Free Country Flirt by Joan Smith

You have no objection?”
    “I have every objection!”
    Lord Howard considered this a moment and put his own construction on it. “You will be pretty busy in the House, I daresay. It might be best to hire a brace of lawyers for the job.”
    From concern for his unborn sons, Lord Howard immediately reverted to his mistress-to-be. “About Mrs. Armstrong —I gather she is new in the village?”
    “So I understand.”
    “I was wondering whether she is a real widow or a grass widow. I don’t care much for getting tied up with the latter. You never know when their husbands will come pouncing home, spoiling for a fight. I have had some difficulty with husbands in the past. Now that I am home, I mean to keep my nose clean. I shall find out from her this evening.”
    “You’re going to Armstrong’s tonight?” Monty asked in alarm.
    Lord Howard gave a knowing smile and said, “For a more thorough reading of the leaves. She suggested it herself. I wish I had thought to mention using the back door.”
    After a moment’s pause, Monteith replied in very good spirits, “I doubt Miss Bright will be spying from her window. What time is your assignation?”
    “Nine o’clock.”
    They continued on their way home. The afternoon passed with no major contretemps. Lord Howard was punctual for his reading that evening, and Mrs. Armstrong was more than punctual. She was ready and waiting half an hour before his arrival. Having had considerable experience with gentlemen of Lord Howard’s kidney, she knew precisely what he was about, and was determined to turn the direction of his interest to more proper channels.
    When he was shown in, she had arranged herself on the chaise longue in a romantically flowing garment that concealed all of her body except her head and arms. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders in black waves, and the lamps were low. The pose she had in mind was a sort of Delphic oracle of austere mystery and subtle refinement —a lady several feet above a gentleman’s touch. The unattainable was what men liked.
    To suggest she represented the divine rather than the profane, she had the table decked out as an altar, with votive candles and flowers. The wine decanter and glasses were on another table, to avoid jarring. As she had no notion of Lord Howard’s aversion to marrying a widow, she meant to drop vague laments about her dear late husband, and possibly a tantalizing hint that she had foresworn any further romantic entanglements for the rest of her life. That should present him a tempting challenge.
    When Lord Howard was shown in, he peered around the dark corners for his hostess till he espied the white form on the chaise longue. “Ah, there you are, Mrs. Armstrong. I hope I’m not barging in on a headache.”
    She lifted an arm in greeting. “In the evenings, I prefer the half light. It is more amenable to my mood.”
    Encouraged, he paced forward and grabbed her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it. Once this was done, however, he began to wonder just where he was to sit, as Mrs. Armstrong occupied the entire chaise.
    “I shall ring for your tea,” she said in a rather languorous voice.
    “We’ll skip the tea this evening, shall we?”
    The expression she wore was one of innocent bafflement. “But I thought you came for a complete reading? Is it the palm you wish read?” she asked.
    As this would at least get him onto the sofa, he said, “That’s it. I’ll just slide in here beside you on the love-seat.”
    Mrs.Armstrong lowered her legs and patted the end of the chaise. She took Lord Howard’s hand in both of hers and turned it palm-upward. She studied it a long moment, then closed her eyes and examined it with the tips of her fingers, slowly, seductively. The gentle, warm, insinuating pressure of her fingers fired Howard to such a state it was all he could do not to grab her into his arms.
    When at last her eyes fluttered open, she gave a little surprised shudder. “Did you feel it, the