A Love Laid Bare

by Constance Hussey

  Despite her seemingly well-intentioned offer, the viscountess’ eyes remained steady on Halcombe’s face and her smile was meant solely for him. He glanced at Frances who, surprisingly, looked more entertained than annoyed. In fact, her mouth had firmed in what he suspected was an attempt to suppress laughter.

  The earl edged toward the door. “Perhaps we will one day,” he said. “Just now it is time for Flora’s nap.”

  Lady Merton paled. Eyes narrowing, she tugged on her gloves. “Yes, I see.” She turned her shoulder to exclude Frances from her parting words. “Don’t forget you agreed to a meeting with my manager. We will be waiting to hear from you.” She touched her fingers to his cheek. “Good day.”

  Damn, the woman was brazen. Halcombe refrained from looking at his wife, although he could not fault her for being insulted. At the very least, she would be angry. Then again, maybe she doesn’t care what you do!

  He shifted Flora into a more comfortable position and, feeling dispirited by Frances’ bland expression, he jerked his chin in the direction of the door. “I’m taking Flora upstairs.”

  Frances raised her brows at the short tone of his voice. “I can ring for Nancy if you wish.”

  “That is not necessary,” Halcombe said, more curtly than he had intended. “I prefer to take her myself.” Although he had tried to quell his irritation before uttering this last remark, he did not sound any less churlish and he moved away before he was tempted to say anything else. It appeared he had exhausted his quota of friendly small talk today.

  Frances mask of indifference suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a flash of amusement. “I will come with you,” she said brightly. “I wanted to ask what you thought about Mr. Jensen’s curiosity regarding my business activities.”

  Flora was asleep, Halcombe thought, and she would not understand the subject even if she were awake. Frances too, walking calmly at his side, did not seem at all concerned. The earl was not sure why having the child present disturbed him, other than the fact that Jensen bothered him beyond measure. The man was too handsome, too smooth, and much too attentive to Frances.

  “I felt it odd, but cannot tell you why.” He slanted a glance at her. “Some male quirk, I suppose. To be frank, I don’t care for the man.” The earl frowned, and then dismissed the subject with an impatient shrug. “No doubt the fellow enjoys gossip and that accounts for his curiosity.”

  “No doubt,” Frances agreed, but there was a dubious note in her voice.

  He caught the brief look of worry in her eyes, and felt his earlier unease return. Apparently he was not alone in his distrust of Jensen.

  Frances stepped ahead of them and opened the door to the nursery suite, her smile now fixed solidly in place. “If you will excuse me, sir, I will attend to those tasks our guests have delayed. I’m sure you have things to do as well.” She brushed a kiss across his mouth. “Thank you for your presence this morning. It was kind of you.”

  She departed swiftly along the corridor before he had wits enough to reply. Not that he even had an intelligent response to give her. In truth, kindness had never entered into his mind. He had simply been unable to resist her candid appeal for his company—and whether this was for good or for ill, he had yet to decide.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Jensen did not need to see the hard glint in Victoria’s eyes to know she was seriously annoyed. Her scathing remarks to Caroline Cooper had reduced the poor woman to tears before they had even left the Halcombe property. By the time they arrived at Merton House, Joseph Cooper was white-faced and thin-lipped, after being severely chastised for the singular fault of defending his wife. All in all, Jensen was not in the least surprised to be informed that the Coopers had decided to leave that very day.

  They were a nice couple and he wished them well, but not enough to risk further arousing his hostess’ wrath by bidding them farewell. Having made a prudent retreat to his room, Jensen intended to stay there until Victoria’s snit had passed. Their affair was at an end in any case.

  Her pathetic attempts to lure Halcombe away from his wife had become more and more tedious. Jensen prided himself on his ability to read people—a necessary skill for a gambler—and he doubted the earl had any fondness for the viscountess. In fact, he believed that Halcombe’s interest was fixed entirely on his wife and daughter. Something Jensen planned to turn to his advantage.

  He stepped out onto the small balcony outside his long window, lit a cheroot, and leaned on the balustrade as he smoked it. Lady Merton did not like the smell and he had humoured her in this, but since another twenty-four hours would see him officially gone…Jensen shrugged, no longer concerned with her whims.

  Tomorrow he would make one more legitimate attempt to obtain the map folio. But a wise man never depended upon one plan. Alternative strategies were in play, his transportation to the continent was arranged, and a safe house had been chosen. He smiled. The location of his lair not only appealed to his sense of humour—what better place indeed!—it perfectly met his needs as well.

  “What are you doing out here, Paul?” Victoria asked as she joined him on the balcony. “Oh, you are fussing about with another one of those smelly things!” She frowned. “I cannot imagine why you want to do so. It’s positively horrid.”

  Jensen took a final, leisurely puff, dropped the stub, and ground it into the stone floor under his boot. “I enjoy indulging now and then, and since I did not expect any visitors…” His tone implied she was at fault, not him, and her mouth twitched with annoyance. “Did you want something, Victoria?” he asked blandly, a brow lifting in mild curiosity.

  She flushed, opened her mouth to speak—probably to berate him—and then changed her mind. Instead she took his arm and gave him an insincere smile.

  “Come inside, Paul, so we can talk more comfortably.” They walked across the bedchamber to the adjoining sitting room. Victoria gestured toward a chair and sat in the one opposite. She had taken the time to change out of her habit, he noted. She now wore a white dress of flowered muslin with a high-winged collar which was edged with the same embroidered flowers that graced the hem. It was very pretty and the low-cut style gave him a generous view of her fine bosom.

  Jensen felt his manhood stir and he smiled to himself. No reason not to take advantage of what was being offered a few more times before he departed. The woman was an excellent bed partner. She leaned forward, her hand fluttering to the handsome emerald pendant resting between the swell of her breasts.

  “I have been rather cross today,” she said with a playful pout. “It was disappointing that you were not able to keep Lady Halcombe’s attention as I had hoped.”

  As you ordered, Jensen amended with some amusement. He was no less disappointed in his inability to keep the lady’s interest on him, although he was not going to admit it.

  “Lady Halcombe was preoccupied with the child, I believe.” Jensen settled back and crossed his legs.

  “Children have no place in an adult gathering,” the viscountess said with a sniff. “It’s obvious the woman has no notion of the proper protocol expected in an earl’s establishment. The idea of allowing a child to monopolize everyone’s attention! The dowager Halcombe would never condone such behavior, I assure you.”

  Jensen ignored the comment. From what he had heard, the dowager seldom approved of anything. The sole interest he had in Lady Flora was her potential usefulness to him. “Lord Halcombe appears to be quite taken with the girl. Perhaps you should concentrate on engaging him when he is away from the Manor.” Paul looked slyly at her. “That is, if you are still intent on having him.” The viscountess’ pursuit of the earl had gone far beyond obsession. She was now so fanatical about it that she had even enlisted his help, whilst sharing his bed no less!

  “I will have him,” she said with finality, an unyielding look on her face. “But first I need to detach that pitiful woman from his side for a time. Once we are alone together and he is reminded of just how wonderful it was, he will come to
his senses. I know it.”

  “How do you expect to do that?” Jensen asked offhandedly. He rose and proceeded to unstop a decanter of port. It was well into the afternoon, he was both hungry and thirsty, and had no stomach for this conversation. He filled a glass and turned to face her, leaning casually on the sideboard.

  “Oh, nothing serious,” she said with a grating trill of laughter. “Accidents…can happen to anyone.”

  Alerted perhaps by something in his expression, she stood and walked languidly to him. “You mustn’t pay the least mind to my chatter today, darling. You are terribly gallant to put up with such a crosspatch.” She raised his glass to her own lips and gazed seductively at him over the rim. “Come, I have ordered a meal for us. After that we shall have a rest…if you like.”

  Jensen studied her. Only the promise of sensual delights to come showed on her face now. The disturbing malice he thought he sensed earlier was gone. Victoria could be ruthless, but surely she meant no real harm to Lady Halcombe. It might be he was mistaken and her pique had been burned out by the display of temper. He wet one finger in the port and allowed several drops to run between her breasts.

  “You will stain my gown,” she said with a catch of her breath.

  Jensen took the glass from her, set it aside, and smiled. “In that case…” He bent his head and lapped up the port. He would allow her to play her little games, but he would not have his plans thwarted. He needed Lady Halcombe to remain hale and hearty for the next few days.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  It was late. The faint sounds coming from the adjoining chamber had ceased an hour ago. Frances had almost given up on her plan a half-dozen times, as much due to cowardice as impatience. What if he rejected her? Sent her away with one of those cold set-downs that made her feel as if she were a misbehaving child?

  Frances pressed her hands on the connecting door and laid her forehead on the cold wood. She did not think he would send her away. What man would object to having a naked woman in his bed? And one that he truly desired? No, it was the afterward she feared. If he became angry… Her shoulders slumped and she bit at her lower lip. Any anger on his part would not be unusual, the voice in her head chided. You will deal with it as you have everything else.

  She lifted the latch, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. The room was dark, which she had anticipated. Blessing her forethought in memorizing the furniture placement between here and the bedchamber, Frances cautiously traversed the room. If anyone had seen her sneaking into the suite earlier, when she was sure neither Halcombe nor his valet was around, they would think her a candidate for Bedlam! Which you are, Frances—quite mad in fact. She stifled a groan. Perhaps she was, but the alternative was to face her cowardly reflection in the morning.

  The bedchamber was dimly lit by the embers glowing in the fireplace, enough so she needn’t fear tripping over something. Inhaling so carefully that she hardly heard her own shallow breath, Frances removed her slippers. Her bare feet sank into the thick fibers of the carpet, and she wiggled her toes as she crept toward the bed. The smell of candle wax, wood smoke and Richard’s cologne mingled in the air—almost enticingly so, but nothing could compete with the heady male scent of her husband.

  No curtains were drawn around his bed. Richard preferred the air to flow freely about him, and indeed, she felt the draft from the window that was cracked open. Shivering just a little, Frances studied her sleeping husband. His features were shadowed in the dim light but she knew every line and curve of his face. The vivid blue eyes, closed now…the lashes small dark fans against his tanned skin…his sharp cheekbones and strong, straight nose. She saw his full sensual mouth, now bracketed with the beginning of the deeper grooves she knew to be part of his heritage. Portraits of his father and grandfather showed the same signs of weighty responsibility that the men of this family felt toward what was theirs.

  She herself had put some of those lines there. If she had it to do over again… She did not, however, and remorse was useless. Nor did she truly regret her time in France, although she could have done without the near drowning! The misadventure had changed her, forced her into maturity, and opened an entire other world to her. Not telling Richard of her rescue immediately was a wrong she did regret, but it was a sad fact she—they—would have to live with.

  Aware that time was passing and she was avoiding the next step, Frances sighed deeply and untied the fastening of her peignoir. It slid from her shoulders onto the floor with a soft, silken sigh. She wore no nightdress or chemise. The impediment of clothing was no part of her plan tonight. Now, if he was also naked, how much easier it would be to seduce him! But she did not expect it and was therefore not surprised when she turned back the covers to find that he wore a nightshirt. No matter. It could be readily pushed up to allow her hands access to his flat stomach and muscled chest…his strong thighs…his manhood. Frances slid in next to him and lay still, savoring these few minutes until he awoke. The warmth of his body was intoxicating and she leaned over to touch her lips to his belly. She felt him quiver under her mouth and her own middle fluttered in response.

  Frances ran her hand along the inside of his leg, her touch feather light, and then changed her butterfly kisses to slow licks with her tongue. She felt him wake. His body tensed, and she heard his quick gasp.

  “Frances.”

  “Umm.” Frances shifted, pressing closer to him, and gently circled his nipples with the tip of her fingernail. They were smaller than her own but, much like hers, the subtle stimulation caused the tiny nubs to peak with desire.

  Richard’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, his fingers splayed across her back. She felt a tremor run through him as he realized her naked state.

  “What…are you doing here? What are you doing?”

  “I thought it rather obvious,” she said, amusement threading her voice. “I am loving you, sir.” She smiled and slowly placed a line of kisses in a wandering path that led toward his groin. She combed through the mat of hair surrounding his member and felt an instant response. Her hand trailed further along his hardening length. “Do you want me to stop?”

  He abruptly sat up. “No, but…”

  Frances chuckled, pushed him back, and shook her head. “Lie still… I plan to make love to you. And I will be most unhappy if you deny me.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Frances’ heart faltered. If he said no—now, when she was here in his bed… But the troubling thought had hardly formed when she felt him start to relax. She sensed his almost reluctant acquiescence and the firm grip on her shoulders finally eased.

  With a tentative hand, he touched a knuckle to the curve of her jaw. “If you wish, perhaps I…”

  “What I wish is for you to be naked,” Frances said in a husky voice. “Do take your shirt off, Richard.” She slid both hands over his chest, pushing the fabric up as far as it would go, and then rose onto her knees to undo the buttons.

  She helped him remove it and then sat back on her heels. “Much better,” she purred, enjoying the sight of his comely body as he settled himself among the rumpled bed sheets. He was so lean and strong. Desire flamed within her, the heat running over her skin like an invisible torrential stream. Dear sweet heaven, she ached for him. She ran her hands along his arms, stroked his broad shoulders, and leaned over to flick at the hard nubbins on his chest with her tongue. His muscles rippled and Frances felt an ache building between her thighs. She looked up to give him a sultry smile.

  “You like that, don’t you? I like it, too.” She shifted, caught his roaming hands, and pinned them loosely to the pillow. “I want to touch you…every part of you,” she whispered into his ear.

  “Frances.”

  His voice held a note of both uncertainty and warning, which only served to strengthen her determination. Although she had thought to be further along by now—he was so tempting!— she had no intention of giving up. But it might be unwise to test his control overmuch.

  Frances rained kisse
s on his chest, her mouth gradually moving downward, and wrapped her hand around his stiff member. His skin was warm and silky over the hard length. She wanted to play with it—play with him—but he was growing restless beneath her. Sighing, she bent to take him into her mouth—and reveled in the sharp gasp that escaped him. Moisture dampened her cleft, her own need a hot, rising flame that threatened to engulf her.

  Richard’s fingers fumbled awkwardly through her hair. “Frances, please, no more.”

  Frances eased back and lifted her head. “You are so impatient,” she chided in a teasing tone of voice. “But if you insist…” With an agility that surprised her, she deftly positioned her body on top of his. She was so wet…so hot…so ready. She guided him to her cleft and slowly lowered herself until he was fully inside her. She moved over him, in and out…again and again…her breasts heavy in his hands. With a groan, he grasped her hips and quickened the rhythm until her every sense was consumed with fire. His final thrust and the hoarse repetition of her name spilled such joy into her she thought she would burst with it.

  Sated, she fell atop him, the furious beat of his heart a reward for all her daring. He was clearly no less affected than she was. She smiled smugly. It was…wonderful. They were good together. Boneless with lingering pleasure, Frances did not resist when he lifted her and laid her beside him. He kept one arm securely around her shoulders while he used the other to pull the quilt over them.

  A long silence followed. Richard idly twined a length of her hair through his fingers and Frances stroked his chest, the movement of her hand slowing as she grew drowsy.

  Halcombe cleared his throat with a faint cough. “I mean no offense, but where in hell did you learn that?”

  “From a book,” she said, half asleep.

  Prodded awake by the odd shaking of his body, Frances pushed herself up on one elbow to look at him. “It was a very informative book—with pictures, if you must know.”