The Seduction of His Wife by Tiffany Clare Page A

come through.
    The only thing Richard wanted right now was some peace and quiet. A few hours to himself. They were safe enough. “If you follow the women’s twittering, you should find your room without issue.”
    Dante inclined his head, then left.
    Richard knew Dante was right. He should send the sisters away. He just couldn’t bring himself to tell his wife to do so. She probably needed their comfort now that he’d reappeared.
    He never expected her to welcome him with open arms. Not after his long absence. That would have to change. It wasn’t as though he was going anywhere anytime soon. He’d have to learn to behave around her or she would never warm toward him.
    The papers in his hand were twined together in tidy two-inch stacks with his father’s bold handwriting on them. If he wasn’t mistaken, they were letters written to his father’s solicitor. There was a smaller stack of unaddressed lavender envelopes. His wife’s, in all likelihood, and he’d not invade her privacy, though he wondered why they were in here with his father’s things. He placed the feminine envelopes in the drawer and released the string holding his father’s correspondence together.
    He’d not remain idle while in Bakewell. He could sort through his father’s effects and settle into his role as earl. How strange it felt to be leaving his old life behind. Did things inevitably change after a close dance with death? Or was this path of taking the straight and easy bound to happen as one aged?
    *   *   *
    Dante Lioni did exactly as Asbury suggested. He followed the voices of the women once he’d familiarized himself with the layout of the house. He hadn’t expected a house quite so large as this one. It was as big as—if not slightly larger than—his estate just outside Milan. It took him a good twenty minutes to find the wing they would be taking chambers in.
    Three sisters.
    Asbury had a pretty wife; her hair was fair, as was one of the others, only hers held a slight tinge of red to it and she was smaller, shorter, thinner, and possibly younger than the other two. The third sister was darker in coloring, her hair a rich brown and lush with loose curls.
    He wondered which one was the widow. He’d bet his life on the plump brunette.
    A woman that pretty, that soft and feminine, couldn’t stay out of the marriage market long. She was more desirable than the other two. Her breasts strained against the striped material wrapped about her. A button had loosened, third one down from her elegant neck. He couldn’t see anything beneath but more white fabric. Her generous hips could not be hidden beneath all those frills and pleats on her skirts.
    She stopped in the double doorway and told the maid in a soft voice what to do with the effects she held. When the maid took them, she rubbed her hand over the back of her neck. He scrubbed his hand over his hair-roughened jaw. He needed to shave; he must look frightening, like a half savage to a woman of her standing.
    When the maid left to do her bidding, the brunette raised her eyes and stared directly at him. He tried to smile so he didn’t seem as threatening, but for a man his size that was nearly impossible.
    She didn’t smile at him. Just returned his stare, dropped the hand that had been massaging the back of her neck, and took a small step back so she leaned against the door frame. She sucked in her lower lip. Her gaze never strayed from his eyes.
    He should introduce himself. It was on the tip of his tongue, but didn’t make it farther when she gave him an interested once-over from crotch to shoulder and then met his eyes again.
    Yes, this one was certainly the widow. Hopefully of the lusty variety. He grinned and watched her sea-green eyes go wide. Perhaps she hadn’t meant to look him over so thoroughly and pointedly. Now he wished she’d do it again, so she could see his definite interest below the waist.
    It wasn’t meant to be.
    They were interrupted in the next