A Love Laid Bare (34 page)

“Richard…”

“Go to sleep, Frances. You are exhausted…
I
am
exhausted—and since I have no intention of sending you anywhere, we
can finish this discussion in the morning.”

Frances felt his arms surround her. It took her a
moment to digest it all, then minutes more to convince herself this
was not the end of everything, but possibly the beginning. “You
really don’t want me to leave?” she whispered, still seeking
reassurance.

“On the contrary.” His tone was almost harsh. “I plan
to keep you so close that you will never escape me again.”

“Oh.” Frances smiled and snuggled against his neck,
her eyes slowly drifting shut. That sounded nice. Very nice,
indeed.

Frances was still spooned tightly beside him when
Halcombe awoke soon after dawn, her derrière planted solidly next
to his cock. It was most…agreeable, he decided, and wondered why
they had never spent the night together in the past. Perhaps
because he had never known his parents to do so? An unsatisfactory
reason, but it was not worth pursuing. They
would
sleep
together, in
this
bed, in the future.

Careful not to disturb her, he eased up on one elbow
and moved the covers aside to expose her shoulder and breast to his
feasting eyes. For all her thinness, his wife’s breasts were full
and perfectly rounded. A proper handful, some of his men might say.
Halcombe smiled. He wanted to fill his hands with her
now
,
and would before they began the day—but not yet.

Her cheek bore the faint trail of last night’s tears.
She’d thought he would put her aside, but the truth was he wanted
her more than ever now. Not that he had told her as much. It was
too new, this feeling of a huge burden lifted from his shoulders.
Their emotional encounters over the past week had left him raw and
hurting. Who would ever have expected his shy child-bride to ripen
into a woman full of passion?

Halcombe lay down and pulled Frances sideways just
enough for him to slide his hand along the sweet curve of her hip.
She loved him. He knew it with absolute certainty. She could not
have pleasured him as she did unless she truly loved him. And her
fervent, lusty seduction had come from a book! The recollection
made him grin and speculate further on what else she might have
learned. She had a lifetime of nights to teach him and he had a few
more things to teach her as well.

Halcombe did not blame her for thinking what she had
about Victoria. That she had thought him dishonorable was painful,
and he was not certain he would ever completely understand why she
stayed away for all those months. Nor was he certain he would
completely forgive her, he admitted. It might always be an
invisible weight upon their marriage, but he had his own share of
faults to shoulder. No marriage was perfect, and theirs was bound
to have more highs and lows than some. They would get by it. He
desperately wanted a family, a happy home, and her in it. They
had
to make it a success.

Halcombe chuckled. As headstrong and determined as
Frances was, he did not expect to be bored. Furious, surprised,
irritated—not to mention aroused—yes, but not bored. He turned her
to face him and kissed her awake. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Frances opened her eyes and smiled. “Good morning.”
An anxious expression clouded her face and she looked seriously at
him. “It really is a good morning?”

“It is, wife, and about to get better.”

“Oh,” she said. Before she could ask him to clarify
his remark, he rubbed his cock against her sex. Her eyes widened in
understanding and she opened her legs, urging him in. He began to
move, his gentle penetration growing more forceful with each thrust
and she rose to meet him. “It
is
a very good morning,” she
whispered.

***

Once dressed and their fast broken, they went
together to visit Flora. Halcombe then left them at play with the
Ark animals, a pastime Flora had not yet tired of.
He
had
tired of it, however, and he put his mind to what other toy or game
might distract her.

Halcombe was engaged in writing a number of sadly
overdue letters when Benson informed him that Thomas Blount was at
the manor and requesting an interview. The earl was vaguely aware
that his housekeeper’s son visited her at times but their paths had
never crossed.

“Have Mr. Blount come in, Benson.” Halcombe sanded
his letters, set aside his pen and made a mental note that he
needed more ink.

Benson led the young man into the study.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Blount.” Halcombe nodded in
the direction of the chair in front of his desk.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Somewhat hesitantly, Blount sat, although his
expression was such that Halcombe felt the man would prefer to
stand. While understandable, the earl’s preference was to have his
visitors at eye level.

“I’m aware you come and go here freely, both to see
Mrs. Blount and to assist Lady Halcombe with her enterprise. Since
you have not before requested to see me, I gather something has
come up that you feel I should know?”

“Just so, my lord.”

Blount looked so relieved that Halcombe’s own
misgivings increased. “Does this have to do with Lady Halcombe,
Blount?” He trusted it was not something that would disturb the
still tenuous accord he had established with Frances. He was very
aware that she felt this man to be family.

“In the most general way,” Blount assured him. “It
concerns Clifftop.” His forehead furrowed. “You know I am
responsible for dispatching Lady Halcombe’s letters and such to the
continent, and so have contact with some rather unusual men.”

“Smugglers, I suppose,” the earl said dryly, hoping
his wife’s involvement in this practice would not come back to
haunt him someday.

Blount acknowledged Halcombe’s hit with a faint
smile. “Yes, a few, but most are legitimate traders and fishermen.
England is not at war with the entire world, however much it seems
that way at times. I’ve come to know some of them, and they trust
me. There are rumours of a stranger in the area.” He hesitated, and
then went on with less certainty. “It may be nothing, or completely
unrelated, but there are signs someone has been in the house at
Clifftop.” Blount frowned in thought. “It’s little enough, sir.
Some dirt on the floors where none should be, an unaccountable
odor, and once a smear on a doorknob. I no longer live there, now
that everything has been moved out, but check the house thoroughly
every week.” He lifted his shoulders in an ‘it’s over to you now,
my lord’ gesture. “I felt you should know, my lord.”

“Indeed, you have done well in this, Blount. It is
important information and you can be assured I will act on it.” He
picked up a letter opener and tapped it several times on the
desktop while he considered what, if any, action to take. “How
specific are the rumours?” he asked. “Is there any description of
the stranger? Might it be a legitimate traveler?”

Blunt shook his head. “Doubtful, my lord. Although
mention has been made of a fellow with light hair, whoever it is
only appears at night. One man claims to have heard him speak with
some kind of accent, but just about any stranger is a foreigner to
the local men.”

Halcombe nodded and stood. “Thank you for telling me
this, and for your assistance to Lady Halcombe.” He held up a hand
when the other man looked about to answer. “No, I don’t want any
further details. I prefer to remain in blissful ignorance of your
methods of transport.”

Blount rose as well. “Of course, but most avenues are
nothing out of the ordinary. As I said earlier, communication with
the continent is fairly commonplace.”

The earl laughed. “So you say. Go and find your
mother, Blount, and get something to eat. I will let Lady Halcombe
know you are here. She will want to see you.”

After the man had left, the earl resumed his seat and
leaned back, the pen still in his hand. Was this anything to do
with Summerton’s suspicions of French agents arriving on the Sussex
coast? Halcombe still felt the notion a wild surmise but, then
again, what did he know of spies and agents? Nothing at all!
Summerton had to be informed at once, however.

He called for Benson, and after requesting a fresh
pot of ink, he penned a brief note. This news required immediate
delivery to London. He would have Jim deliver it. The groom was
trustworthy and had been to the city before. Halcombe scribbled
Summerton’s direction on the front of the note.

“Benson, ask Jim to take this to Lord Summerton as
quickly, and safely, as possible,” Halcombe said when he left his
study. “And send word to your mistress that Thomas Blount is here.
I will be out most of the afternoon. Please inform Mr. Compton
there are several letters on my desk that need to be copied.”

“Certainly, sir.”

The earl took his hat and gloves from the butler,
decided he was hungry, and went downstairs to the kitchen on his
way out. Cook always had something tasty to pilfer. He strolled
into the huge room, grinned at the giggling maids assisting Cook,
and pocketed several of the freshly baked rolls that were cooling
on a tray.

“I saw that, my lord,” Cook chided with an indulgent
smile. “You’ll be about burning your fingers if you don’t have a
care.”

“My fingers are intact, Mrs. Hinks, and my stomach
thanks you.” Halcombe, never breaking stride, was out the door
before she replied. The woman had worked in the Manor kitchen since
he was a child—was head cook, now—and had always had a soft spot
for a hungry boy. Someday Flora, too, would be cajoling treats,
just as he had done. It was a warming thought. God willing, Mrs.
Hinks would have the chance to spoil another little boy or two and
he planned to do his best to make this happen. A picture of
Frances, flushed and rosy-lipped, popped into his head. Yes, and he
would enjoy every minute of the effort.

***

Frances had no sooner spoken to Thomas, requesting he
stay the night so she could respond to several letters recently
received, when Benson came in with word that Mr. Jensen wanted to
see her. Gracious, the man was persistent. It was not that she
disliked him. He
was
knowledgeable and a good
conversationalist. He tended toward being overly familiar, however,
and such a manner made her feel uncomfortable rather than
flattered. She had no interest in superfluous flirtation.

“Is Lord Halcombe in, Benson?” Frances felt it
unlikely but, if not, Rose would be needed.

“No, madam. His lordship went out some time ago and
is not expected until later this afternoon.”

Frances let out an exasperated huff, glanced at the
array of house plans and letters on her desk, and summoned a faint
smile for the concerned butler.

“I can tell him you are otherwise occupied, my lady,”
Benson said. He looked like he relished the idea and Frances’ smile
widened.

“That will not be necessary, Benson. I can spare him
a few minutes. I suspect he wishes to take his leave of us.”
Frances bit at her lower lip while she debated whether to see him
in the library, or here in her parlour. She finally concluded that
the library was much less personal.

“Please ask Mrs. Blount to join us in the library.”
No servings of sweets and drinks today. She wanted to waste as
little time as possible on her guest.

Rose was already settled in a chair near the door,
knitting, when Frances walked in. Jensen stood by a window leafing
through a book. He turned at once, put the volume on a small table,
and walked toward her.

“Lady Halcombe. You are good to give me this time to
say farewell,” he said, bowing over her hand.

Frances thought his well-featured face less handsome
today, marred as it was by a look of strain around his eyes and a
mouth downcast with some worry or other. Perhaps Lady Merton was
being more troublesome than usual, she thought spitefully. The
woman had obviously been out of temper when she left yesterday.
Frances had no doubt the viscountess’ guests had borne the brunt of
her anger.

“So, you are firm in your plan to leave tomorrow?”
Frances asked politely. She did not care when he left as long as he
stopped haunting the Manor. She waved toward a chair and sat in one
near it.

“Yes, I must get home.” Jensen sat, too, a grave look
settling on his face. “I have received word that my father is ill.
No, not dangerously so,” he said quickly, responding to her look of
alarm. “He will fare better if I am with him, however.” Jensen
paused and leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. “I admit to
another purpose for my visit this morning, although I did want to
thank you and Lord Halcombe for allowing me access to your fine
library.”

He smiled with a boyish chagrin that immediately put
Frances on edge. She moved back slightly, putting more space
between them.

“A favour, if you will,” he said, and something in
his eyes told her that he had noticed her withdrawal.

“And that is…?” Frances smiled with more warmth than
she felt. She was being nonsensical. This practiced charm was just
his way and meant nothing.

“I’m sure it would do my father a world of good were
I to bring him a gift. Something for his collection would be ideal.
If you might kindly allow me to purchase a small item from the
estate?” He lifted his shoulders in a casual manner that implied
the request was not of great importance.

Frances suspected it was, however. Since she had no
reason to question what seemed a simple enough desire to honour a
loved one, she cast about in her mind for a volume in her personal
inventory both unique and of reasonable cost.

“That is most thoughtful of you, Mr. Jensen,” Frances
said, and meant it. She, of all people, readily approved of
familial affection. There was not a day gone by she did not think
of her own father. “I do have several volumes that might be of
interest to you.” She named two of the most suitable selections and
offered to have them brought to the library for his perusal.