Francesca wished she was strong enough that his compliments didn’t affect her, but she doubted that would ever be so. “You said it would be.”
“Do you remember how we waltzed?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.
She suppressed a shudder. Of course she remembered—he in his dress blacks and her in her nightgown. He’d bowed to her and kissed her hand and twirled her about the hall. Everything about that night had been magical. By the end of the evening, Thomas could do no wrong and her adoration of him culminated in that awful scene in the park three years later.
“Do you remember?” he prompted.
“Yes,” she admitted on a sigh.
“Waltz with me every night.”
Francesca closed her eyes for a moment and let him lead her through the dance. She’d always been an optimistic girl, hopeful and excited, and all she’d ever wanted was exactly what he was offering now. She’d gone through two seasons and turned down countless marriage offers in the delusional hope that Thomas would come home and see her for the woman she’d become. Until finally, finally, she’d given up—or grew up. It didn’t matter. Now the selfish man had come home and she was taken. In what universe was this fair?
Actually, it infuriated her. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. “I sincerely doubt my husband would like that very much.”
Anger? Jealousy? She wasn’t sure what emotion settled on his face, but the familiar laugh lines etched themselves into harsh angles, transforming his usual beauty into something wholly unfamiliar. “Are you angry at me? Why are you angry at me? Dalton is my fiancé.”
“We’ll see.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She watched him with wary eyes.
“It means that you’re mine.”
“There is nothing to be done,” she said with finality, then added, “What are you planning?”
He ignored the question. “You love me.”
“I loved you when I was sixteen. You left—and rightly so, I imagine, considering. Still, things have changed. I’ve grown up.” Her whispered voice was harsh with indignation.
Thomas responded with a raised eyebrow. “That fact hasn’t changed. You love me.” He barreled on even as her jaw set and her eyes shrunk to slits. “I want you and I’ll have you.”
“You arrogant…bastard. How dare you?” Had he always been this arrogant?
They entered another tight turn. The dance floor was absurdly crowded, and Thomas pulled her flush against his chest. His growing erection pressed against her belly. She hated herself for her completely visceral response, the rising heat and twinges that she didn’t want to stop until Thomas brought her to a glorious climax. How could she love him and still hate him at the same time?
“Absurdly, I find that I can’t sleep without you, Francesca. I couldn’t last night and I’m sure it will be the same tonight. I’ll lie in my dark room and try to figure out your perfume. I’ll remember the feel of your skin and the silkiness of your hair.”
“Please stop, Thomas,” she whispered in agony.
“I’ll come to you tonight. Leave the downstairs parlor window open.”
“No.”
“No? No?” His voice dropped an octave.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried vainly to blink them away. One didn’t have an emotional breakdown while waltzing. “This can’t continue…” And then she couldn’t continue.
Mercifully the waltz ended and she broke away from him, refusing the offer of his arm. Even as the last strains of music drifted away, Francesca made a desperate attempt to keep her pace a stately walk and not break into a run. She needed to get away and she didn’t want him to follow her, even though she could feel him several steps behind her. She blindly made her way through the crowd to where her mother was seated.
****
Thomas let her go. It was against his best interests to make a scene, but it was hell to let another evening get away from him. Her wedding date marched ever closer, and he certainly hadn’t improved his suit tonight. Bad form, indeed.
He ground his teeth in frustration. While flirting with her in the hopes of arousing her to distraction, he’d unfortunately caused the same symptoms in himself. As much as his baser male self urged him on, even pointing the direction in order to be more helpful, to go to her that night as he’d suggested, wouldn’t further his cause. It was to be another night in bed alone. Mary and Jesus, he hoped he wouldn’t spend it dreaming up fresh erotic tortures again.
A quick glance about the ballroom and his gaze connected with Dalton. Thomas’s rival stood in the doorway to the cardroom. He saw a brief flash of anger that was immediately transformed back into the perfect social mask of indifference. Thomas didn’t bother to wonder how much the man had seen of his conversation with Francesca, nor did he concern himself with what the man may have concluded by the drama that played out before him.
Thomas popped off a cheeky salute and grinned broadly at Dalton. Then he strode from the ballroom and home to his own private misery.
Chapter Ten
Thomas pulled up his phaeton in front of the Bellings’ townhouse and tossed the reins to a groom. He had very deliberately chosen a vehicle that only seated two. He needed to get Francesca out of the house so he could speak plainly. She had to be made to see reason. He’d never lived his life by the leave of the ton, and he had no intention of starting now. Behaving himself was starting to wear very thin and his temper was beginning to show.
Additionally, he was feeling out of sorts because, once again, he’d gotten very little if any sleep just like the previous two nights. It was as he’d feared. Any time he drifted off, he was awakened by the same erotic dreams as before with only slight variations. The new distressing addition had Francesca running away from him and laughing.
It was extremely unsettling how attached he was getting to her in such a short time. The end result was obvious, at least to him. The obstacles could be surmounted. He had to make her see the possibilities.
He took a moment to wipe the grimace from his face and exchange it for the familiar easy grin he was so well known for. He took a deep breath before he raised the heavy brass knocker. The butler let him in the door and showed him to the parlor where his grin steeled itself into something hard. Francesca sat on the sofa surrounded by flowers, and leaning against the piano in a disgustingly casual fashion was Lord Dalton.
Blast that man. Thomas clenched his hands into fists. The chance of getting her alone now was slim to none. He felt like snarling. In fact, he may have snarled a bit before he caught himself and slid his friendly mask back into place.
He nodded at Lord Dalton in greeting before turning his attention to his lover. She was the very vision of loveliness this afternoon in a gown a soft shade of green that made her complexion glow and yet somehow intensified the green in her eyes. She was the epitome of tonnish propriety. So it wasn’t her dress that made her look so… He wasn’t sure what it was exactly. Sultry? No, that wasn’t quite right. Not the dress, it was her hair. Wound up in a complicated knot, many long curls defied the pins meant to hold them in place and coiled about her face and neck, making her appear charmingly mussed. The slightly disheveled appearance was precisely how she looked after she’d been properly kissed.
“I was just agreeing with Lord Dalton that I believe last evening was a triumph.” Francesca smiled at him, and his groin tightened in response. Then she gave the same smile to Dalton, and lust turned to thoughts of murder.
Francesca took note of the darkening of Thomas’s expression.
“I did dance with every single woman at that ball, so I certainly hope so,” Thomas remarked.
He sat himself in a delicate cherry wood chair that didn’t look as though it would be strong enough to hold him. Especially the way he lounged in it insolently with his impossibly long legs stretched out before him. She just wanted to get up and smack him. The man was so irritating.
“Yes, I did notice that you danced with every woman,
even my fiancée.”
Dalton’s voice was not the usual friendly, even tone she was used to and a sense of dread crept over her. Thomas looked Dalton in the eye, cocked his brow inquisitively, and smiled in the most condescending way.
“I told Lord Dalton the waltz didn’t signify, as we are practically brother and sister, we’ve known each other so long.” She heard the lie in her own voice and hated it.
Thomas didn’t reply, rather he lifted the same insolent eyebrow in her direction and grinned unrepentantly. Really, she sincerely doubted she’d be able to go the entire day without striking him.
She hustled over to the bellpull and yanked on it several times. “Let us sit down and have some tea, shall we? This pot is old. Let me ring for a fresh one.” When the maid popped in, Francesca whispered furiously for her to run and grab Anna along with the refreshments.
“As you say.” Dalton nodded, his unwavering politeness making her feel nauseous with guilt. “Nevertheless, the dance and the conversation afterwards did not appear to me as though it was the exchange of siblings. I am quite sure that it seemed to anyone who viewed it as rather heated.”
“You, and anyone else, are welcome to think of it what you will,” Thomas said flatly.
Francesca rose from the sofa. “Thomas, you are not helping.”
“I’m done helping,” Thomas told her.
Oh, God help me. Please, please, let’s not have this conversation again. Not now. Not with an audience.
“I had heard much to recommend you from friends and family, but since I’ve come to know you, your appeal is completely lost to me,” Dalton stated. “You seemed like a good chap when I met you at White’s. Now I fear my first impression was rashly given.”
“You may think what you wish. I have no desire to stop you. Regardless of what Francesca supposes, one rarely has the option of choosing what other people think of them.” Thomas crossed his ankles at the end of what seemed like miles of leg stretching into the center of the carpet.
Did the man have to take up so much room? Francesca pinched the bridge of her nose.
Dalton straightened from his leaning position at the piano. “Lord Harrington, I understand that you are very close to the Belling family. I know that you must have a great deal of affection for Frankie—”
“Francesca knows exactly of my feelings for her,” Thomas interrupted.
She did? She focused her attention to Thomas with a jerk of her head. She barely knew her own feelings these days. How could she possibly know his? “Gentlemen, please,” Francesca said in an effort to mitigate the situation before it escalated out of control.
Dalton continued, completely ignoring her. “Surely you can see that it would behoove everyone not to make a scene in public. You will not be making things easier for Frankie.”
The lady in question closed her eyes for a second and inhaled through her nose in an attempt to maintain calm.
Thomas glared at her fiancé. She’d never seen him like this, and Lord help her, it was disgustingly stimulating. What did it say about her that some small part of her was enthralled with his caveman attitude? And why couldn’t Lord Dalton’s claim on her be just as exciting?
Where was the blasted tea?
“I am completely aware of your reputation, Lord Harrington.” Dalton said the other man’s name with complete disdain. “Before you left, you bedded everything in skirts. Don’t think that I’ll allow you to mistreat my future Marchioness in this manner. One would think that you’d have more respect for her and her family to allow even an inkling of impropriety besmirch her.”
“My reputation is none of your concern, Dalton.” Thomas smiled a bright, toothy grin that held absolutely no mirth whatsoever.
“Do I need to remind you that the contracts have been signed? The reputation of my future wife is undoubtedly my concern.” Dalton advanced in Thomas’s direction. “I will not allow you to misuse this new hero mystique you’ve returned with.”
“Hero mystique?” Thomas scoffed. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ve all heard the stories,” Dalton explained, “of how you saved your ship and countless of your men when the captain perished in battle. You return the triumphant war hero.”
She took note that Thomas had the good grace to look embarrassed although his hard gaze never left Dalton’s face. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop spreading that particular piece of gossip.”
“Believe me.” Dalton put his hands in his pockets and settled a heavy look on Thomas. “I am not propagating such poppycock. We all appreciate your service to the crown, but that doesn’t give you the right to use it to seduce unsuspecting ladies. You were, and are, a rogue, a menace to women everywhere.”
“Oh dear,” Francesca breathed. Don’t say anything, Thomas. Please, please.
Thomas stood from the tiny chair. He unfolded his muscular frame slowly until he stood more or less an inch taller than Lord Dalton. If it was at all possible, Harrington’s eyes grew narrower and his jaw set in an even more unforgiving line.
“Make sure that you understand the words I’m going to say to you,” Thomas began. “I don’t profess that my reputation is lily-white, but it is not nearly as tarnished as you’d like it to be. I have never seduced anyone with that ridiculous story of heroism. In fact, seduction was wholly unnecessary.”
“Thomas.” Francesca urged him to be quiet with her mind. He spared her nary a glance. She walked the two long steps it took to come between the two men, but they didn’t appear to pay her any heed.
Thomas merely looked over her head as he barreled on, carelessly determined to ruin her. “My lovers have always come to me of their own free will.”
“You make me ill,” Dalton told him. “We’re speaking of honor, Lord Harrington. If you care nothing for yours, at least think of Miss Belling’s honor and the honor of her family.”
“My honor?” Francesca gasped and slumped down in Thomas’s abandoned chair. “My word, how did we get to this point?” It didn’t matter. They completely ignored her.
“As a gentleman and a peer, I trust that you will do the right thing and that I won’t have to tell you what that is.” Dalton clearly wrestled to get his anger under control, and the sneer was completely erased from his face when he turned to face Frankie. He took her hand. “I quite tire of this company, Frankie, my dearest, and I have another appointment, so I must take my leave.”
Thomas exhaled with triumph. Obviously he thought he’d won this round.
Her fiancé held her hand with both of his, rubbing it gently in a proprietary fashion she was sure Thomas noticed. She could practically hear his teeth grinding.
Lord Dalton ignored the goading noises coming from behind him. “I only came by this morning to extend an invitation to you and Miss Sinclair and of course your mother. I would consider it the finest pleasure if you would accompany me in my box at the theater tomorrow evening.”
Francesca nodded her agreement. “That would be very nice, Lord Dalton. I am sure that they will be as delighted as I am to join you.”
“Excellent, my dear.” Dalton turned her hand over, palm up, and placed a kiss in the center then folded her fingers over the kiss as if to trap it. “I’ll be around at eight to pick you up.”
“That appointment of yours wouldn’t happen to be at Gentleman Jim’s, would it?” Thomas blurted out. “Because I really could stand to let off some steam today.” The appeal of the sweaty, smelly boxing salon was lost on Francesca. Then, with horror, it occurred to her Thomas was suggesting Dalton meet him there to pummel each other.
“Actually, no, I’m meeting with my estate manager this afternoon. But I could be convinced to meet you there later.”
Francesca knew Dalton wasn’t likely to back down. The entire scene was absurd. Thomas’s reaction almost seemed barbaric with his intent to intimidate Dalton, and Dalton provoking him right back with a smirk. Like dogs itching for a fight, they did everything but circle each other. She didn’t bother to
note the comparison out loud. At this point, her presence in the room was entirely superfluous anyway.
“Excellent, let’s say half past two?” Thomas put out his hand to seal the arrangement.
Francesca stood there with her mouth hanging open while they shook hands with menace. “Are you telling me you two are just going to calmly make an appointment to beat on each other? This is insane.”
“Yes, well…” Dalton brought his finger up under her chin and, giving it a gentle nudge, closed her mouth. “I expect that I will be in fine form to enjoy the theater tomorrow eve. Until then.” With that, Lord Dalton strode from the room.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” Francesca demanded after Dalton left.
“I don’t like the way he was looking at you, and he kept touching you in an entirely too familiar fashion,” Thomas nearly shouted, his voice deep and loud.
Again, Francesca stood with her mouth agape. “I know that you are joking with me, right?” Although, he didn’t appear to be joking. In fact, he looked very, very serious. “I’m betrothed to marry the man, Thomas. Were you shot in the head in that bloody war?”
He paced the length of the Turkish carpet in several long strides and stopped in front of her. Francesca took a startled step back, but Thomas grabbed her arms and anchored her there. He stared at her for a minute, holding her still, looking into her eyes as if he couldn’t decide what to say.
There was the sound of footsteps and then Anna cleared her throat softly from the doorway.
“Maybe I should kiss you and cause the scandal everyone is so terrified of,” he said. “Then all choices would be moot. You would have to marry me—problem solved.”
“Anna would never tell,” Francesca said, almost breathless.
“Do you love him?” he whispered fiercely.
“No, but that’s not the point,” she whispered back. Even filled with ire and a desperate desire to strike him, the smell of him wound its way through her anger, and damn if she couldn’t feel desire welling up in response. It was sickening how he affected her.
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