Lady Belling's Secret (11 page)

The maid brought a cup of tea to the duchess and Anna. Thomas snapped back to the present and refused a cup, having armed himself earlier with something quite stronger than tea. “I assure you that your charming daughter composed herself with the utmost decorum, considering. She has grown into an amazing young lady.”

Anna piped up, “I am sure that Her Grace would like to know—as much as I would—what happened today.”

“I can give you an abbreviated version, but I wasn’t there for the entire incident. It seems that there were some very overexcited dogs at the park and Francesca was in the immediate path of a squirrel.”

“A squirrel?” Anna said incredulously, her eyes open wide. “Well, as long as Frankie wasn’t hurt.”

“Yes, but her pride, dear,” the duchess protested. “Everyone will have seen what happened.”

“Everything will be fine, Mother, don’t fret.” Francesca strode into the room.

She looked ravishing. Her mother had brought her a dress of the palest pink that brought out the sweet flushes of her cheeks while emphasizing the creamy whiteness of her skin. Her hair had been subdued by one of the housemaids into a series of simply coiled braids wound together. He wanted to pull her down into his lap and kiss her senseless. And pull out those silly braids. Her hair was so fantastically sensual floating about her face in waves, all of those tight little updos and severely pinned coifs seemed an outrage.

He gave his head a shake. He couldn’t think this way. He’d just gotten himself calmed down, and the hold on his control was tenuous at best.

“We just don’t need this trouble right now,” her mother fretted on. “The wedding is only two weeks away, you know, and there’s still so much to do.”

“I think I’ve devised a plan to circumvent any impending catastrophes.” Thomas felt her voice as much as he heard it. Various parts of him he thought had been subdued twitched in acknowledgement of her arrival.

Francesca’s mother rose swiftly from her chair and clucked over her little chick like a mother hen, inspecting her daughter until she was satisfied that no real harm had come to the girl. “All right then, Thomas, let’s hear this plan of yours. I don’t think any real damage can come of this, but nevertheless, Certainly Frankie would rather avoid the embarrassment, and you know how the family feels.”

Between her family’s fear of more scandal, and his own family’s terror of it as he was growing up, he had grown quite sick of the entire concept. Mentally grabbing hold of himself, he marshaled his wits to explain the gist of the plan to the duchess. After he outlined the basics, the duchess seemed visibly calmed.

The older lady enveloped him in a grateful embrace and then she motioned for Frankie and Anna to join her. They promised to meet him at Lady Farsham’s ball that evening. For now, she wanted to get her charges home, rested, and regrouped before the onslaught of the social obligations. She strode out of the front door and to her waiting carriage with the confident mien of the social warrior she was.

Anna strode ahead of Francesca far enough to give her and Harrington a chance for a private word.

Thomas grasped her hand, holding her back from her retreating family. “You look beautiful. How do you feel?”

“Warm and lazy.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure it will wear off shortly and my self-loathing with reemerge.”

His fingers brushed across the top of her breast, and she shudder. “I’ll see you this evening. Save your waltzes for me.”

“You know perfectly well I can’t dance every waltz with you. It wouldn’t be seemly, and isn’t that exactly what we’re trying to avoid?”

“Who said anything about dancing?” He comically waggled his eyebrows at her, infusing the air with the humor and irreverence he was so well known for. “I know every nook and cranny of Farsham’s townhouse.”

“Behave!” she whispered fiercely.

He glanced at the doorway and saw that they we alone, if only briefly. He ducked his head and seared her mouth with a fiery kiss that he knew from experience would leave her melting. “I’m serious. You are not to dance waltzes with anyone but me.”

“Really?” She sounded incredulous.

That should have tipped him off right away, or he should have known when her head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed. Stupidly, he continued speaking. “Yes. Waltzes are mine.”

“Because I foolishly gave you leave to touch me, you get to dictate to me? Who do you think you are? My father?” Her voice rose. “Or perhaps you think you’re my brother.” Her eyes narrowed further.

He could see that she was furious, but he didn’t care. “Francesca, I can unequivocally deny thinking of myself as your brother and I sure as hell am not your father.”

“That’s right. You’re not. You’re not even my fiancé. And, while it seems that we are well and truly having an affair, at least until I can rid myself of you, it would be good to keep that in mind.” She stepped free of him and strode for the door. “Just like I’ve been telling Christian, I am a grown woman. Not a child.”

“Well, that’s a relief because I sure as hell don’t do what we did today with children,” he nearly shouted at her retreating form. “We are not having an affair,” he hissed to no one.

But at least they were having something. Despite their harsh words, he knew instinctively that he had scored one point in this little war. He had given her more to think about, and at this point, that’s all he could hope for.

Chapter Nine

Thomas arrived at the Farsham’s ball early, so early in fact only five or six couples had arrived before him and those people were ancient. Each of the couples had toddled over to remark on his uncharacteristic punctuality, or of any eligible bachelor’s prompt appearance for that matter. By the time the bulk of the guests had filled the rooms, Thomas was feeling itchy in a way he couldn’t really explain. Perhaps it was from trying to present his usual devil-may-care charm that the
ton
was accustomed to when he just wasn’t feeling it that night. Whatever it was, he was anxious for Francesca to appear and was growing more anxious by the minute.

This could all be so simple if she would just forget the past, which really had nothing to do with them, and let them live their future. He was confident he’d make her come around to his point of view. He had two weeks until the deadline, but he sincerely hoped she didn’t make him work for it up to the bitter end.

Thomas wanted her—in every way. He only had to think of her lying in his bed, or her beautiful body spread out below him in the bathtub, slippery with desire, and his attraction became obvious. And he knew that she wanted him as well. Desire wasn’t their problem. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let some other man have what was his. Clearly, she hadn’t realized that yet, but that was the key, and her realization of the new order was going to need to be resolved in as expeditious a fashion as was humanly possible. All he had to do was make her fall back in love with him and come to grips with the fact that love was worth risking everything for.

If it was so damn easy, then why did the thought of failure rise so readily to mind?

He was working on a two-pronged plan, and it wasn’t very sophisticated. First he wanted to remind her of their shared experiences of almost a lifetime together, and there were many such times to draw from. Of course, he’d never considered those times intimate, meaningful experiences before, but now, with a wholly new perspective, he could see them in a different light.

The other arm of the plan was to stay in her way. If she was held at the mercy of her desires, then he had a chance of making her see things from his perspective. Her responses to him proved she was acutely aware of him physically, and all he needed to do was to keep reminding her of his presence. It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship to him. There were plenty of tricks she’d never seen before, and he would be more than happy to enhance her education.

The math seemed so easy. The only hitch in the works was that blasted fiancé. Well, that and the Bellings’ desire to avoid another family scandal. Damn it, if his entire life wasn’t controlled by someone’s bloody desperation to avoid a scandal, first his father’s obsession with it and now Christian and the duchess. He wondered if Christian and Francesca’s father were still alive and firmly entrenched in the dukedom, would he have the same fear about another scandal? Somehow, Thomas thought fondly, he might not have been as upset as Francesca expected. Christian, however, was a different story. While his friend was a playboy and a scoundrel as was completely expected and absolutely tolerated, Christian still took his position as Duke of Morewether very seriously and would never do anything like his uncle had done which would jeopardize his family and their standing in the
ton
.

The biggest problem, as he saw it, was still Christian. It was vitally important to Thomas, who’d never felt as though he had a blood family, that he not lose the family he had adopted. Christian was so much more a brother to him than his real brother ever had been. It filled him with dread knowing one misstep could destroy everything. He needed to handle their situation with kid gloves.

As Thomas ruminated on his problems, he leaned against a wall in the back of the room trying to keep clear of the ever-growing curiosity his presence invited. He knew his role here tonight. He was to help squash any nasty gossip before it could grab the
ton
’s imagination and run wild. So long as that task was accomplished, if he was able to make any inroads on the
other
plan, well then, all the better for him.

He had slept very poorly the night before. He’d tried to tire himself out, to be so weary by the time his head hit the pillow that he would fall into an exhausted slumber. Still, nearly instantly, he began dreaming of her, a series of erotic dreams like none he had ever had before—even in his youth when erotic dreams and fantasies were a staple of his every thought.

His eyes were drawn inexorably towards the entrance to the ballroom as his fantasy woman appeared. Francesca entered the room on her brother’s arm.
My God she is beautiful.
Her hair was swept up off her long graceful neck. Her dress was gold silk, and it shimmered in the candlelight from the many chandeliers about the room. She looked magnificent. He could hardly imagine this was the same little girl he had known most of her life. The only complete thought he could form was that she was his and he must make it so.

Thomas felt desperate to have her out of this room, out of this crowd. The itchy feeling intensified.

Thomas pushed off from the wall and strode purposefully across through the crowd towards her. Francesca’s eyes swept over the heads of the guests, found him, and locked onto his gaze. He dodged a small cluster of people near the steps of the entrance to the ballroom and came to a halt. Looking up at her from the bottom of the three marble steps, all his other thoughts were drowned in a rush of lust.

Francesca curtsied. “My lord.” A slow, sweet smile played about her lips, and Thomas’s groin tighten in response.

“Harrington.” Francesca’s mother held out her hand to him and offered a warm, motherly smile. “Shall we begin our campaign? Remember, distract them with the upcoming nuptials.”

Francesca gave her mother a pointed look at mention of the wedding.

“Certainly, my lady.” He crooked his elbow to the duchess and escorted her down the steps; Francesca followed close behind with Christian and Anna. “I took the liberty of advising Dalton of our plans. I sent him a note shortly after you left.”“As did I,” Francesca said.

“Of course you did.” He knew the sarcasm registered with her by the slight shake of her head.

“Well, he was there and can corroborate our story better than anyone else,” she reminded him, “and besides, I wanted him to know you had taken very good care of me and made sure I had gotten home safely.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? A little dig to remind him, for all intents and purposes, she legally belonged to another man? Thomas ground his teeth in an effort not to take the bait.

He deposited Francesca’s mother on a chaise with her cronies where she could set up damage-control headquarters.

“Yes, I was determined to make sure that you were well cared for this afternoon, my sweet,” Thomas whispered into her ear as he walked behind her. Hidden behind the chaise where no one could see, his fingertips caressed down the ridge of her spine until his palm cupped her bottom as he passed alongside her. “And I have plans for you tonight.”

Francesca didn’t answer, but he noted that her breathing hitched and she closed her eyes for a long moment.

Thomas held out his hand. “Give me your dance card.” He signed his name to the last waltz and handed back her card. “While I bide my time before I can have you alone again, let us go out and conquer, shall we?”

Francesca watched him stride confidently away from her, appreciating the view as the fabric of his trousers stretched across his rear. She shook her head and scolded herself for being so stupid. She was full of tension and her head ached. She was wracked with guilt and nerves almost to the breaking point.

Anna and Christian were conversing on the opposite side of the chaise near the crowd of mamas, so Francesca knew he hadn’t heard any of their conversation, and she was also fairly confident he hadn’t seen the physical exchange either, or her brother would have charged over and started a whole new scandal.

She gave her cohorts as bright a smile as she could muster and linked her arm through her brother’s.

“Are you ready, brother dear?” she asked while she linked arms with Anna on the other side. “Anna?” She caught her mother’s eye and squeezed her friend’s and brother’s arms. “‘Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more’.”

“I’ll find Dalton, and we’ll tell giddy stories in the cardroom and at the billiards tables,” her brother answered, breaking away from the ladies and heading for the rooms set aside for gambling.

“Well, thank God for that,” she muttered. “I hope that he doesn’t wear himself too thin.”

As the evening progressed, the five intrepid warriors subdued the gossip by relating the
hilarious
events of the afternoon. Francesca danced every dance with a different partner, and she and Anna talked to every group of ladies in the room. By glossing the story with self-deprecating humor, the entire episode became a charming anecdote. Periodically, from clusters across the ballroom, varying levels of mirth could be heard, chuckles and loud guffaws interspersed with ladylike titters and giggles.