A Delightful Arrangement

by Cecilia Gray

  Of course she would.

  Phillip hadn’t made her swoon yet, dash it. He’d kissed her. And it had been a fine kiss. A shivery kiss. But she’d been caught off guard and it had been her first real kiss and there was some exception to be made for that.

  “Why are you touching your lips?” Chastity asked.

  “Hmm…what?” Francesca realized that three of her fingers were set against her bottom lip almost as if they were hovering there. She snatched her hand away.

  “Oh sweet heavens. How have you kept this from me?” Chastity downed another tea cake. “You kissed Phillip.”

  “He—I—that is—” she sputtered. “Phillip kissed me.”

  Chastity squealed. “Even better!”

  “But it was nothing.”

  “Nothing, was it?” Chastity asked with a knowing lift of the eyebrow. “Hmm…yes…this seems like nothing.” And then she mimicked Francesca’s doe-eyed stare with exaggerated trembling fingers upon her lips.

  “Oh, stop it.” Francesca’s cheeks heated in embarrassment.

  Then, as if they’d conjured him from her imagination, Phillip strolled into the fitting room, looking dashing in a dark coat and pantaloons that molded to his frame. He took one look at Chastity with her faraway expression and her fingers at her lips and said, “I’ll have one of those, too.” He popped a cake into his mouth.

  The modiste and Chastity’s aunt fairly squealed as they threw back the curtain, insisting Phillip could not be in the fitting room. He only smiled devilishly and escorted them back to the front of the shop before returning. “Had I known two beautiful ladies were here, I would have presented myself much sooner.”

  Francesca was used to hearing such drivel from Phillip and was grateful to be unaffected; however, Chastity preened. “It is bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the blessed day, you know,” Chastity informed him.

  “Yet here she is in a lilac walking dress, fortunately for both of us. I hate to interrupt, but I have the desire to see my betrothed alone.” His smile turned wicked. “Surely your friend understands my desires.”

  “I certainly do,” Chastity muttered.

  Francesca felt that now-familiar prickle on the nape of her neck and fought against it. She would not allow him to be responsible for any more confusing sensations!

  Chastity murmured her goodbyes, making sure the modiste knew exactly which fabric bolts she’d approved and what kind of discount she expected. Once they were alone, Francesca said, “That was quite rude, Phillip, and our being alone here is quite inappropriate.”

  “I did not see you try to stop me.” He took several quick strides towards her, bent down—even standing upon a platform, she was shorter than he—and pressed his warm lips to her cheek. The flash of heat to the pit of her stomach both unsettled her and annoyed her to no end.

  “It would have been even ruder and more inappropriate for us to argue in front of Chastity.” Surely these sensations were temporary. As soon as she found someone else to fall in love with, they would transfer to the new and improved object of her affections so she could be done with this inconvenience.

  “Save your token protests, love.” He plucked another tea cake from a platter and ate it in one bite.

  She frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

  His brows arched.

  “Love,” she clarified. “Do not call me that. I am not your love.”

  Phillip sighed. “All right, Franny. It slipped out. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t call me that!”

  He held out his palms defensively. “There’s no need to take it personally.”

  “Was there a reason you stopped by?”

  Phillip laughed. “You are quite the termagant today, my dear. I stopped by to see if you’d like to visit some shops. My mother’s birthday approaches and I would like to purchase an appropriate gift. And,” he added, “it would give you an opportunity to see more of Bond Street. It’s a short walk.”

  “Of course,” Francesca said, shamed for nearly forgetting his mother’s upcoming birthday in the hustle and bustle of travel to London. “Allow me to make the proper goodbyes to Chastity. I have several ideas for a gift and would enjoy the stroll.”

  “That’s not all we could enjoy, Franny,” Phillip said.

  “And the swoon remains elusive,” Francesca sang as she bustled past him and out the door.

  * * *

  Despite her preference for the countryside, Francesca loved the busy London market. Storefronts loomed tall on both sides. Ladies who were dressed well enough for the opera greeted each other with gleeful exclamations on recent purchases.

  Phillip maintained a respectful and dutiful distance as he strolled by her side. It was so different from their time in the country, when they’d walk with their arms pressed against each other. But strangely, the decorum of space made her more aware of him than ever.

  “So, tell me, is London what you expected? I believe on previous sojourns you kept to your father’s townhouse.”

  “It’s amazing,” she admitted. “Every bit as colorful as you’ve described. I believe the feather in that woman’s hat is as tall as she is.”

  “It is certainly taller than you are,” he teased. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

  “I slept. It is better to avoid conversations with Father, as you know.”

  He nodded grimly. “I do. Is there anything you miss from home?”

  She felt small pang as she remembered the small, cold gray headstone in the family plot at the base of the strawberry hill.

  “I miss her, too,” Phillip said as though he’d read her mind. How strange it was that even though they’d spent years apart, their minds always seemed to operate in tandem, the way two carriage horses never forgot how to pull together.

  Every few feet, an acquaintance of his family would stop for introductions and offer their condolences on her mother’s last passing while remarking it was so fortunate that Phillip’s family were nearby to help her through the tragedy. Phillip and his family, it seemed, were effortlessly popular and well liked. Francesca tapped Phillip’s arm gently and was surprised when he placed his gloved hand over hers and left it there, effectively trapping it beneath his own.

  “Yes, darling?” he asked.

  Francesca yanked her hand away. “Phillip, I thought we had discussed this already. No pet names, please.”

  “Oh very well, Fran.” Phillip clasped his hands behind his back. “What is it?”

  Francesca tried not to be riled by his easy, unaffected air. He certainly wasn’t in turmoil over any otherworldly sensations as a result of her presence.

  “I would like to try that perfumery,” she said, pointing at a small boutique.

  Phillip nodded approvingly. “I do believe Mother might like a new scent.”

  The two crossed the street and entered the shop, which was lined with row after row of delicate glass bottles. The aromas filled the room and were so overwhelming that Francesca had to take deep breaths to clear her already muddled mind.

  The shop was empty except for a store clerk and a female patron dressed in daring crimson, with a neckline that plunged so low Francesca swore she would be able to see the woman’s navel should she stand on her tiptoes. She couldn’t help but feel her lilac frock and pelisse were timid in comparison.

  The woman’s dark hair cascaded scandalously over her shoulders. Francesca supposed that she needed something to cover that vast expanse of skin and her abundant hair was readily available. The woman’s sultry eyes traveled from a decorative glass bottle filled with amber liquid to Phillip’s frame. Her lips slanted approvingly and Francesca felt her stomach clench as Phillip smiled back.

  The rat was practically drooling over another woman in her presence!

  “Why, Lord Freeman, it is nice to see you again,” the woman purred.

  “Mrs. Douglas, allow me to introduce Lady Francesca Warrington.”

  Francesca
had never felt more awkward with her wild red hair than she did at the moment that sleek creature turned a judgmental eye toward her. With an artful flip of her dark mane, the woman’s gaze traveled down to Francesca’s kid boots and back up to her face.

  “A pleasure, Lady Francesca,” Mrs. Douglas purred with an incline of her head.

  Francesca smiled, but feared the skin between her brows furrowed. There was only one reason a woman like Mrs. Douglas would know Phillip.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Douglas,” she replied, resting her hand possessively on Phillip’s arm and returning the slight bow. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Oh, how she lied!

  Mrs. Douglas’s dark eyes noted the possessive hand, and she seemed to suppress a smirk. Francesca bristled inside.

  “What brings you here?” Phillip asked the hussy. Francesca had half a mind to pinch him.

  “I was just trying a new scent,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me, does it please you?”

  With a dark smile, Phillip leaned forward and Francesca suppressed a scream as his face dipped close to the woman’s neck. “It is extremely pleasing,” he murmured, pulling back slowly.

  Francesca gave two loud sniffs. “Hmm,” she said, tapping her lips thoughtfully with her forefinger. “That smell is commonly familiar.” She wrinkled her nose. “I must have smelt it on half a dozen fishmongers—”

  “It was a pleasure, Mrs. Douglas,” Phillip interrupted. “I’m afraid we must be going.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Douglas agreed through narrowed eyes.

  “Until next time,” he said with a hurried bow.

  Next time, my foot. “Ta-ta!” she managed before Phillip dragged her outside. They had barely stepped onto the street when he pulled her into an alley and practically flung her against the brick wall, pushing his face up close to hers and breathing so hard she felt his breath fan across her cheeks.

  “Insulting that poor woman? What has gotten into you?” He dug his hands into his hair.

  Francesca allowed herself a haughty air, which was difficult when he was so distractingly close. “I’m sorry if I’ve made your future conquest more difficult.”

  “Conquest?” Phillip drew back, a smile flitting across his lips as his hands fell to his sides. “Franny, darling. You were jealous?”

  “Jealous?” she sputtered. “Why, no, but she was flaunting herself and—”

  “Oh, Franny,” he laughed, tilting his head back before bringing his face dangerously close again, his nose brushing her curls. “You shouldn’t have to be jealous of that.”

  She pursed her lips. “Well, how am I to know given how you … sniffed her?”

  “That’s just how one appreciates perfume.”

  She gasped as his nose brushed against her cheek and traced a tantalizing line against the curve of her neck to her collarbone where he inhaled. “You always smell quite nice.”

  Francesca didn’t dare breathe. He dipped his head again.

  His nose nudged apart the folds of her pelisse, drew down the material at her bosom and burrowed into the space between her breasts. She forgot how to breathe as his dark hair tickled her chin.

  “Mmm…yes, strawberries—always strawberries,” he said huskily, his breath hot against her skin. “Promise me you’ll never wear perfume.”

  “Er..ever?”

  “Promise,” he said urgently. A wicked grin lit up his face. “Won’t you shake on it, Franny?”

  “Wha-?”

  His lips pressed into her neck. Her eyes flew open wide as their imprint burned.

  “I like this new way we conduct business affairs, Franny.”

  “Do you?” she said on a gasp.

  “Quite. You know, you don’t just smell like strawberries. You taste like them, too.” His mouth blazed a path to her chin and then to her mouth. He pulled his head back and studied her with half-lidded eyes.

  Who was this Phillip? She grabbed hold of her senses and pushed him away. “I wouldn’t know,” she managed, “I don’t concern myself with such things.”

  His gaze bored into hers with an intensity she’d never seen from him, but it disappeared in a flash as he laughed, looking down at her with what she could only describe as sibling adoration, which annoyed her to no end. “Oh Franny, you used to have a sense of humor.”

  “I still do,” she snapped, “and while that woman doesn’t know we are engaged in a farce, it was still rather insulting that she tried to tempt you under my very nose.”

  His lips pursed. “Our engagement isn’t a farce.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Franny, you can’t start the Season believing our marriage is a farce. You have to attempt to keep your end of the arrangement to see me as a husband.”

  “Well, it surely won’t help if ladies continue to throw themselves at you,” she mumbled, ignoring the niggling voice of hypocrisy in her mind that she intended to throw herself at every eligible bachelor that crossed her path. Oh, the shoe pinched a bit when it was on the other foot.

  “Mrs. Douglas was harmless,” he assured her.

  “That was not my impression.”

  “Mrs. Douglas is newly engaged to a marquis since her mourning is ended, so she hardly cares for someone as lowly as myself. I only know her because I’m trying to purchase a stud from her brother, and I have curried her good favor to that end.”

  Francesca scrunched her nose. “Well, I hope I haven’t ruined your chances.”

  “Unlikely.” Phillip offered his arm, which she blindly took, and led her back to the bustling street. “Besides, the outcome would have been well worth it, don’t you think?”

  Francesca blinked in incomprehension.

  “I dare say you barely kept your knees about you. A swoon is but one more rendezvous away.”

  Francesca stiffened her spine and snatched back her arm, but he only threw back his head and laughed.

  Chapter Three

  In his past years as one of London’s most sought-after additions to any high-profile ball, Phillip had never once grimaced across a ballroom, but now, watching Francesca dancing a quadrille with yet another besotted male, he couldn’t help it.

  He should have known Francesca would be a skilled dancer. At the age of seven, she had scaled trees with ease. By twelve, she had bested him on horseback. She excelled at all things physical, including, he remembered vividly, kissing.

  It was hard to romanticize a girl who had thrown up on him at age twelve after eating one too many sweetcakes. But when he’d kissed her the other day, she had felt different. Granted, he had seen little of her during her years of mourning, most of which he’d spent in London except for his discreet inquiries into the state of their household. Yet he had noticed her gradual progression to womanhood with each visit home and it hadn’t affected him in any manner until now.

  Now, surprisingly, everything about Franny inflamed his blood. Affecting a casual, friendly air around her had become increasingly difficult.

  He’d always known he would marry her. From that first day he’d found her in the broom closet he’d absolutely known it was his job, his charge, to protect her, and he intended to do so.

  He just hadn’t expected it to be so damned annoying or difficult.

  He waited impatiently for the quadrille to end so he could claim his waltz. He had already tried dancing with other partners this evening, but had proven incompetent. His gaze had consistently drifted across the ballroom as he barreled into unsuspecting victims. Once, when Franny had thrown her head back in an unabashed laugh, he’d stopped dancing altogether and stood as if rooted to the ground. It was safer to watch her from the wings. The jade green of her gown was easy to spot amongst the crowd, even if her mass of red hair hadn’t been a beacon in itself.

  The last notes of the quadrille drifted through the air and he stalked towards her, muttering a brief acknowledgement to her partner before sweeping her into his arms. The sense of anxious un
ease that had plagued him through the night finally abated as he stared into those lovely green eyes. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a genuine smile and he was a little annoyed that her good mood seemed to stem from her night’s activities, which, thus far, had nothing to do with him. For the first time he felt a twinge of fear—that maybe he wouldn’t be the one to make her swoon. “You look dashing, too.”

  He didn’t understand how she could be so petite and yet fit so perfectly in his arms. His hand spanned nearly the entire width of her waist. “Are you enjoying your first ball?”

  “Immensely and much to Father’s disapproval.” She lowered her voice. “Can you see him glowering from the corner?”

  “Allow me,” he said smoothly, maneuvering them with deftness until he caught sight of her father. “Ah yes, the infamous ducal glower. It must be a day that ends in y.”

  She chuckled. “You haven’t commented on my dancing.”

  “You dance very well.”

  She beamed. “This is my first waltz.”

  “I’m honored.” He was actually gratified to be her first waltz, as he knew he had been her first kiss. And she his, if one counted that sloppy effort so many years ago, which he was inclined to do. He felt gripped by the strange notion that he had always been her first everything and he wanted it to remain that way.

  “I have found a candidate. Well, several, actually, but I have a definite frontrunner.”

  Phillip blinked. “For what?”

  “For swooning,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Phillip stumbled but quickly put them back on step.

  “Viscount Montcreif,” she continued as if the entire world hadn’t gone cold. “He loves the country and has agreed to teach me archery.”

  “I can teach you archery.”

  Francesca reared back as if she’d never considered the notion. “Oh, well, that’s not the point, is it?”

  It damn well was. “If you say so.”

  “Montcreif will be in attendance at tomorrow’s ball as well, and I’ve promised him a waltz. I want to make sure I’m performing it adequately.”