by Laura Martin
‘There’s no other way out,’ Francesca said, looking round the enclosed area. Beyond the terrace there was a drop of a few feet to a small, square courtyard. On the opposite side of the courtyard was a wall, separating the Assembly Rooms from the street on the other side.
‘That depends on how desperate you are not to be found,’ Ben said, grinning at her.
She narrowed her eyes, wondering if he thought they could scoot around the back of Lord Huntley and make it to the front door while he was distracted.
‘I can’t be found here,’ she said.
‘Come on.’ He grasped her hand and before she could protest had pulled her up on to the stone balustrade. Without a backward glance he dropped the few feet to the courtyard below, turning and motioning for her to follow him. Hesitating, Francesca took a deep breath, if they were trapped in the courtyard there would be a scandal of momentous proportions, it would be much worse than Lord Huntley merely finding her socialising with people not of her class at DeFevrett’s. However, there was a chance, even just a small chance, that Ben could get her out of here.
It all came down to whether she trusted the man in front of her. He was not obliged to help her, but instinctively she knew he would do everything in his power to help her escape. His feelings for her might be complicated, but he was a good man, that much she could tell already from their short reacquaintance. Ben wouldn’t let Lord Huntley catch her without a fight.
Hoping he would catch her, Francesca pushed off the balustrade, falling the few feet into his waiting arms. He swung her down with ease, grabbed her hand and pulled her across the courtyard.
‘Ready to climb?’ he asked. She nodded. It had been years since they’d last climbed together, boosting each other up haystacks or into the lofts of old barns, but as she placed her foot into Ben’s hand she felt ten years old again and as if she were invincible. Deftly he lifted her up, waiting until she had hooked a leg over the top of the wall, managing to disentangle her skirts at the same time.
A shout from the other side of the courtyard made her glance back, but quickly she dropped her head so no one would be able to identify her. A small crowd was forming on the terrace, watching their escape attempt. She had to hope Lord Huntley wouldn’t appear until they were out of sight.
Ben used the branches of a nearby tree to help him clamber up the wall as easily as a monkey, dropping down the other side as soon as he’d reached the top. He held out his arms for Francesca and this time she didn’t hesitate to drop into them.
As her feet hit the floor he grabbed her hand and together they darted through the darkened alleyways. Francesca felt a surge of relief and an uncontrollable giggle burst from her lips.
‘Do you think he saw us?’ she asked, trying to get her laughter under control.
‘No,’ Ben said, pausing. The main street was just a few feet away, but here in the darkness of the alley it felt like they were the only two people in the world.
‘My coat,’ Francesca said, as the cold air penetrated through her dress, reminding her of what she’d left behind.
‘I will go back for it tomorrow,’ Ben promised, turning to her. Francesca’s back was against the wall, the freezing bricks making her shiver, but as his eyes met hers she couldn’t help but giggle again. She hadn’t behaved so badly in her entire adult life.
‘You’re a bad influence,’ she murmured.
‘Perhaps,’ he said and something in his eyes darkened as he looked at her. Francesca felt the whole world slow and fade into the background so the only thing left was the man in front of her. ‘Frannie,’ he murmured, reaching up and touching her cheek with his cupped hand.
Francesca closed her eyes as he moved towards her, knowing that his lips would find hers instinctively. They brushed against hers and inside Francesca felt a rush of elation like never before.
‘Who goes there?’ an annoyed shout came from the direction of the Assembly Rooms and quickly they sprang apart. Ben gripped her hand again and pulled her out on to the street. The moment between them had passed, but Francesca knew she would never be able to forget it. It had been a stolen moment in a mad evening, but a moment of perfection all the same.
‘Definitely a bad influence,’ she murmured.
‘I wasn’t the one who suggested we go to the Assembly Rooms,’ he said, ‘Or who insisted on getting out of there without a peer of the realm catching me.’ Eyeing her with a barely repressed grin, he offered her his arm again. ‘Come, let’s get you home.’
They walked briskly to combat the cold and with their heads bent to try to prevent anyone from recognising them. Fifteen minutes and they were in streets Francesca recognised and within twenty they were in the small public gardens opposite her father’s house.
‘Will you be safe from here?’ Ben asked, looking out from their hidden spot behind a tree to the darkened house beyond.
‘I will...’ She paused, wondering how to say everything that was clamouring for attention in her mind. And wondering if he might kiss her again before he left. ‘Ben...’
‘Frannie.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling her heart thumping in her chest.
‘Don’t apologise, it was fun.’
‘Not for that, not for tonight. For what my father did eighteen years ago. For ruining your life.’
He looked at her and for a moment she wondered if he might turn his back on her and walk away.
‘Do you know,’ he said, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, ‘I had quite forgotten all about that.’
‘I don’t want you to hate me,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t hate you, Frannie. I’ve never hated you. You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘But my father...’
‘Hush,’ he said, his fingers coming up and brushing against her cheek. Francesca felt her heart leap in her chest and her skin tingle under his touch. ‘You are not your father, or responsible for his actions.’
‘I should have done more.’
‘I don’t hate you, I could never hate you,’ he said again and as she looked into his eyes she believed him. She felt safe in his arms, content, as if she was meant to be there, and as his head lowered towards hers there was no way she could have stopped her lips coming up to meet his.
He kissed her softly, his lips brushing against hers, feeling velvety and smooth and causing a fiery heat to rise up inside her. She’d been kissed before, but never like this. Never had her entire body responded to a kiss with such passion. Ben murmured her name, kissing her again and again, until she was sure she had lost all reason.
When he pulled away Francesca felt like crying out, but just about managed to maintain some sort of composure.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asked, hearing the breathless quality to her voice and coughing to try to cover it up. It wouldn’t do to let Ben see how much that one kiss had affected her.
‘I wanted to,’ he said.
Opening her mouth to reply, Francesca found she was lost for words so instead gave a short, sharp nod. She didn’t quite believe he’d kissed her not once but twice now merely because he’d wanted to, but she couldn’t find the words to demand a further explanation.
‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ she said after a couple of seconds, ‘I’m almost engaged.’
‘Almost...’
‘And I’m in mourning.’
‘It was just a kiss, Frannie, nothing more.’
Feeling herself deflate a little, she tried to rally. To him it might have been just a kiss, something he went around doing all the time, but for her it had been wonderful, exquisite, and felt as though it had awoken every nerve in her body.
‘You shouldn’t kiss me,’ she said.
‘I’ve never been good at following the rules.’ He shrugged, ‘And I happen to find you very attractive.’
‘But earlier...’ She t
railed off at the memory of him rejecting her as she lay half-undressed in his bed.
‘I didn’t want to rush things. If you decide to come to my bed, I’d like to think we could come out on the other side as friends. I don’t want you to have any doubts, any second thoughts.’
She spluttered, her eyes widening. ‘If I decide to come to your bed?’ she repeated.
Ben shrugged. ‘We’re both adults, there’s a spark between us, it is up to you if you want to pursue it.’
‘I am a daughter of the nobility and the widow of a viscount,’ Francesca said, focusing in on the spark of humour in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or if the offer was a genuine one, but she wasn’t going to let herself be embarrassed any further. ‘This morning was a momentary lapse of judgement. It will never happen again.’
‘As you wish,’ he said so calmly she wanted to thump him.
‘I think I should bid you goodnight,’ Francesca said, knowing she should get away from him before she said something she regretted. Or kissed him again. ‘It was nice to see you have done well in life, but perhaps we should go our separate ways.’
She turned, only to have his hand dart out and catch her gently on the arm.
‘What about the other seven days?’ he asked and this time she knew he was struggling to keep an entirely straight face.
She looked up at him, feeling her pulse quicken. As much as she might pretend and postulate, she wasn’t going to do anything to shorten the time they could spend together.
‘I shall pen you a note,’ she said as haughtily as she could muster, then marched off before he could say anything more.
Chapter Nine
‘Lord Huntley to see you, my lady,’ the butler announced and Francesca had to suppress a groan. She’d barely slept, her mind rebelling against her sensible side, and images of Ben kissing her, touching her, laying her back on the bed and making love to her, had occupied her thoughts for most of the night. The problem of Lord Huntley, and his tracking her to DeFevrett’s, hadn’t even crossed her mind. Now she would have to try to work out what he knew and what she would be able to get away with.
‘Oh, joy,’ Felicity said drily from her position on the window seat.
‘Lady Somersham,’ Huntley said as he burst into the room, glancing at Felicity, but barely sparing a nod in her direction. ‘You have some explaining to do.’
‘My lord?’ Francesca tried to sound as meek and guileless as possible while the man she was probably going to have to marry paraded round the room as if he owned the place. Remembering the large debt her father owed Lord Huntley, she realised he probably did own some of Number Twelve Park Square and a large proportion of their country estate, too.
‘Oh, dear, is something amiss, Lord Huntley?’ Francesca asked.
‘Where were you last night?’ he demanded.
‘Last night,’ she mused as if it were half a year ago.
‘Here,’ Felicity said without looking up from the book she was reading, ‘With me.’
‘What?’ This had evidently thrown Lord Huntley and he was looking round the room as if searching for inspiration.
‘We spent the evening doing a little embroidery and Francesca sang after dinner. It was a very pleasant evening,’ Felicity said.
‘Is this true?’ Lord Huntley asked, turning back to Francesca.
‘Of course. You know I’m still in mourning for my late husband. I still spend most of my evenings in and Felicity was kind enough to keep me company last night.’
‘We’ll talk about this preposterously long mourning period later,’ Lord Huntley murmured, ‘Right now I want to know why I heard reports of you frequenting an inappropriate dance.’
‘Oh?’ Francesca said mildly. ‘And what dance is that?’
‘Assembly Rooms called DeFevrett’s. It caters to those of the middle class who have an inflated view of their own importance and status.’
‘DeFevrett’s?’ she mused, beginning to enjoy herself now. ‘No, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it. Who on earth gave you the idea I might go there?’
‘A rumour,’ Huntley said, frowning as if he didn’t quite believe her.
‘They must have been mistaken. And you think I went there last night?’
He grunted, only now deigning to sit down on the armchair that had seen better days with upholstery that had been carefully repaired more than once.
‘Was there anything else, Lord Huntley?’ Felicity asked. It was bordering on rude, but Francesca’s sister had never had any time for the man who had initially asked for her hand in marriage before settling on Francesca instead.
‘It’s high time we announced our engagement,’ Lord Huntley said. ‘I’m fed up of all this dilly dallying.’
‘The correct mourning period must be observed,’ Francesca said, repeating the line she’d been using for the two months Lord Huntley had been pushing for a date. It wasn’t as though she had even accepted his proposal yet, it would be bad form to do so before the mourning period for Lord Somersham was up, but everyone around her—her father, her mother and Lord Huntley himself—seemed to think the marriage between them was a certainty.
If she was honest, it probably was a certainty, but she was still hoping for a miracle before she had to formally agree to the engagement.
‘How long is left?’ he asked brusquely.
‘Six weeks.’ Only six weeks of freedom before she would have to wake up to this man every morning and promise to obey him, serve him, love him and honour him. It made her feel sick to her stomach.
He grunted again and promptly stood. ‘I need to finalise things with your father. I shall call again next week—please ensure he is sober.’
‘Of course, Lord Huntley,’ Francesca said, knowing nothing she could say or do would have be able to influence that.
They waited until he had left before both Francesca and Felicity let out long exhalations.
‘I can’t believe you’re actually considering marrying that,’ Felicity said.
Francesca couldn’t tell her sister she was doing it for her. If it wasn’t for Felicity she might be able to finally leave her parents to sort out their own mess, but she couldn’t condemn her lovely younger sister to a life of misery. Without the dowry Lord Huntley had promised to provide Felicity she might never get a proposal from a decent gentleman.
To ensure her voice didn’t betray her emotions Francesca just shrugged.
‘Where were you last night?’ Felicity asked, sitting up on the window seat and putting her book down so she could focus all her attention on her sister.
‘Just out,’ Francesca said, fiddling with a frayed piece of cotton on her dress.
‘At the Assembly Rooms? The inappropriate one?’
‘It was just a dance,’ she said, ‘Nothing scandalous.’
‘I didn’t know you had it in you,’ Felicity said, a new admiration dawning in her eyes.
‘He was there,’ Francesca said quietly, ‘Lord Huntley. He was there looking for me.’
His behaviour terrified her a little. If he was this obsessive about her movements even before they were engaged, what would he be like when they married? Lord Somersham hadn’t been a particularly pleasant man, especially as the years went by without Francesca producing the heir he so desperately wanted, but he had expressed his displeasure with his words and his obvious contempt for her. Never had he thought to control who she saw or where she went and never had he raised a hand to her.
There were rumours about Lord Huntley and how he’d treated his first wife. According to the gossips she’d often been incapacitated after some awful accident, much more often than one could expect in the course of a few years. Francesca knew she wouldn’t be alone if Lord Huntley did turn out to be a cruel husband, there were many men who raised a hand to their wives behind closed doors, but that didn’t soften the dread
she felt whenever she thought of her inevitable nuptials.
‘I take it from his appearance here today he didn’t actually see you.’
‘I was able to sneak out.’ She remembered Ben’s cool handling of the situation, the way he’d not hesitated to assist her in escaping Lord Huntley. She could still feel the pressure of his hands around her waist as he helped her down from the wall, the easy way he’d caught her and lifted her. And then, of course, there were the kisses.
The kisses that she’d been obsessing about ever since she’d returned home the previous evening. Francesca had been unable to think of anything else, no manner of distraction had worked. Over and over again she’d relived every moment, picturing how Ben had held her, how his lips had felt on her own, how her heart had hammered in her chest. Never had she been kissed like that and she knew she would do almost anything to feel the same just one more time.
‘Who did you go with?’ Felicity asked, pulling Francesca back to the present.
‘Lucy,’ she fibbed. Their grandmother’s companion, when their grandmother was still alive, had chaperoned Francesca to many balls and events when her mother had been indisposed. She was now a happy spinster in her early forties who over the years had been more of a mother to Francesca and her sister than Lady Pottersdown, who spent all her time secluded in her room.
‘I would have come with you,’ Felicity said with a grin.
‘You, young lady, need to avoid any hint of scandal,’ Francesca said in her sternest voice. Felicity was so carefree and innocent. Sometimes a little too carefree and innocent. She went through life thinking nothing bad could ever happen to her and that meant sometimes she took unnecessary risks.
Once Francesca had been like that, too, but over the years she’d been forced to step up, to be the responsible one. Their mother spent almost all her time ensconced in her bedchamber and their father was either getting them into further financial trouble with one of his doomed schemes or drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a whisky glass. Sometimes Francesca wished she could go back to the days where all she had to consider was which dress to wear or how to spend her morning, but that seemed a lifetime ago.