Free Romancing the Countess by Ashley March Page B

her sudden freedom through any outrageous means possible. A widow who was likely to take a dozen lovers simply because she could, or act the eccentric because she had no husband to attract and no one to impress. While indiscreet and irresponsible, her behavior would have made sense. Given a few quiet moments without the thunder of train or carriage wheels and a head clear of liquor, Sebastian could have predicted her next course of action. He could have endeavored to find a way to forestall whichever ridiculous plan she devised next.
    But she was more cunning than he had anticipated, and the motivations he’d so quickly ascribed to her now seemed little more than his own foolish assumptions. She hosted a party, but she wore full widow’s clothing—including a widow’s cap—and had invited a mixture of bachelors, married couples, and a young woman with her companion. Certainly it wasn’t anything to violate one’s sense of morality. She’d even managed to turn any gossip on its head by arranging everything as a tribute to Ian’s memory. How could anyone ever forget how devoted she’d sounded during that oh so touching speech of hers?
    However, though the party itself was the only scandalous behavior she’d engaged in so far, Sebastian wasn’t convinced. He might not yet understand her method or even her motivation, but he knew she wasn’t as selfless as she appeared. Leah George wanted to be reckless. And although he’d misjudged her cleverness and the reason for her rebellion before, he would be sure not to make the same mistake again.
    When the first song ended and everyone applauded, Sebastian looked over his shoulder, found Leah’s gaze, and smiled. By the lift of her chin, he knew she understood the meaning of his expression: not as pleasure, not as happiness, but a warning.

Chapter 6
     
    Tell me again, darling. Tell me a hundred times, a thousand. I will never forget the first time you whispered it in my ear. It will never be enough. Tell me you love me.
     
    It could have been a beautiful day. The late-morning sun shone brightly overhead. A fleet of pristine white clouds drifted lazily across the sky. An early autumnal wind swayed the leaves on their branches, quietly stirred the water, and sifted gently through Sebastian’s hair.
    It would have been a beautiful day, if not for the black figure marring his view of the landscape: the formerly inconsequential Leah George, who’d quickly managed to make herself into a pestilence.
    How innocent she appeared, from the tip of her black parasol to the hem of her black skirts. In fact, he could have applauded her—she used the widow’s veil to add to her facade of quiet rectitude, the crepe lending her solemnity while lies issued one after another from her mouth.
    “. . . boating at Linley Park was one of his favorite pastimes . . .
    “. . . and we thought he’d gone missing, only to discover he’d spent the entire afternoon on the lake.”
    His gaze followed her gesture toward the four wooden skiffs bobbing at the lake’s edge. Various male servants had been summoned from the house to attend to the guests, and each one stood with a rope in his hands, mooring the boats to the shore.
    “Once he was gone, I found a few pieces of poetry he must have written while he was out here. About a bird landing on the bow, of the different colors of the water throughout each of the seasons. Of the immense peace he felt in his soul when he was alone on the lake.”
    Head swiveling, Sebastian stared incredulously at Leah. There were lies, and then there were gaudy, excessive leaps of imagination. Ian might have been known for his recitations of poetry and literature, but he did it solely to gain favor with the ladies. The only poem Sebastian had ever known him to write was a limerick about a sailor’s whore and a wooden dick.
    “Oh, how lovely they sound,” Mrs. Meyer said, the other ladies concurring with her. “Perhaps you might read them to us this