The Vicar's Widow

“I have misjudged you, then,” Kate said airily, thoroughly enjoying his possessive hand on her arm. “You are a wicked man if you enjoy titillating widows.”


“Ah, Mrs. Becket, I give you my word that I am indeed quite wicked when the situation warrants.” They had reached the other side of the street, yet he held fast to her elbow and looked her in the eye. “And I give you my word that I would endeavor to be as wicked as you’d like, given the slightest opportunity.”

The fire in her was now burning quite out of control, her mind racing with deliciously dark thoughts of just how wicked this handsome man might be with her. As the heat rose to her cheeks, she laughed. “If I didn’t know you to be a gentleman of the highest caliber, my lord, I would believe you are trying to seduce me.”

He cocked a brow as his gaze boldly swept the length of her. “What’s a man to do then,” he muttered, “when a widow puts away her weeds and presents herself so pleasingly?” he asked, slowly lifting his gaze to hers again. “A lovelier woman I’ve not seen, Mrs. Becket. You are the stuff of men’s dreams,” he said, as his gaze dipped to her bosom. “A pret tier gown I’ve not seen . . . or perhaps it is the woman who makes the gown so delightful.”

Kate laughed at his blatant attempted to seduce her. “You are a rake!” she cried happily and pulled her elbow free of his hand. “I am now quite convinced that the rumors of your . . . skill . . . with the ladies of the ton must be well deserved.”

“My reputation is indeed well deserved!” he said with mock indignation. “But I would toss all others aside for the mere pleasure of your company, I assure you.”

Now Kate laughed roundly, tossing her head back with delight. “Honestly, my Lord Montgomery!” she declared. “How silly you are! I am hardly one of the many naive young debutantes who seek your attention, and I daresay I cannot be drawn into your charms with false flattery!”

“Ah!” he cried, bringing a hand to his heart. “I am mortally wounded, Mrs. Becket, for how could one gaze upon a face as lovely as yours and offer anything but the sincerest and warmest esteem?”

“Have you considered the theater?” Kate asked flippantly as she continued up the street. “I should think you’d make a fine dramatic actor!”

Montgomery easily fell into step with her. “I have considered nothing but my heart, and how I long for you to hold it, Mrs. Becket,” he said, grinning. “But alas, you think me a rogue, a roué, when I only seek the favor of your smile.”

“Come now, my lord. Is that all you seek?” she asked, watching him coyly from the corner of her eye.

He sighed with exaggerated frustration. Kate smiled at his square jaw, his thick lashes, the full lips she remembered so keenly. It was almost as if that illicit kiss had happened only yesterday, the very same kiss that had burned in her memory these last two and a half years, making her sick with guilt and heady with imagination.

“There you are, you’ve caught me red-handed,” he said, shaking his head, and smiling down at her as they reached Mr. Heather’s stoop. “I should never be content with a mere smile, no matter how beautiful it is. I’d want more. I’d want all.”

The look in his eyes was scorching, and Kate slowly drew a breath, awkwardly took the basket of fruit from his hand, and held it tightly against her chest. He was smiling, but his eyes . . . there was something else in his eyes, something that made her believe he spoke true.

Thankfully, the sound of her father’s cart rattling up behind them snapped her out her trance. “I beg your pardon sir, but Mr. Heather will be wanting his fruit. Please excuse me.” She curtsied and stepped away from him.

With a grin that made her heart sink, Montgomery stepped back, swept his hat off a head of thick gold hair, and bowed with a flourish. “I shall indeed leave you to your good works, knowing that I may now go to my grave a happy man, for having titillated the fair Widow Becket.” With that, he straightened, put the hat back on his head. His eyes were full of mirth again; the deep-water look had gone.

“Ah, a roué, indeed!” Kate said and laughed as she reluctantly put one foot on the steps leading to Mr. Heather’s door. “I pity the poor young ladies who will be titillated by you and fall prey to your wicked ways, sir.”

“Pity them? Or envy them?” he asked with a subtle wink.

“You’re incorrigible!”

“Thank you! I am endeavoring very hard to be.”

Kate laughed as her father rolled to a mere crawl to keep from joining their private conversation. “Thank you for walking with me, sir. Good day!” she said cheerfully.

Montgomery chuckled and touched his hand to the brim of his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Becket,” he said, and turned smartly to her father. “Good day to you, Mr. Crowley.”

“My lord.”

With a jaunty wave, Lord Montgomery started back the direction he’d come, striding long and whistling a cheerful little tune.

Kate was still swimming in a pool of desire, and with a smile that would not possibly fade, she walked up the steps to knock on Mr. Heather’s door.