Bile rose in her throat and a sudden chill infused her body. It means nothing. It is possible they met by chance. Don’t make a fool of yourself and jump to conclusions. Frances sat rigid for the remaining part of the journey home. After all that passed between them last night, she could not believe he had made an assignation with his former mistress. She refused to believe it.
By the time Frances started up the Manor’s broad front steps, she had determined she would wait to see if Richard mentioned his encounter with this woman who, after all, was a neighbor. And if he did not? You will damn well ask him, Frances, and not allow it to irritate like a boil growing under your skin. She might even use it as an opportunity to tell the earl she knew of his liaison with the woman. Might. It was not something she really wanted to discuss.
“You have callers, my lady,” Benson said when Frances stepped inside. “Mr. Jensen and a Mr. and Mrs. Cooper are waiting in the library.” He cleared his throat with a slight cough. “The small drawing room is being painted today, if you remember,” he added at her inquiring look.
Frances removed her gloves and hat and gave them to the butler. “I see. Have you ordered any refreshments, Benson?”
“Yes, madam. Some beer for the gentlemen and lemonade for Mrs. Cooper, as well as an assortment of sweets.”
“Thank you. Please inform them I am arrived home and will join them shortly.” She glanced at her skirt which, other than a trace of dust from the roads, was passable enough. It was not necessary to change her clothes, then, but she wanted to wash and attend to her personal needs before she greeted unexpected guests. She supposed the Coopers were also members of Lady Merton’s house party. What had brought them here, and without their hostess? Frances set the thought aside, gathered her skirts in one hand and hurried to her chambers. Speculation was generally fruitless and she would know soon enough.
Joan was already there, mending a flounce on one of Frances’ gowns. A closer examination showed Frances she was more disheveled-looking than she had expected, so she took the time to change her dress. She chose one of butter-yellow muslin, embroidered at neck and hem with tiny blue flowers and a trail of green leaves. Very spring-like, she thought, checking her appearance in the cheval mirror. The sun had tinted her cheeks with a becoming pink, her hair was drawn smoothly into a knot on the top of her head, and the loose tendrils at her temples flattered. She would do. A light wool shawl of pale green completed the ensemble and Frances grinned at her image. One might think the Queen herself was come to call instead of people she hardly knew. Although pleased with her efforts, and the resulting self-confidence, the impromptu visit gave Frances pause. It was likely she had met the couple at Lady Merton’s recent dinner party, but she had no recollection of it. Why hadn’t Victoria accompanied her guests, as she should have? Frances glanced at her reflection one last time and shrugged. Perhaps if she stopped primping and went to greet them, she would get her answer.
Chapter Thirty
Paul Jensen masked his impatience, although this wait for Lady Halcombe to arrive home seemed interminable. Why today, of all days, did the woman choose to make calls? He knew her daily habits well and social excursions were usually not one of them.
The countess probably acted for the same reason Victoria had insisted on a visit to Halcombe Manor this morning without the least bit of warning for her guests—because women are capricious and unreasonable, he groused silently. With half of his attention on the conversation between the Coopers, and the other half on trying to read the book titles on the nearest bookshelf, Jensen stood the instant he heard the door open. Finally.
He reached his hostess before she had completely stepped over the threshold. “Lady Halcombe. A pleasure to see you again.” He smiled and bowed over her hand. She looked …delectable, he decided. Her cheeks were tinged with colour, her hair was artfully arranged, and she was clad in a becoming gown that showed off her figure to advantage. The lady looked good enough to taste. Not for the first time, he regretted that he was unable to extend his visit. He would very much have enjoyed a seduction.
“I hope you will forgive us for imposing upon you so unexpectedly. Since Lady Merton had business to conduct with Lord Halcombe, I took advantage of the opportunity to allow my friends a look at your beautiful library.”
“It is no imposition at all,” Lady Halcombe said, quickly freeing her hand with a graceful movement, but there was a friendly look in her eyes. Encouraged, Jensen cupped her elbow and walked with her to where the Coopers stood waiting.
“My lady, may I introduce Mr. and Mrs. Cooper? They are fellow guests of Lady Merton’s. Mrs. Cooper is her cousin.” Jensen turned to the other gentleman and swept his arm through the air with an understated flourish. “And Mr. Cooper is an Oxford Scholar. As such, I felt strongly that he would appreciate your marvelous collection.”
Jensen released his hostess, aware he was talking too fast and too much. This visit was a critical part of his plans. He had to gain access to the Manor library. He forced his posture into one of casual interest and watched her ladyship’s face for any sign of annoyance, but she greeted her guests with every indication of welcome.
Lady Halcombe bent her head and smiled. “Did we meet at Lady Merton’s dinner party? If so, do forgive my wretched memory.”
“Just in passing, my lady,” Mrs. Cooper said somewhat shyly, and bowed. “We had no opportunity to converse.”
“Then we shall use this quieter time to further our acquaintance,” Lady Halcombe said. “Do you plan a long stay?”
“A few more days and then we must get back to Oxford. We are fortunate Lady Merton shares her home with us from time to time so that we can enjoy a country holiday.”
“This part of Sussex is a beautiful area, particularly at this time of year.” Lady Halcombe turned her smile on Mr. Cooper. “It is nice to meet you both,” she said, shaking his hand. “Please, be seated and tell me something of your field of study. I’ve sent for a fresh batch of lemonade to cool us on this surprisingly warm day.”
She sat on a sofa opposite the Coopers and looked at Jensen. “Might we persuade you gentlemen into taking some lemonade?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Unless, of course, you feel it too much a ladies drink.”
“I can’t speak for Cooper, but I am not averse to having a glass of something other than beer now and then,” Jensen said. He was tempted to sit beside her, but the sofa was small and such proximity might be unwelcome. A position to the side, where he could see her face more clearly, was better and he pulled a chair closer to the group.
They were interrupted by the entrance of the butler and a footman and the next few minutes were taken up with the serving of lemonade for all. A plate of biscuits accompanied the beverage and it was not until everyone had a glass in hand that the conversation resumed.
“Joseph is too modest to tell you that he took high honours in the classical studies,” Jensen said.
“Indeed? Then you are enamoured of the old languages, Mr. Cooper?” Lady Halcombe asked with a bright look of interest. “I myself confess to a liking for Latin. It seems a very comprehensive language to me.”
Cooper’s grin transformed his somewhat commonplace features into an expression of liveliness. “I’m not sure enamoured is the correct word. Besotted is more accurate, as Mrs. Cooper will surely attest. I prefer it to Greek, although the two seem to go together when it comes to classical studies.” He waved a hand to indicate the surrounding volumes. “I could not refrain from examining your collection, my lady, and must say I am greatly impressed.”
“Not especially mine, sir, as most of what you see was collected by generations of the family. The majority of my own books are stored elsewhere. Eventually, I will blend the collections. I suspect there are some duplicates to ferret out and either sell or donate to a library.”
Jensen straightened. That sounded a very open statement. Did Halcombe know then of his wife’s involvement with the book trade? Did she plan to continue it?
&n
bsp; “Oxford would be delighted to be the recipient, I’m sure,” Mrs. Cooper chimed in and they all laughed.
“I will keep it in mind, Mrs. Cooper,” Lady Halcombe said with mock sincerity as she joined in the ensuing laughter.
Jensen paid scant attention to the conversation that followed, once again attempting to unobtrusively examine the room. The cases of shallow drawers were the most promising as they undoubtedly held maps, drawings and over-sized prints. But would the previous earl have left something as valuable as the Legacy Folio stored so accessibly? No, more likely it would be locked away. Perhaps the Manor had a muniments room.
Jensen leaned forward with a diffident smile, and addressed his hostess. “Joseph is much too polite to ask you permission to return here for a long browse, my lady.”
“Oh, I say,” Cooper began, flushing.
Lady Halcombe tilted her head in question. “If you have the time, you are welcome to come again, sir. I cannot promise a social visit, but if you don’t mind browsing alone…?”
Cooper shook his head with enthusiasm. “Not at all. We will be here for several days yet. I would like to come.” He glanced at his wife, then back to Lady Halcombe. “Caroline will probably come as well, if you don’t mind. She is no mean scholar herself, although she seldom admits to so unladylike interests.”
“Joseph!”
Lady Halcombe laughed. “Your secret is safe with me, Mrs. Cooper. I am guilty of scholarship myself.”
“Indeed, Caroline, I have been told that Lady Halcombe is quite the bluestocking.” Lady Merton flowed into the room on Lord Halcombe’s arm in a possessive manner not lost on his wife.
Or so it appeared to Jensen. Fleeting as it was, the faint look of dismay in Lady Halcombe’s eyes and the almost imperceptible tightness around her mouth did not indicate approval of Victoria’s presumption. In truth, judging from Halcombe’s expression, he did not appear any too happy either. But then, his lordship’s countenance was never especially congenial at any time.
Lady Halcombe stood and turned to face them, a bland look on her face. “Guilty as charged, Lady Merton.” Her eyes widened. “But I have recently read that the ranks of bluestockings are growing exponentially—particularly amongst the younger set.”
Choking down a laugh at the look of annoyance on Victoria’s face, Jensen rose and bowed. “Lord Halcombe, Lady Merton. I trust your business was resolved to your satisfaction? Something about drains, was it?” He grinned at his hostess. “Should we proceed with drains or Latin, my lady? A difficult choice, to be sure.”
Lady Halcombe’s sudden peal of laughter infected the Coopers. Jensen’s smile broadened as his gaze wrapped the four of them into a cadre that subtly excluded the newcomers.
“Indeed, it is, Mr. Jensen.” She gestured toward the remaining chairs. “Do join us, Lady Merton, Halcombe.” She then turned to her husband, and indicated the Cooper’s with a wave of her hand. “You met Mr. and Mrs. Cooper at the dinner party, if you remember.”
Halcombe nodded. “Sir, madam.”
“Will you have some lemonade?” Lady Halcombe said lightly.
Lady Merton’s response was immediate and brusque. “Nothing for me, thank you. I must be on my way.” She looked at her guests. “If you are ready to leave, I will ride back with you.”
Since both the hard look on her face and her tone of voice was such that any objection appeared unwise, the Coopers and Jensen took leave of their hostess. They agreed on a time the following day for them to call again, an appointment which did not sit well with either Halcombe or Victoria, Jensen noted. Wondering if Lord Halcombe would demonstrate his displeasure as strongly as the viscountess was apt to do, Jensen managed a few additional minutes of soft-voiced conversation with Lady Halcombe. He expressed his thanks warmly and held her hand just long enough past propriety to put a good-humoured, knowing look in her eyes—and to visibly irritate her husband even more. All in all, it had been a satisfactory excursion. Tomorrow he would contrive to do better yet.
***
“Were you able to advise Lady Merton on her problem?” Frances asked, breaking the tense silence that fell between them once their guests had departed. She turned aside, chose a flaky biscuit and nibbled at it.
Distrusting the look of indifference in her eyes, Halcombe kept his answer to a curt “Yes” and walked around the sofa to pour himself a glass of beer. Frances was dressed in a gown that was new to him, a becoming yellow confection that clung invitingly to her curvaceous figure. Her cheeks were pink—sun-touched from her outing, he supposed—and he couldn’t help but watch as her tongue searched slowly along her full bottom lip for errant crumbs.
A pulsing heat gathered in his groin and his jaw tightened. He drank some beer, his hooded gaze intent. Her luminous eyes held…what? Awareness? A challenge? Whatever the hell it was, he did not like it. In fact, there was very little about this day he did like. It started with Victoria’s attempted tryst, which he knew damn well had been her intent all along. Then he’d had to witness that strange fellow’s familiarity with his wife. Not to mention that she had invited the man to return—practically given him carte blanche from the sound of it. All that added to the as-yet unresolved matters between he and Frances and it was no wonder he was edgy and short-tempered.
Carefully, the earl put his glass on the table. A great many things to dislike, indeed. But there was an exception. He stepped forward, took the half-eaten pastry from Frances’ hand, and raised it to her lips. Eyes wide, she tentatively took a bite. As before, several crumbs scattered and he quickly leaned in and stroked his tongue across her mouth, slipping it between her lips and savoring the lemony-sweet mixture of fruit and pastry. He pulled her close, his grip tight, the pastry falling unheeded to the floor.
Her body was stiff, and he deepened the kiss, coaxing her to respond, until she melted with a soft moan and wrapped her arms around his neck. Gently then, he teased at her mouth and lips with his tongue, easing their bodies apart just enough to caress the swell of her breasts and cup a hand over one mound.
“Richard! You can’t do this. What if someone comes in?” Frances gasped when he at last raised his head. She made an ineffectual attempt to push him away.
Halcombe gazed at her flushed face—lips red and glistening, eyes soft with desire—and his hold on her strengthened. “I can do anything I want in my own home, with my own wife,” he said with an arrogant lift of his brow. He encircled her throat with his long fingers and stroked her jaw with his thumb. “Isn’t that right, Frances?” He waited, very still, his face set and unsmiling.
Equally still, she studied his face for a long moment and then tenderly touched his cheek. “Yes, it is,” she whispered. “You may do anything you want.”
“You,” he said hoarsely. “I want you—now…here.” Halcombe swept her into his arms and carried her to a sofa. He laid her on it, his eyes fast on her face, and waited. He would not force her, or even coerce her. She had to come to him freely and with equal desire. Whatever she thought of his harshness, his demands, she knew he would never hurt her.
“Will you lock the door?” she said huskily.
Absurdly relieved at her response to him—and the glint of seductive amusement in her eyes—Halcombe chuckled. “If I had known that was all it would take…” He went to the door, locked it, and tossed aside his coat as he returned.
“Ah, but it will take more than that, sir.” Frances sat up just enough to grasp his arms and bring him almost sprawling atop her.
“Perhaps so, but squashing you cannot be part of the more,” he said, laughing. He pinned her hands on either side of her head, taking most of his weight on his arms.
“Frances.” Halcombe gazed at her, his laughter fading as desire slowly consumed him. She was so dammed alluring—and she was all his. Whatever was gone before they would make this pairing work—they had to make it work, not only for them, but for their precious little Flora. Vowing to make it happen, no matter the cost to him, he lowered his mouth to he
rs.
Chapter Thirty-one
Frances absentmindedly unrolled the house plans and placed a book on each corner of the drawings to keep them flat. Something had changed between she and Richard, shifted in some manner, since the episode in the library. Frances looked at the sofa where they had both lain, naked and flushed with arousal. She smiled. Since the lovemaking, she amended. Instead of spending every hour of the day outdoors, Richard had patiently worked with her to make the decisions regarding the renovations. They had grown somewhat closer, or so she perceived, and she was now loath to choose paint colors, wallpaper and fabrics without his opinion. He lived here too, and had the right to select those things he felt attractive.
Halcombe had not come to her bed again, however, and Frances was unsure what it meant, if anything. Simply because she wanted him, and longed for the warmth of his arms and the heat of his mouth against hers, was no reason to think he had the same desires. It was enough for now that they talked about things, such as the possibility of one day investing in enterprises other than agricultural and husbandry. He told her of the modern farming practices he hoped to initiate and what he had accomplished to date. They had even discussed Frances’ intent to continue with her covert letter writing and book trade.
Frances did want to continue buying and selling rare and special editions. It was an interesting and lucrative pastime. Although she was prepared to give it up once Napoleon was defeated, and there was no reason to keep the information network alive—and if Richard asked her to do so. It was not worth causing dissention between them. Besides, she hoped desperately to be otherwise busy with a baby or two.
Frances unconsciously touched her belly. Even now she might be with child. Granted, they had been together just twice since her return, but it was possible. And she had every intention of making it thrice this very night. While much remained unresolved, she did not believe he would reject her advances.
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