“Why? How can that be a bad thing?”
“It sure makes everything easy for you, doesn’t it?”
Clearly he wasn’t going to entice her back for another round, so with a sigh of resignation, he pulled himself up to sit across from her. “Why do you think any of this is easy for me?”
“Aren’t you getting everything you want?”
Thomas stared at her in disbelief. “How’s that exactly?”
“I’m probably the easiest seduction you’ve ever had.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a seduction.” He implored her to listen.
“What more can I possibly be?” She looked away and swallowed hard before she continued. “Nothing can become of us. I’m fooling myself that anything ever could.”
“No, you’re wrong. Listen to me…”
She slid out of the bed and pulled on her wrapper, cinching the tie tight around her waist with swift, angry movements. “No, you listen. I can’t keep doing this.”
Thomas swung his feet over the side of the mattress. What the hell was happening here? She was the damnedest, most mercurial woman he had ever met. “Then run away with me.”
“You’re insane.”
“What else do you want from me?” he demanded.
“I want you to have come home a month ago before I promised myself to another man.” She dashed away tears before they could run off her chin.
He held out his hand to her, but she rebuffed him with a huff.
“Dearest, please don’t do this. Come here and talk to me.” He wanted to fold her in his arms and take away the hurt, but he was afraid to touch her. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what it was she needed.
“There’s no point. It’s over.” She stepped even farther from his grasp.
“But you love me.”
“Please don’t keep doing this to me. You know why it will never happen.”
He stood from the bed and realized too late he was naked. He grabbed the sheet from the bed and wrapped it around his hips. Maybe wooing was the way through to her. “You’re unbelievably lovely. We are fantastic in bed together. I want you more than any other woman I have ever known.”
She crossed her arms and glared in response.
Words kept coming even though he could see from her darkening expression he was missing the mark to a tragic degree. “We’ve known each other all our lives. Your family usually adores me. We’re great friends, so you know we’ll be compatible.”
“I see.”
“Why isn’t that enough?” He knew he was sunk—at least tonight.
“I don’t know, Thomas, but it isn’t.” She knew exactly what she wanted to hear from him, but if he didn’t feel it, then she didn’t want to hear a lie either. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to cry in front of him. She wasn’t.
She tossed his pants at him. “Go ahead and climb down the tree.” She strode across the room to the fireplace. There were only coals now. She sat in the chair and wrapped her arms about herself in an effort to keep a lid on her emotions.
He didn’t love her. It couldn’t be more apparent. And she was not strong enough to marry him without that. She could not go through a lifetime as Thomas’s friend no matter how good the lovemaking was. She understood herself well enough to comprehend that marrying him under those conditions would kill her. It definitely wasn’t worth ruining her family over. She would rather marry Lord Dalton, who she really did care for if only as a dear friend, and there was no risk of getting hurt. At least then she would have a typical tonnish marriage with no chance of suffocating slowly in her misery.
She wanted him to get out so she could cry. She simply would not give him the satisfaction of witnessing the event. Thomas pulled his jacket on, his shirttails loose over his trousers and his weskit unbuttoned. He watched her the whole time, but she refused the satisfaction of meeting his gaze.
Only a few minutes ago they were both warm and snuggly in bed, and now her eyes were burning, desperate to cry, and he was sulking away.
“Francesca?” His voice was soft and gentle.
“Just go.” She only had a few words in her before her voice would crack, and she would lose every bit of dignity she was making such an effort to maintain.
“I hate to bring this up again, but what if you’re carrying my child?”
Francesca closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. She waited until she could talk without her voice wavering. “It’s unlikely.”
“But possible. You can’t deny it’s possible.”
Drat, she was going to cry after all. She mustered up some anger instead. “We’ll never know, will we? I’m to be married in a matter of days. You’ll never know if it’s yours or Dalton’s.”
“What are you going to do when he looks like me? Everyone will know then.” He strode several steps in her direction and raised his voice. “I’ll never let some other man raise my child.”
Francesca stood tall in the face of his onslaught. “You need to go now, or I’m going to scream.”
His face she loved so much and had held so dear for so long, was twisted in anger. He was still hopelessly beautiful, and her gut wrenched at the finality of ending the affair this way. She was hurting him, but it needed to be done.
“I’m sorry.” He turned and exited the window in the same manner he’d climbed in. She closed and locked it and pulled the drapes closed tight before he reached the ground.
She never looked down.
Chapter Sixteen
It was ten o’clock in the morning, and Francesca could no longer ignore the gentle raps on her bedroom door. “Enter,” she said, but she didn’t rise from her bed. Rather she pulled the coverlet even higher and tried to sink farther into the feather bed.
“Frankie?” Anna’s voice was gentle in her inquiry. “Are you not out of bed yet?”
“No.” Her voice was muffled, and as much as she loved her best friend, she longed for nothing more than to be left alone in her wretched misery.
Anna’s slippered feet silently tread across the carpet, and before Francesca had the opportunity to protest, her friend pulled the coverlet away from the bed and slipped inside next to her. Francesca sighed a beleaguered breath, but she also welcomed the concern from her friend.
“Frankie,” Anna began again with a cautious whisper, “are you quite all right?” When Francesca didn’t answer, Anna continued. “I am quite sure I heard crying from this room this morning. I have been able to keep your mother away, telling her that your headache continues from yesterday, but she’s bound to come in eventually.”
“You may tell Mama that my head is much improved, thank you.”
“I’m afraid you’re actually going to have to arise from this tomb you’ve hidden yourself in and prove to her yourself that you’re alive.” When there was still no movement under the covers, Anna pulled the covers back in a sweeping gesture that left Francesca exposed to the bright morning light.
Francesca blinked against the light, sat up and grabbed the covers then drew them back up to her chin. Her only concession that she was in fact awake and not dead was that she turned her head on the pillow to look at her friend. “I am alive, as you can clearly see.”
“I also see that I was right, you have been crying.”
“I am through with crying,” Francesca bravely told her. “I will cry no more for that man.”
“Dare I ask which man you are crying over? Would that be your fiancé, or the man you’re hopelessly in love with?”
“Why can’t they be the same person?” Francesca asked, and as much as she despised the weakness, she couldn’t stop wretched tears from filling her eyes.
Anna sighed a response, smiled with compassion, and reached over to take her friend’s hand. “Oh, dearest, somehow this will all work out. You’ll see.”
“I can’t imagine how.” Francesca’s voice wavered. “I’ve made a complete mess out of my life.”
“We’re not going to be able to f
ix it by hiding in this bed. You must get up, dress yourself, and carry on.” Anna sat up, taking the covers with her, and climbed out of the bed. “I’m ringing for your maid. I’ll see you at breakfast.” Anna pulled sheet and blankets completely off the end of the bed and dropped them in a heap on the floor.
“I hate you,”
“I know,” Anna yanked on the bellpull and opened the bedroom door to leave. “Whatever it takes to get you up and fighting again.”
Thirty minutes later Frankie appeared in the dining room wearing her favorite dress, a sweet little morning gown of the palest blue that would offset the green in her eyes and manage to subdue the swelling from her tears and the red tinge of her nose.
Anna looked up, “Good morning. You look lovely.”
Frankie blew a raspberry at Anna’s comment and helped herself to a plate of breakfast. The footman placed it at the table next to Anna and returned with a steaming cup of tea.
“I’ve never known you to hide from a fight. Have you given up so entirely?”
“Given up?” Francesca paused in midstroke of her knife, blueberry preserves dangling from it and dripping off a scone. “Given up what? I don’t have anything to fight for.”
“All right, then, if that’s the way you want to play it, fine.” Anna made as if to rise from her chair. “After all, I see no reason to tax my brain if you have nothing to fight for.”
“Wait.” Francesca held up her hand and rolled her eyes when Anna smiled a quick, smug grin. “What are you thinking about?”
“First, I’m thinking that I don’t like you very much when you’re maudlin. You’re not any fun. And second, I’m thinking there must be a way to have the man you love.”
“I appreciate your pragmatism, but you know that Christian has expressly forbidden it.”
“That didn’t stop you last evening, did it?” Anna punctuated her point by popping a strawberry in her mouth. Francesca didn’t, couldn’t, answer—she merely sat staring in shock at her dearest friend. Anna smiled smugly. “I was right, then. Oh, don’t worry, no one else knows. But if you were willing to defy your brother last eve, then I see no reason to start being the obedient sister now.”
Francesca could hear her brother’s heavy step in the hall. “Christian must know nothing of this. He would have an apoplexy.”
Anna nodded to her friend, a twinkle of excitement in her eyes. “Clearly.”
“What are you two ladies up to this morning with your heads stuck together? Planning the downfall of Western civilization, I’m sure.” Christian sauntered into the dining room.
“Not Western civilization, Your Grace. Just a few men’s lives,” Anna quipped sassily.
“Lord help us all.” Christian dropped into a chair, motioning for the footman to fill a plate, and downed a cup of coffee. “Save us from beautiful and sneaky women.”
Francesca watched in fascination as her friend teased her brother, distracting him away from any hint of the conversation that had just taken place. She was quite certain her brother thought no more of the decree he had laid down the previous day. He seemed quite content in his autocratic dictatorship of her life. The anger that she should have felt earlier stirred in her stomach. Yesterday she had accepted his mandate without a single protest. And today, even though she knew Thomas did not love her, she wanted to defend her right to choose the way her life would continue.
Jones, the family’s stately butler, quietly entered the room and cleared his throat, interrupting the protest forming in her brain.
“Excuse me, Lady Belling, some flowers have arrived for you. I placed them in the sitting room.”
“Ooh, how interesting.” Anna stuffed the last of her scone in her mouth in a decidedly unladylike fashion and rose from the table.
“Wait, I’m coming.”
“Good grief, who is more excited?” Christian asked from behind a folded newspaper.
“Don’t get fresh,” Anna teased. “This could be a very important development in my scheme.”
“Scheme?” Christian choked on his coffee. “You’re not serious? My God, ladies, should I warn someone?”
Frankie rose from the table. It was a testament to Anna’s brilliance that she could so easily orchestrate such a scene and her brother would never suspect her unassuming friend.
“Never you mind. I am sure there is some horse somewhere which needs your attention,” Anna told him breezily as the ladies left the room to the sounds of him chuckling into his newspaper.
On a side table in the sitting room sat an enormous bouquet of white and yellow daisies.
“Very interesting choice.” Anna gaped at the very average bouquet.
“Yes, well, I don’t know what to say.” Frankie stared at the bunch of flowers. Curiosity got the better of her, and she plucked the card from the table.
“You may have seen them every day of your life, but look closely, you may find that they will surprise you with their beauty and grace. I am certainly taken by yours. Sometimes the greatest treasure is right under your nose all the time.”
“Oh my.” Anna took the card and reread the message. “There’s no signature. They really are quite lovely aren’t they? Not my favorite flowers, but they are certainly perfect in their way.” Anna contemplated the vase. She moved several of the blossoms around, and then, apparently happier with the arrangement, she mused aloud, “They are quite poignant in their simplicity. He really is quite romantic, isn’t he? It’s very obvious how much he loves you.”
“Who does?” Francesca asked, already knowing for certain the flowers were from Thomas. She remembered distinctly the vase full of them in his suite.
Anna looked at her like she was daft. “Well, they’re obviously from Thomas.”
Frankie plucked one of the daisies from the bunch and admired it for a moment before tearing off each petal and dropping it on the floor. “That’s just the problem, Anna. He doesn’t love me. He has never said.”
“Oh, certainly not?” Anna protested. “This letter speaks directly of his regard for you.”
Francesca exhaled in a huff. “Thomas simply can’t stomach the fact that there is something, or someone, that his good looks and charm have not been able to win for him.”
“I think you do him wrong.” Anna held the note as if to show her the evidence.
Their conversation was thwarted once again when her mother glided into the room. “There you are, Frankie. I’m glad to see you’re recovered from last evening. We have so many appointments this afternoon before we attend the opera with Lord Dalton.”
Francesca was at a momentary loss. “Appointments?”
Her mother looked at her with exasperation. “Have you suffered some sort of fall? Your wedding is in less than a fortnight. There is a fitting for your bridal trousseau, and the wedding breakfast arrangements must be finalized today.”
Francesca gave Anna a pointed look. “No, Mother, I have not forgotten. How could I possibly forget? It’s my one obligation for this family, is it not?”
The rest of the day was a blur of wedding-related activity, and Francesca was exhausted from it. She hadn’t been in any mood to chat with the featherbrained girls and their garrulous mothers while being stabbed with straight pins at the modiste’s, and she still wasn’t in any mood to sit patiently in a parlor and receive at-home visits from nonsensical, tittering debutants hoping for gossip. But there she sat, studiously schooling her face into a placid countenance. It was agony, and it wouldn’t be long before she snapped and slapped the giggle right out of one of them.
Who she really wanted to slap, of course, was Thomas, and he wasn’t allowed in her house. How dare he send her flowers. And how dare he send such cloyingly sweet flowers such as daisies with that cleverly thought-out note.
She’d moved the flowers to her room, and she told herself the reason was because she didn’t want to be forced to answer questions about them. They were unusual enough that all the ladies who visited would be sure to comment about the bouquet. B
ut that didn’t explain why she placed the vase next to her bed or why she tucked the note under her pillow.
I hate him. That was approximately the 1,537 time she’d thought the exact same thought since he had climbed out her bedroom window before dawn. He’s a selfish cad to come into my life now. I waited. I pined. And he finally comes back now? I hate him.
1,538.
Lord Dalton is a good man. He’s very handsome. He’s very wealthy. He’s very kind. I like his mother and sisters. I like him. I will be very happy with him.
This litany had also been going on all day. She really was giving herself a migraine.
“Aren’t you, Frankie?”
What? She glanced about the room and saw the expectant and inquiring faces watching her. “Pardon me.” She closed her eyes briefly and touched her hand to her temple. “I fear that my headache is returning, and I missed your question.” She opened her eyes in time to see Anna rolling hers.
“We were speaking of the opera we are attending tonight with Lord Dalton,” her mother explained. “You do look pale, Frankie. Why don’t you retire for the rest of the afternoon so that you’ll be able to enjoy this evening?”
Anna rose at the suggestion. “I’ll ask cook for a headache powder.”
Their departure from the sitting room had the effect of breaking up the group, and Francesca could hear the ladies taking their leave as she climbed the stairs. It was a relief, to be sure.
She was lying across her bed atop the coverlet, her arm thrown over her eyes, when she heard Anna enter the room. She lifted her arm when the lock click in the door.
“We’re going to finish this conversation today, uninterrupted,” Anna told her.
Francesca huffed out a breath of frustration. “Where’s the headache powder?”
“You don’t have a headache. If you do, it’s because you haven’t slept in several nights and you spend all day either scowling or crying. Oh, don’t try to deny it,” Anna scolded when Francesca tried to look hurt. “We’re running out of time, Frankie.”
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