Free The Wary Widow by Jerrica Knight-Catania

away.
    “Madame?”
    “Tell him I will be down shortly.”
    With a sigh, she sat down at her dressing table and set to the task of trying to tame her wild hair.

 
    Eight
     
    The door to the drawing room creaked open and Andrew turned from his position by the window. He had every intention of greeting Mrs. Hawthorne, but all of a sudden he could not find his tongue.
    Dear God, what had happened to her? He had found her attractive before, but now-
    “Lord Andrew?” her sweet voice cut through the silence and brought Andrew back to earth.
    “Sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, I...”
    “Yes?” She stared at him curiously.
    Get a hold of yourself, man! Gathering his senses, he offered a bow and said, “I trust you are well, Mrs. Hawthorne?”
    Mrs. Hawthorne walked into the room, the pastel gown billowing at her feet, and motioned for him to sit. He willingly obliged. Some things were easier concealed when sitting down.
    “You do know my cousin is not at home?”
    Andrew nodded. “I do, but I had hoped to speak with you, actually.”
    “Me?” Her eyes widened. “But why?”
    Damn. He should have thought this through a little better. He had no reason at all to speak with the woman, but he’d told the butler he wished to see her anyhow. Now she stared at him, with those brown doe eyes, waiting for a reply.
    “A gift!” he shouted, and then realizing there was no reason to shout, repeated, “A gift.”
    “A gift?”
    “Yes, for Lady Elizabeth,” he said, speaking off the cuff. “I wished to ascertain an opinion from you regarding a gift for her. You see her Birthday is soon — ”
    “Her Birthday is not until October, my lord.”
    Damn! He could have sworn it was in early May.“Yes, well, I wanted to start planning early.”
    Mrs. Hawthorne stood and walked to the bellpull . “I’ll just ring for tea, if you don’t mind,” she said, clearly trying to hide a smile. Did she suspect he was lying? “Now, would you like to tell me the real reason you wished to see me?”
    Andrew’s mouth dropped open, and he was fully aware that he gaped. But he couldn’t help it. Beautiful and perceptive. Now what was he to say?
    God, that gown looked lovely on her. And the way she’d done up her hair. It wasn’t complicated, like Elizabeth’s, with curls and twists and all manner of decoration. Rather, it sat loosely on her head, and curly, red tendrils dropped around her face.
    Dear Lord, he was so uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair, realizing he still had not answered her. He couldn’t very well tell her that he just wanted to see her again, that he had enjoyed their brief encounters and that he wished for many more. He was engaged to the woman’s cousin —her charge, for God's sake.
    “How is your hand, Mrs. Hawthorne?” he finally asked.
    “My hand?” she repeated, seemingly caught off guard. “Oh, yes, my hand. Better, thank you. Please tell Mrs. Finch that her salve worked wonders. Why, I can barely see a single scrape now.”
    “I will certainly pass that along. She will be delighted. She's always experimenting with herbs and potions and what not, ever since Michael and I taught her how to read. Now, she pores over herbology books in her free time.”
    “Oh, goodness...that's rather unexpected, isn't it?”
    “Why? Because she was a whore?” Chloe's jaw unhinged and he laughed. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, I seem to say whatever comes to mind when I'm in your presence whether it's proper or not.”
    “Should I take that as a compliment?”
    “Indeed.”
    They stared at one another for a moment and it was all Andrew could do to not lean over and plant a kiss on those soft, pink lips. Or bury his face in her neck and take in that delectable lemon scent. Thankfully, a servant entered to deliver the tea and Chloe immediately set to pouring it. Andrew watched her intently. Mrs. Hawthorne was obviously a country girl at heart and he wanted to know more about where she came from.
    “Where is your home, Mrs.