A Love Laid Bare (30 page)

Lady Halcombe stood and turned to face them, a bland
look on her face. “Guilty as charged, Lady Merton.” Her eyes
widened. “But I have recently read that the ranks of bluestockings
are growing exponentially—particularly amongst the younger
set.”

Choking down a laugh at the look of annoyance on
Victoria’s face, Jensen rose and bowed. “Lord Halcombe, Lady
Merton. I trust your business was resolved to your satisfaction?
Something about drains, was it?” He grinned at his hostess. “Should
we proceed with drains or Latin, my lady? A difficult choice, to be
sure.”

Lady Halcombe’s sudden peal of laughter infected the
Coopers. Jensen’s smile broadened as his gaze wrapped the four of
them into a cadre that subtly excluded the newcomers.

“Indeed, it is, Mr. Jensen.” She gestured toward the
remaining chairs. “Do join us, Lady Merton, Halcombe.” She then
turned to her husband, and indicated the Cooper’s with a wave of
her hand. “You met Mr. and Mrs. Cooper at the dinner party, if you
remember.”

Halcombe nodded. “Sir, madam.”

“Will you have some lemonade?” Lady Halcombe said
lightly.

Lady Merton’s response was immediate and brusque.
“Nothing for me, thank you. I must be on my way.” She looked at her
guests. “If you are ready to leave, I will ride back with you.”

Since both the hard look on her face and her tone of
voice was such that any objection appeared unwise, the Coopers and
Jensen took leave of their hostess. They agreed on a time the
following day for them to call again, an appointment which did not
sit well with either Halcombe or Victoria, Jensen noted. Wondering
if Lord Halcombe would demonstrate his displeasure as strongly as
the viscountess was apt to do, Jensen managed a few additional
minutes of soft-voiced conversation with Lady Halcombe. He
expressed his thanks warmly and held her hand just long enough past
propriety to put a good-humoured, knowing look in her eyes—and to
visibly irritate her husband even more. All in all, it had been a
satisfactory excursion. Tomorrow he would contrive to do better
yet.

***

“Were you able to advise Lady Merton on her problem?”
Frances asked, breaking the tense silence that fell between them
once their guests had departed. She turned aside, chose a flaky
biscuit and nibbled at it.

Distrusting the look of indifference in her eyes,
Halcombe kept his answer to a curt “Yes” and walked around the sofa
to pour himself a glass of beer. Frances was dressed in a gown that
was new to him, a becoming yellow confection that clung invitingly
to her curvaceous figure. Her cheeks were pink—sun-touched from her
outing, he supposed—and he couldn’t help but watch as her tongue
searched slowly along her full bottom lip for errant crumbs.

A pulsing heat gathered in his groin and his jaw
tightened. He drank some beer, his hooded gaze intent. Her luminous
eyes held…what? Awareness? A challenge? Whatever the hell it was,
he did not like it. In fact, there was very little about this day
he
did
like. It started with Victoria’s attempted tryst,
which he knew damn well had been her intent all along. Then he’d
had to witness that strange fellow’s familiarity with his wife. Not
to mention that she had invited the man to return—practically given
him
carte blanche
from the sound of it. All that added to
the as-yet unresolved matters between he and Frances and it was no
wonder he was edgy and short-tempered.

Carefully, the earl put his glass on the table. A
great many things to dislike, indeed. But there was an exception.
He stepped forward, took the half-eaten pastry from Frances’ hand,
and raised it to her lips. Eyes wide, she tentatively took a bite.
As before, several crumbs scattered and he quickly leaned in and
stroked his tongue across her mouth, slipping it between her lips
and savoring the lemony-sweet mixture of fruit and pastry. He
pulled her close, his grip tight, the pastry falling unheeded to
the floor.

Her body was stiff, and he deepened the kiss, coaxing
her to respond, until she melted with a soft moan and wrapped her
arms around his neck. Gently then, he teased at her mouth and lips
with his tongue, easing their bodies apart just enough to caress
the swell of her breasts and cup a hand over one mound.

“Richard! You can’t do this. What if someone comes
in?” Frances gasped when he at last raised his head. She made an
ineffectual attempt to push him away.

Halcombe gazed at her flushed face—lips red and
glistening, eyes soft with desire—and his hold on her strengthened.
“I can do anything I want in my own home, with
my
own
wife
,” he said with an arrogant lift of his brow. He encircled
her throat with his long fingers and stroked her jaw with his
thumb. “Isn’t that right, Frances?” He waited, very still, his face
set and unsmiling.

Equally still, she studied his face for a long moment
and then tenderly touched his cheek. “Yes, it is,” she whispered.
“You may do anything you want.”

“You,” he said hoarsely. “I want
you—
now
…
here
.” Halcombe swept her into his arms and
carried her to a sofa. He laid her on it, his eyes fast on her
face, and waited. He would not force her, or even coerce her. She
had to come to him freely and with equal desire. Whatever she
thought of his harshness, his demands, she knew he would never hurt
her.

“Will you lock the door?” she said huskily.

Absurdly relieved at her response to him—and the
glint of seductive amusement in her eyes—Halcombe chuckled. “If I
had known that was all it would take…” He went to the door, locked
it, and tossed aside his coat as he returned.

“Ah, but it will take more than that, sir.” Frances
sat up just enough to grasp his arms and bring him almost sprawling
atop her.

“Perhaps so, but squashing you cannot be part of the
more,” he said, laughing. He pinned her hands on either side of her
head, taking most of his weight on his arms.

“Frances.” Halcombe gazed at her, his laughter fading
as desire slowly consumed him. She was so dammed alluring—and she
was all his. Whatever was gone before they would make this pairing
work—they had to make it work, not only for them, but for their
precious little Flora. Vowing to make it happen, no matter the cost
to him, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Frances absentmindedly unrolled the house plans and
placed a book on each corner of the drawings to keep them flat.
Something had changed between she and Richard, shifted in some
manner, since the episode in the library. Frances looked at the
sofa where they had both lain, naked and flushed with arousal. She
smiled. Since the lovemaking, she amended
.
Instead of
spending every hour of the day outdoors, Richard had patiently
worked with her to make the decisions regarding the renovations.
They had grown somewhat closer, or so she perceived, and she was
now loath to choose paint colors, wallpaper and fabrics without his
opinion. He lived here too, and had the right to select those
things he felt attractive.

Halcombe had not come to her bed again, however, and
Frances was unsure what it meant, if anything. Simply because
she
wanted him, and longed for the warmth of his arms and
the heat of his mouth against hers, was no reason to think he had
the same desires. It was enough for now that they
talked
about things, such as the possibility of one day investing in
enterprises other than agricultural and husbandry. He told her of
the modern farming practices he hoped to initiate and what he had
accomplished to date. They had even discussed Frances’ intent to
continue with her covert letter writing and book trade.

Frances did want to continue buying and selling rare
and special editions. It was an interesting and lucrative pastime.
Although she was prepared to give it up once Napoleon was defeated,
and there was no reason to keep the information network alive—and
if Richard asked her to do so. It was not worth causing dissention
between them. Besides, she hoped desperately to be otherwise busy
with a baby or two.

Frances unconsciously touched her belly. Even now she
might be with child. Granted, they had been together just twice
since her return, but it
was
possible. And she had every
intention of making it thrice this very night. While much remained
unresolved, she did not believe he would reject her advances.

Humming quietly, Frances took up her pen and made
several notes on the margins of the drawing. She was studying the
layout of a row of bedrooms when Benson stepped in to announce
visitors. Startled, she looked at the tall-case clock and frowned.
More time had passed than she had realized. No doubt it was Mr.
Jensen and the Coopers, come to explore the library contents yet
again, as they had the past two days. Only the knowledge that today
was the final day of the Coopers’ stay tempered her annoyance at
the interruption. Sighing, she bade the butler to show them in and
began rolling up the prints. Grateful that she was not expected to
spend the entire time with her guests, Frances stood.

“Lady Halcombe. You are looking very well today.”

Not surprisingly, Paul Jensen was the first to enter.
For all his claim that he was no scholar, he seemed the most avid
of researchers. Frances had been somewhat disconcerted to learn the
man was a native of Brussels. With his interest in rare books, it
was entirely possible that this rather self-assured
Bruxellese
knew of her father, although he had never
mentioned it.

“Thank you, Mr. Jensen.” Frances allowed his
customary bow over her hand, still somewhat bemused at the
affectation, and smiled at his companion. “Mr. Cooper, good day. I
see you are alone. Your wife is well, I trust?”

“Caroline was involved in overseeing the packing when
we left,” Cooper said, bowing. “She and Lady Merton have planned an
excursion to the village and will stop here on their return.”

“Mrs. Cooper wishes to bid you thanks and farewell
herself,” Jensen added. “I understand her errands are those most
readily accomplished, so we should not need to linger longer than
usual.”

Since they usually stayed above two hours, Frances
hoped this was indeed the case. Much longer and they would expect a
midday meal of some kind. She was not inhospitable, but preferred
to have something alone in her parlour, or eat with Richard if he
was in-house.

“I look forward to seeing Mrs. Cooper,” Frances said.
“If you will excuse me? I assure you that I will return before you
leave.” She halted at the door and gestured to the pile of
rolled-up drawings. “One of the footmen will remove those and you
will be free to use the table for your work. It is the largest and
most convenient in the room.”

“They are not in the way at all!” Jensen said
swiftly. “I can prop them up on the wall if we need the space.” He
smiled, and added, “I don’t want to put your household to any
trouble.”

Frances wondered at the insistent note in his voice,
but put it down to excessive politeness and shook her head. “It is
no bother and I may have need of them in a short time.” She smiled
in the general direction of both men and stepped out of the room
before either could respond.

“Benson, please have someone collect the house plans
on the table and take them to my parlour.” Frances did not expect
to need them again this morning as she was going to play with Flora
in a few minutes, but it was not necessary to leave them out.

Her husband was already in the nursery, and she
paused on the threshold to watch father and daughter line up the
Noah’s Ark animals in neat rows on the table. Richard’s love of
children was yet another thing she had not been aware of prior to
her return. It was possible only his own child elicited the
affectionate patience he displayed with her, but she had also seen
him take pains in instructing the stable boys and even enter into a
game of ball with other youngsters on the estate. No, it appeared
Halcombe liked children, a boon to her—and to them—as he would not
object to fathering more. And since there was only one way to
accomplish that…Frances smiled to herself, thinking of the night to
come.

“Say good morning to your Mama, Flora,” Halcombe
said.

Flora looked up and giggled, but for once did not
jump from her chair and dash to her mother. “Good mornin’, Mama.”
She waved the tiger in her hand. “I busy wif Papa.”

“So you are.” Frances walked over and kissed the top
of her head. “Are you having fun?”

Flora’s forehead wrinkled and she shook her head. “No
fun, Mama. Work!”

Frances swallowed a laugh and rested her hand on
Halcombe’s shoulder. “Work, of course,” she agreed, and exchanged
an amused look with her husband. “I will not interrupt you. May I
sit and watch you work for a little while?”

“Yes!” Flora shouted, bouncing with such enthusiasm
she almost tumbled onto the floor.

Halcombe’s hand was around the child’s arm before
Frances could react.

“Perhaps I had best sit down before you fall.” She
pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table.

They were much alike, Frances thought, as she watched
them play. Brows arched in the same graceful curve, the same
determined chin, and of course their eyes. She liked looking at
Richard. His mouth was firm and sensual, as she knew well. Thick,
dark eyelashes contrasted with his vivid blue eyes, and his
well-toned body held a strength not perhaps apparent at first
glance, for he was more slender than many men.

He looked over at her, a half-smile playing on his
lips, and she flushed at the awareness in his eyes. Blast the
man—he knew exactly where her thoughts had wandered. Such rapport,
she suddenly realized, was a recent development in their
relationship that did not seem to irritate him. It was not
something that had happened between them in the early days of their
marriage. Frances found this encouraging.