    What a fool she’d been to let her temper destroy her one chance for happiness. It would be dreadful if Lizzie did the same.
    Why could she not see his true worth? Perhaps because he wasn’t making the effort to engage her affections.
    “Lord Godridge,” she said, her voice echoing in the cavernous hall.
    He swung around. A flare of something hot lit his eyes. Anger perhaps. Quickly extinguished, replaced by polite formality, she couldn’t be sure. She almost preferred the anger to cool dispassion.
    She took a deep breath and marched to his side. “Might I have a word?”
    He bowed. “Perhaps you want to introduce me to your husband?” The bitter edge in his voice sliced into her heart.
    “My husband died two years ago. As well as being Miss Buntin’s friend, I am also her paid companion.”
    A strange expression crossed his face. “A widow.” He swallowed. “My condolences.”
    “Thank you.”
    The silence between them filled up with unspoken questions. And tension. Her body thrummed with the knowledge of his nearness. Her palms tingled with the