by Jenn LeBlanc
He was obviously satisfied by his effect on her, and she laughed, blushing as her hand flew to her face.
“No, don’t,” he said. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me. Not ever.”
She dropped her hand and he caught it in his. He brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm.
She bit her bottom lip and a low groan escaped him.
His hand went to her jaw and he tilted her face, kissing her with all the heat and desire of a man drawn deeply into love.
Her hands stole around his waist, feeling his muscles tense wherever she touched him, and she closed her eyes, fighting against the swoon.
He pulled away from her and she gasped for air.
She rested her hand on his chest and felt his heart skip a beat under her touch. She slowly slid her hand down, aware of his body’s unchecked reaction to her, and was mesmerized at the effect of her touch on him.
“And this is what you do to me.” He pushed her hand farther down, to the ridge of his trousers. “I can scarcely sit in a room with you. I can’t have a polite conversation for fear my thoughts of you will color my words. My body yearns for you, my heart beats for you, my being strains for you. You have me undone.”
She placed both hands on the narrow of his waist and looked up at him, realizing how close his words came to capturing her heart. She heard the French doors open at the end of the ballroom and he pulled her back into a formal stance, sweeping her into the waltz as Carole entered, but she couldn’t keep up with him. She struggled to breathe, and the spinning caught in her brain and her world started to slide.
Love. He loves me. I can’t do this, because love only ever leads to…to—
She faltered and he caught her. “I am not this weak. I don’t know who I am anymore,” she yelled, “but I am not this weak!” She pushed away from him. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir! This is not who I am!” She turned and strode from the ballroom, leaving him stunned, his arms held in midair. Carole ran past him and the rush of her skirts was enough to knock him off kilter as she followed Francine.
Francine hurried into her room, pulling clothes from her wardrobe and throwing them aside. She was furious. Damned skirts. She walked back out to the hallway and ran into Ferry. “I need a shirt and some pants.”
He stared at her.
“Shirt and pants, trousers, whatever.” She waited. “Now,” she said.
Ferry looked around and spotted Gideon at the base of the stairs.
Gideon nodded, and Ferry looked back to Francine.
“Just a moment, please, my lady.” He turned toward Gideon’s room, then soon returned to the hallway carrying a pile of clothing.
Francine took the bundle and nodded. “Thank you.” She glanced down at Gideon. “I’m going for a ride. You have ten minutes to ready the horses, and do not use that infernal sidesaddle.” Without waiting for his opinion, she went straight to her room.
Her heart was racing, her palms were clammy, and she shook from head to toe. She yelled for Carole, but the maid didn’t answer. “Where did she get off to?” she wondered as she walked back into the hallway. “Ferry!” she yelled, and the two men at the top of the stairs jumped in unison.
Ferry glanced to Gideon and Gideon jerked his head toward her.
The valet smiled nervously and followed her into her room.
“Help me with this corset, please,” she growled.
Ferry paled and walked directly back out of the room as she watched, disgruntled.
A few moments later the door opened and Carole entered.
“Where did you go? Help me with this.”
“Of course, milady, I beg yer pardon. I went to prepare some tea. I thought ye might need somethin’ fer yer nerves.”
That’s great. I am in the midst of a nervous breakdown, and the proper response is to prepare some tea.
Carole helped her change into the shirt and trousers, but they wouldn’t stay up. Carole studied her. “One moment, please, my lady.” She scurried from the room, then returned swiftly with a pair of braces and fastened them to the trousers. The waistband sagged from the points of her hips around to the center of the back between the buttons. Carole gathered Francine’s long hair into a tight knot at her nape and secured it with pins, then she pulled out some riding boots, fastening them for her. “Is there anythin’ else I can do for you, milady?”
“No, thank you, Carole. And I won’t be needing a chaperone.”
Gideon watched as Francine emerged from her room, meeting him at the head of the stairs. She had no corset on, and her breasts grazed the inside of his borrowed shirt, which hung loosely from her smaller frame. The sight of her naked breasts, the taut nipples, grazing the inside of his crisp white shirt stirred his passion.
She looked into his eyes, checking for any hint of censure, but he simply turned and went down the stairs.
Sanders stood at the front door with his face drawn and sour. He handed Gideon his riding coat and hat, which Gideon turned and placed on Francine. She was engulfed in both, but suffered the indignation in exchange for the freedom she searched for. They walked outside, where Samson and Delilah were attended by the groom. Gideon checked the saddles and moved to help Francine with the mare, but she’d already put her foot in the stirrup and grabbed the pommel, lifting herself astride the saddle without hesitation. He looked up at her and adjusted the stirrups to fit without a word.
Francine glanced across the square and smiled, feeling the horse shifting beneath her weight. This saddle was so much more comfortable than that contraption she had been forced to use before.
Gideon silently mounted Samson.
Francine drove Delilah across the road to the park. Then, holding the pommel with one hand and leaning forward, she urged Delilah to run. The mare needed no further direction as she sprinted for the center of the park.
Gideon followed at a much slower pace, staying close enough only to keep an eye on her.
She raced across the park, the wind hitting her in the face, her loose curls stinging as they whipped around under the brim of his hat. Sitting back in the saddle, she slowed Delilah, letting loose a peal of laughter that Gideon could hear from halfway across the park. She stopped, bringing Delilah around to face him. She smiled invitingly as Samson walked up to Delilah and they nuzzled.
Gideon regarded her cautiously.
“Now, that’s more like it,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.
“I believe you may have given Ferry an apoplexy.”
She laughed, looking down at Delilah and stroking her neck. “You will have to apologize for me. I’m quite sure if I approach him, it may only aggravate the situation.”
Gideon chuckled. “You may be correct. Francine, I—”
She waved her hand. “Don’t. This has nothing to do with you. I mean, it does, but— I don’t know. It’s been a month, and I just recently realized that I’m not myself. I’ve changed, and not necessarily for the better.” She shifted in the saddle
“Francine,” he tried again.
“No, don’t. Let me finish. I’ve never in my life felt the way I do when I’m with you. But I also haven’t felt like myself. I wonder, if I would feel differently if I felt like myself, or—” She sighed heavily, shaking her head.
“Francine, whatever you need, I’m here.”
“I understand that. I’ve heard it before and still been abandoned, but with you it seems different. I hope you can bear with me as I become more accustomed to my new position in this world. I pray that your feelings for me continue. I pray that you see me.”
He smiled. “I believe I do see you, and I am still here.”
“I used to be smart. I used to be passionate. I used to be strong. I used to be a lot of things, and then I came to be here, and I don’t know who I am anymore.” She looked up at him. “I love you.”
She turned Delilah and drove her back to the center of the park.
Gideon was confused. He had no idea what to say or do. He thought about the first day
, the way the raging woman had keened his senses and fired his passion. He realized that her reaction that day was the spark that had started his fervor. Until then, he had merely been moving through life with perfunctory actions. With that one yell, the scream, the way she advanced on him, he was awakened. Enlivened.
He stared at her now. She wasn’t afraid of him and she didn’t require anything of him. She wasn’t bent on a title and lands. Here she was, in stolen trousers riding through the Grosvenor Square Gardens, and she had never looked more beautiful.
“Francine,” he called.
She spun Delilah to him, and the smile on her face lit her expression like a flash bulb, catching his attention.
He pulled Samson closer to her as they faced each other, their legs caught between the two horses. He kicked her toe out of the stirrup, placing his boot in its place and, as she started to object the heavy-handed gesture, he pulled the horses together and jerked her off balance. He took her waist and tugged her toward him, catching her face with his hand. She glared at him, but he paid no heed. His mouth met hers, quelling her protest. She sank toward him as he held Delilah steadfast against Samson with that one strong thigh, his boot solid in her stirrup.
He grabbed her, pulling her across his lap onto Samson, and held her fast to him, driving his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her, stealing her breath.
She succumbed to his possession fully, wrapping her hands around his waist, her heat sinking into his thin shirt and jolting his muscles. He loosened his hold, suddenly remembering where they were, and drew her back. She held on tight, grabbing his shirt in her fists, refusing to give.
“If you want me, you get me, and that includes all the eccentricities that make up who I am. I will not be conventional. I will not conform to Society’s expectations, and I refuse to shrink into the background. You will take all of me—or none of me.” She paused, her eyes blazing in the afternoon light. “Decide,” she said, deftly kicking his boot from Delilah’s stirrup, holding the pommel on her saddle as she slid from Samson and back to Delilah with a great show of dexterity. She turned the horse and pushed her into a gallop toward his town house, leaving Gideon gawking at her from the park.
Francine jumped from Delilah, handed the reins to the waiting groom, and ran into the town house, straight to the study. She saw Trumbull talking with Shaw and ignored them as she strode to the sideboard. She poured three fingers of brandy in a glass and downed it, the liquor scorching her throat as it slid down. She refilled the glass and turned toward Trumbull.
He stared at her, wide-eyed.
Shaw looked from Francine to Trumbull and back.
She leaned against the sideboard and set her glass down, then removed Gideon’s hat and let her hair tumble from the pins around her shoulders. She took the coat off and threw it across the back of a chair, revealing her slight figure in gentleman’s clothes.
Trumbull choked and Shaw gasped, staring at her like a hypnotized snake.
“Trumbull,” she said resolutely.
He looked like a cat suddenly trapped by a mouse. “Yes, my lady?” he croaked.
“I have no need of a chaperone. I will no longer conform to your Society’s rules and regulations. I will attend the ball you’ve been planning, but after that the ton be damned. I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me. I never have, and I’m not going to start now. I expect you to teach the sisters to be strong and independent or I will have something to say about it, and you will hear me. I will not move to Westcreek with you. I’ll be staying here with Gideon—if he’ll still have me—or I’ll be finding my own way.” She met his gaze evenly. “Any questions?”
He cleared his throat and motioned with his hands, pointing at her and waving them about as if he were going to break into some meaningful remonstration, but the words did not erupt. He finally rested his hands on his hips and shrugged. “So be it,” he said.
She smiled triumphantly and strode from the room.
“This is not going to go over well,” Perry said.
Shaw glanced at him. “Where is Roxleigh, anyway? I was supposed to meet him here.”
“As was I. It would appear that she left him in the park, or buried him in a ditch, or sold him to gypsies, or something of that nature. Whatever the case, she is no longer my responsibility, obviously, and he never has been.”
Shaw studied the gaping door and chuckled, shaking his head. “I would not wish such a woman on anyone,” he said, “and yet you encourage this match with your brother?”
“Oh, I do, Shaw, I do. You see, I’ve been wondering since the moment I met that shrinking violet exactly what my brother saw in her that had him so besotted. She was quiet, charming, intelligent, sweet, beautiful—a perfect companion.” He paused, and Shaw gazed at him in confusion. “It is only now, at this moment, having finally seen her fire that I understand. She is magnificent. Truly his equal, of that I’ve no doubt. No regular chit would survive him. Whether or not he survives her? Well, that’s another situation entirely, and I wish him the best of luck.”
“What about Society?”
“You heard her, just as clearly as I did. Society be damned.”
Shaw and Perry sat back down in front of the desk in silence. “How long do we wait before sending out a search party?” Shaw asked.
“Oh, I imagine at least another hour. I’m sure he’ll return as soon as he’s done licking his wounds.” Perry chuckled. “Besides, if she gave him any of what she gave us, I’ve no interest in seeing him soon. If at all. In fact, would you be interested in continuing our previous conversation at the pub? I suddenly have need to leave Roxleigh House.” He stood.
Shaw nodded, following behind.
Gideon took a few turns around the park quickly, slowly, quickly again. It didn’t matter to his muddled head. He’d no idea what had started her fit. He had no idea what would finish it. What he did know was that he was just as scared by the power of his emotions as she appeared to be. He wasn’t sure of her past but he knew his fear began somewhere with his father. She had to know he would never do what his father had to his mother.
That’s when it struck him, and he knew one thing and one thing alone...
He headed back to the town house. He saw Perry and Shaw skittering down the road and wondered what fabulous episode he’d missed. He leaned on Samson, driving him forward as he called out to the two men. They stopped and looked at him and then at each other.
“No rescue needed,” Perry said.
“What about for us?” Shaw mumbled.
Perry continued striding toward the pub, which was only a few blocks off of the square. Gideon left Samson with the groom and ran to catch up with them.
“I thought we were meeting in the study,” he said.
Shaw and Perry exchanged a glance. “Well, yes, but as it turns out, you were late,” Perry said.
“Yes, you were late and Lady Francine, well, she showed up,” Shaw said.
“Yes, quite,” said Perry.
Gideon laughed. “Yes, I suppose she did. And what, pray tell, did she have to say?”
Perry stopped. “Well, it seems she is not happy with our living arrangements.”
“What does that mean?”
They started walking again. “She informed me that she will not be moving to Westcreek, whether she stays with you, or goes out on her own.”
“On her…what?”
Shaw winced and moved to the other side of Perry.
Perry smiled as Shaw began to explain. “I believe she meant that she wasn’t sure if you were still interested in her, and, if not, she would not stay with you or…something to that effect.”
“Why would she… Oh.” Gideon shook his head as her reasoning dawned on him.
Shaw opened the door to the pub and they walked in to a round of cheers and welcoming salutations. It appeared that Perry had been missed, and when the crowd caught sight of Gideon walking in behind him, the din grew to a thunderous level. The crowd fell upon the brothers, herdin
g them to the bar amidst the chaos.
“Damn, Trumbull, where the hell did you get off to?” someone yelled across the pub.
Perry smiled. “Oh, here and there.”
“Oh sure, I bet here an there, an e’rywhere as well, I’d say,” someone else shouted as raucous laughter burst from the others.
Perry smiled.
“We’ve had a terrible spell wit ye gone. Nobody has tales like ye, milord,” an older man called out.
Gideon shook his head and, reaching for the pint of ale slammed to the bar, he walked to a quieter corner across the room.
Shaw grabbed the next pint and followed.
They sat facing one another, leaning over their ale.
Shaw gestured toward Perry. “He is quite…”
“Yes, he is quite. Actually, that is the most common description I get for him—‘quite’—which is effective, since there really are no words for the wonder that is my brother.” Gideon laughed.
Shaw smiled. “You two are close.”
“Closer than we’ve ever been, in fact.”
“Indeed? I would never have guessed you weren’t close.”
Perry slammed a pint on the table between the two of them and sat down with a grunt. “Did I really do this every night?”
Gideon laughed. “Not every night, just the nights when there wasn’t a Society function.”
Perry glared at him. “Rox.”
“Yes, Perry.”
“Your Grace, you cut me to the quick.”
“Have I, my lord?”
“Quite.”
Shaw burst out in laughter and they both looked at him. “Oh, I beg your pardon! It’s just, it seemed funny. I mean you were only just described as, well, ‘quite,’” he said with a shrug.
“Quite what?” Perry asked.
“That’s it, just...quite.”
Perry glared from Shaw to Gideon, then grunted.
“Shaw, have you managed to spend any time with Lady Alice since our return to London?” Gideon asked.
“No, unfortunately not. I’ve been too busy with the arrangements for Eildon, so I really haven’t had an opportunity. I can only hope that changes soon.” Shaw downed the pint and set it on the table.