by Jenn LeBlanc
Hepplewort sputtered throatily as he shriveled further into the gaudy armchair. “I have a contract with Larrabee—”
Gideon cut him off. “As you recall, that contract was unfinished. You were not yet wed, and you did not complete the payment as agreed. Since there was no wedding, no consummation, and the payment was not made in full, we are returning your original expenses and canceling that contract on behalf of Larrabee. There is nothing more to be done.”
Hepplewort lifted his shaking hand and pointed at Gideon. “You! You stole my bride! You held her hostage! You have done this to me!”
“You have done this to yourself. Our business here is concluded. Might I recommend you do not attempt to obtain another wife by similar means?” Gideon boomed.
Hepplewort shrank. The force of Gideon’s statement and the power of his voice had stayed him entirely. He appeared to gather his wits. “Of course, Your Grace. My—my behavior today has been irrational. I did not sleep well last night. I’m not accustomed to rising this early. I, I—” He stuttered as he attempted to find other excuses to lob at the brothers.
Perry and Gideon relaxed slightly. “My lord,” Perry said, “I understand how this news would be unwelcome, and perhaps we should have handled it another way. I believe we both wanted to notify you as promptly as possible, considering the letter you sent to M. Larrabee concerning Madeleine. We should not have made the assumption that this was merely a business matter, and for that alone I beg your pardon.”
Gideon had no interest in smoothing things over with the earl, and kept his opinions to himself.
“I appreciate your candor, my lord. I suppose I shall send the document to my solicitor and that will be the end of it. However, I will reserve judgment until I hear from him.”
The brothers looked at each other and left.
“There’s something I have no interest in ever doing again,” Perry said as the carriage was underway.
“Yes, well, unfortunately, we have two more such visits yet to make on our return.”
Perry leaned back, putting his hat over his eyes, stretching his long legs out in front of him with his feet on the opposite seat as he tried to relax before the next stop.
“I am not content with leaving the situation unfinished,” Gideon said.
“Neither am I, Rox, but until Francine is safely married to you, we cannot pressure him further. You must be patient.”
“Who is the next sod?”
Perry looked at the paperwork. “Ringolsby.”
“Good God, I have had drinks with the man.”
“Well then, perhaps I shall leave this one to you,” Perry said with a grin.
Gideon growled and leaned back in the squabs next to his brother, feeling rather unsettled and weary.
Francine lazed about the town house for the next two days, reading her books and wandering around. She finished Dante’s Inferno and studied her book of manners. She found the rules of the peerage particularly fascinating. She had no idea Gideon, as the duke’s progeny, had been bound by such a definitive set of rules. She could certainly empathize more in relation to his constraints, and had a greater respect for his will and morals than she had before. She finally understood what he meant when he spoke of the importance of propriety. But it still doesn’t necessarily mean I am going to follow it.
She considered the things he’d said, the actions he took while they were in the maze, and she blushed. No wonder he got a hard-on from an exposed ankle, she thought with a wicked blush.
She tried to find new places to read, as if the change in setting would help to pass the time, but running into Sanders always unsettled her. Her favorite spot was the gardens, because the stodgy old butler seemed to shrink from the light like a three-day-old petunia.
She wanted to explore Gideon’s study, or his bedroom. She wanted to touch his things, look through his drawers, smell his shirts. She sat up straight from the bench in the garden, then bolted without thinking. She ran up the stairs to his suite, looking around carefully; there was nobody in sight. She ducked into his bedchamber and pulled the door closed behind her.
She turned and took quick stock of the room—chairs, tables, bed. Her breath caught and she forced her gaze to continue. Closet. She smiled and ran to it, throwing the doors wide. She ran her hand over the row of jackets and shirts, all perfectly straight, well-spaced, and neat. She pulled one of the crisp white shirts down from the rod, trying to shift the other shirts to conceal the missing garment.
Francine held the shirt to her face and inhaled deeply, but was disappointed. She frowned. The cloth didn’t hold his scent, of course, since he hadn’t yet worn it. She shrugged and turned.
“Hello.”
She dropped the shirt.
“Gideon, I—”
He laughed. “Francine, if you are in need of clothing, you have only to ask Carole. She would be more than happy to accommodate you.”
“I, um, no. I just—” She squeaked as he approached her.
“You just what?”
She stared up at him, looming over her, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves, but instead she found what she’d been looking for and smiled. She pushed his jacket off though he began to protest, and she quelled the sound with one finger across his mouth. She unbuttoned his waistcoat and loosened his cravat before unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his trousers and over his head. She took the shirt and held it to her face, breathing deeply of his scent. Sandalwood, spice, and a touch of salt. She smiled broadly and picked up the clean shirt and pushed it toward him.
“Thank you,” she said as she rushed from his room, leaving him standing there, shirtless.
Francine was sitting in the garden reading when Gideon walked out. “There you are,” she said.
“Sorry for the delay. I only wanted to, uh, freshen up.”
She smiled up at him brilliantly, then noticed the others behind him.
Perry was followed by two young ladies she could only assume to be the sisters. They rushed to her, squealing and hugging and jumping, a veritable vibration of energy.
Francine stood to greet them with a touch of panic. The sisters were obviously speaking French, but she didn’t understand a word of it. She thought back to her high school French class. One more thing I should have paid better attention to.
“Un moment, un moment, s’il vous plait?” She tried to calm them. She searched her memory, trying to remember the names that Gideon had mentioned, but couldn’t. She shook her head, looking to him for help.
He walked swiftly to her side. “Amélie, Maryse, assez-y-vous.”
Sitting immediately, they folded their hands in their laps and stared up at the duke. Like twin robots. If Francine looked shocked, her expression paled in comparison to Trumbull’s, which was one of pure terror. She relaxed instantly as she gazed at him, laughing and drawing all the attention to herself, which she immediately regretted.
She covered her mouth with her hand.
Gideon glanced at his brother and grunted. “Well, Trumbull. How are you now? Are you sure the dukedom could not handle this bit of scandal?”
Perry shook his head. “No doubt in my mind that it could. I was entirely wrong. Let’s draw the papers and handle the situation without delay.”
Gideon shook with laughter and clapped him on the shoulder. Hard.
The two sisters sat on the bench in the garden, looking from one person to the next as they spoke. They were so tiny and well behaved. Francine could tell they had no intention of breaking into the conversation. They were two very well-trained, well-dressed young girls. They looked like a couple of dainty cupcakes—pastel satin dresses covered in white ruffles and frills, with lacy roses and ribbon bows. She immediately thought of Marie Antoinette, without the powdered wig. She looked into their faces and saw something she hadn’t seen since the night her mother died. Well, no, since she’d met Mme. Larrabee. Recognition. She sat back on the bench.
It wasn’t the type of recognition you experi
ence when you know someone, but a kind of recognition of self. They looked like her. They had her missing blonde hair and light-colored eyes, though the smaller one had bluer eyes and the larger one greener.
“Do you— Do you speak any English?” she asked breathlessly.
The little twin faces swept to her in unison and their chirping voices choired, “Yes, of course.” This was followed by countless giggles.
Francine looked to Gideon, shaking her head, and she knew he saw the same thing that she did.
“Maryse,” she said carefully, not looking at either of the girls.
“Madeleine,” Maryse said, in a tiny French voice.
“Francine, please. Amélie.” The other girl smiled at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember— anything. But I do hope we can be friends.”
“Oh, we understand, don’t we, Maryse?” Amélie said.
“But, of course! And we will be great—”
“Friends. Just like we always have been.”
“Yes, like we always have been. Someday you will—”
“Remember everything. Someday.”
“Until then, we will be—”
“Friends, the closest of—”
“Friends,” Maryse finished.
Francine was suddenly jealous, and a bit sad at the way the girls finished each other’s sentences. What an amazing thing, to be so close to someone as to know exactly what they are thinking and saying. She felt Gideon’s gaze on her and she smiled slightly. She reached for his hand and he grasped hers, squeezing it warmly before releasing her.
Perry stepped forward. “Lady Francine, perhaps you would like to show the sisters to their room? Miss Faversham went up to unpack her things. I thought you might appreciate a little time together.”
Francine nodded. Standing, she turned to Perry. “They need clothes.”
Perry lifted a brow and she motioned to them.
“Do you think this will get any better the more trunks that are opened?”
Perry examined the two girls, who were whispering to each other on the bench. He had no argument as he look at the shiny, puffy, frilly, obnoxious attire. “I imagine a few simple dresses would be appropriate for the country. You and Miss Faversham can determine what they need and we’ll see to it before we leave for the estate. I won’t attend you on this shopping trip. My brother has recently become fond of shopping, so he’ll take the four of you. I’ve no doubt he’ll enjoy it.”
Gideon shot his brother a glare, but Perry didn’t act the least bit repentant.
The girls stood as Miss Faversham walked out to the garden unexpectedly. Amélie and Maryse walked over and stood safely behind her. She looked at Francine, who smiled back but made no move to follow.
Gideon leaned over her, whispering in her ear, and Francine nodded, then left the brothers. They watched as Miss Faversham led the three ladies back into the house.
Francine paused at the doorway and glanced back over her shoulder at Gideon.
He examined the way her long neck turned. Admired the soft skin at her nape dusted with curls that escaped her upswept locks.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down, inhaling.
He walked two steps closer and took a deep breath: lavender and rain. Just the hint of her sent his blood to his gut and forced him to suck in air.
A smile pulled up the corner of her mouth as she met his gaze, then she turned and went inside.
Gideon groaned and rubbed his temples.
Perry stood silently.
“How long does this courting have to last?” Gideon ground out.
“You should at least let her come out to Society before sweeping her away. I’ve no doubt that if we announced a ball for this evening, carriages would line the streets to get a peek inside your house.”
“The ball will be Friday. Is that enough time?”
“Friday is more than sufficient to double the turn out,” Perry said, grinning at his brother’s state.
Gideon’s gaze imparted the only issue of importance in this entire affair: that Francine be his, as expediently as possible.
Roxleigh House buzzed all week with preparation. The simple ballroom in the town house was scrubbed floor to ceiling, the inlaid wood polished meticulously, the leaded glass windows cleaned, and the marble columns and the attached terrace over the gardens scoured.
Francine looked forward to the ball, but she was also extremely nervous. She had never danced, at least not formally. The Chicken Dance certainly doesn’t count, she thought as she wandered the halls looking for Miss Faversham. She found her in the upstairs parlor with the sisters.
“Good afternoon, Lady Francine.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Is something troubling you, my lady?”
“Oh, please, please call me Francine.” Miss Faversham nodded and took her hand, pulling her to the window seat.
Francine fidgeted. “I— uh, the ball,” she said quietly so the sisters wouldn’t hear.
Miss Faversham placed her hands over Francine’s to steady them.
“It’s just, I—I’ve no idea how to dance.” She stared at her hands.
Miss Faversham smiled brightly. “Is that all?”
Francine looked at her, then nodded.
“Do not fear, sweet girl. I’ll make arrangements.”
Later that day, Miss Faversham found Francine reading in the parlor. “I’ve arranged for your dance lesson, my la—Francine. If you don’t mind, Carole will accompany you to the ballroom, and please put your gloves on. ”
Francine put the book down and stood. She took the gloves that Miss Favershamm handed her, then followed Carole to the ballroom. As she crossed the threshold, her skin prickled. She took a deep breath and turned to the French doors that led to the garden. They were open slightly, letting in a breeze that drifted past Gideon, drawing with it his familiar scent. She inhaled deeply and smiled.
Carole walked to the French doors, nodding as she passed him, and went out to the terrace as he moved toward Francine.
Her body reacted to him without permission. Her skin awakened, her heart raced, her eyes glistened. As she went to meet him, the fabric of her dress created goose bumps on her arms and her skirts created a stir of air that she felt swirling around her ankles and up her legs.
He moved impossibly slow, like a jaguar stalking its prey. She held still, reminding herself to breathe.
She didn’t shift except for her eyes, which watched him as he began to circle her.
“I understand you need dance lessons before the ball tomorrow.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Her hands trembled.
He savored the energy between them. Stopping just behind her, he reached out and said, “I can help you with that.”
The air between them shifted.
She closed her eyes and inhaled, lifting her hand slowly, waiting to feel his hand on hers. Unexpectedly, she felt pressure on her belly as he drew her back into his sturdy form. She felt his chest rise as he breathed, nuzzling into her hair. Her head fell back against his shoulder and she covered his large hand with hers.
“Shall we begin?” he breathed into her ear.
“Mmm-hmm.”
He smiled and spun her around. “This,” he began as he pulled her tight against him, “is too close.”
She felt herself blush as she stared over his shoulder.
“You’ll have the gossips in a right state if we dance without the proper distance between us.” He loosened his grasp as the silent dance began.
She wasn’t entirely sure how she was to survive the lesson, much less the ball.
“Close your eyes.”
She did.
Her breath caught as the memory of their first kiss assailed her. His hands tightened, and he placed his feet next to hers, the sides touching. He pulled her hand, leading her around the floor slowly while he whispered directions.
“Keep your feet against mine.” He lifted one of his boots, pulling her slippered foot along with it as if they wer
e tethered. He counted the steps. “One, two, three, one, two, three. That’s right.”
She relaxed into his hold, allowing him to lead her, and before long they were swirling around the ballroom and she was laughing at the twinge in her belly from the swift movement.
“It is merely another form of communication without words, something you are already good at,” he said quietly.
Francine opened her eyes and immediately missed a step.
Gideon caught her, pulling her back into the waltz without missing a beat.
“So this is why everyone loves to dance,” she whispered.
He smiled, and she closed her eyes again and concentrated on the feel of him beneath her hands. She could feel him along the entire length of her body. The way his thigh parted her legs through her skirts when he moved toward her, the feel of his muscles twisting below his clothes. Her entire being was suffused in reaction to his closeness.
She felt his chest against her corset and her lips parted. His strong thigh brushed against her leg and she drew a breath, releasing her hold on him. She felt her insides unravel like a ball of yarn. She held her chest, trying to calm her breathing.
“My sweet, are you all right?”
“No, I am most decidedly not all right,” she said. “You walk into a room and I’m overwhelmed by your scent. I walk past the study and I can feel you inside. I’m within reach of you and my skin is sensitive to the point that the very air around me makes me tremble. When you look at me, your eyes burnish my soul. I can feel you touching me, within and without, and you don’t even have to move. I know how your body feels. Your calloused hands, the strong muscles that shift under your skin against mine. The way you touch me. Here, and—here.” She gestured to her neck, then swept her hand down her neck. “The way your lips conform to mine, willing my mouth to your bidding. I am overcome, overwhelmed, saturated. I feel you surrounding me, and I want nothing more than to feel you inside of me, as one with me. No, I am most decidedly not all right.”