The Widow's Auction by Sabrina Jeffries

truly had wanted only an evening of pleasure, to “test the waters”?
    Worse yet, what if she’d tested the waters and discovered she couldn’t bear to be with another man after all? Then her fleeing would make perfect sense.
    He sank onto the bed, feeling as if his heart were shredding apart inside his chest. After they’d made love, he’d simply assumed she would fall in with his plans like a good little girl, like the same starry-eyed young woman who’d married Henry Lamberton out of gratitude for the man’s generosity.
    But she wasn’t that same young woman. Galatea had become flesh and blood, with a mind of her own. He’d been too full of himself to see it. He’d been so intent on playing his little games with her that he hadn’t even considered what she might want. She was right–he was indeed overbearing and pompous.
    Jerking out the letter again, he reread it, trying to decipher what she might have meant, but its brevity hampered him. All she said was that she “must respectfully decline” his offer. Which he hadn’t actually made.
    That meant she might also “respectfully decline” his offer of marriage.
    With an oath, he crumpled the note in his hand. Going to her house and unmasking her wasn’t an option. Much as he’d like to storm in and order her to marry him, he doubted such a method would impress Lady Kingsley. What if he confronted her only to discover that she had no interest in marrying him? Or that she was willing to marry him out of gratitude for what he’d taught her in bed? He didn’t want her like that, to be sure.
    A sudden chilling thought hit him. What if she agreed to marry him because she feared what he’d do with the knowledge he’d gained about her past last night? If he trapped her, she might very well respond that way.
    He groaned. Damn, but he’d made a mess of things. He hadn’t even considered that aspect until just now. She’d chosen not to take her mask off for a reason. Until he knew what it was, he couldn’t act without forcing her into a corner.
    So he must find a way to let her know how he felt about her without making her feel obligated to him. If he wanted to win her, he’d have to set it up so that she felt entirely free to choose. Or to keep her anonymity if she so wished.
    He glanced down to see her glove still peeping from under the bed where they’d apparently kicked it last night. Picking it up, he mused over it a moment. An idea began to take shape in his mind. . . 
    Â 
    Isobel hurried up the steps to the main building of the Lamberton School, fretting over the skirts that hampered her from moving faster. Oh, Lord, she was late. And for this meeting, of all meetings! Devil take her maid for not waking her.
    Though she couldn’t really blame the maid too much. Isobel hadn’t slept well in three days–not since her night with Justin.
    No, she must stop thinking of him like that. He was Lord Warbrooke. She’d best remember it, before she blundered in front of everyone.
    That was the least of her worries, however. Far more important was how she would survive an entire meeting of the governing board without wanting to touch him or smile at him or say something flirtatious.
    Which would not do at all. Despite having left a number of personal items at the Clarendon, she’d miraculously escaped detection. She’d be a fool to blunder now.
    Never mind that she spent her nights reliving every sweet word and caress and taste they’d shared. That she spent her days trying to wear herself out for those awful, endless nights. She’d made her decision. Perhaps she’d been a bit hasty by not waiting around to see what he’d say, but she couldn’t have borne it if he’d asked her to be his mistress again. If he’d cheapened what she felt for him.
    In any case, she would make up for it today. After what he’d