Lady Belling's Secret (13 page)

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.

He loosened his grip on her arms. Instead of stepping farther away from her, he took a step in and leaned forward to murmur in her ear. “That
is
the point. Love is always the point.”

He stalked from the room and nodded as he passed Anna and her huge, round, inquisitive eyes.

Anna turned to Frankie. “Oh my God! What did I miss?”

Chapter Eleven

Thomas retired back to his townhouse to wait until the agreed-upon time, but he couldn’t find anything constructive to do with himself. He was too keyed up to get any work done, and being idle made things worse. He had several hours to kill, so he walked a slow perimeter of the park on the way to the gymnasium and encountered the boys with the giant dogs again.

“Hello again, sir,” the eldest of the boys said politely. “Where is the pretty lady?”

“She’s at home, I’d imagine.” Thomas leaned downed and stroked the head of the nearest lummox of a canine who looked up at him with lazy adoration.

“She sent a note around to the house to ask our uncle about the dogs.”

“Oh?” Thomas scratched behind the dog’s ear, and it leaned its head into the scratch. “What did she want to know?”

The boy shrugged. “She wanted to know where she could get one, I think.”

“You can’t be serious.” The dog was now leaning all of its prodigious weight against his hand and leg. Thomas strained to keep the dog upright.

“Well, that’s what Uncle said,” the boy insisted.

In a move of self-preservation, Thomas took a step to the left to relieve the pressure, and the dog dropped to the grass and good-naturedly rolled over onto its back, exposing his belly.

“After what happened the other day, I can’t believe Lady Belling is interested in obtaining one of these behemoths.” The dog watched him with all four feet in the air, its head upside down and its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

Once again, the boy let out a protest. “No, sir, these dogs really are the most gentle. They’d never hurt the lady.”

Thomas looked down at the beast at his feet waiting for more attention. He had to admit that the dog certainly appeared harmless. Even when it woofed encouragement, the dog was completely nonthreatening—comical even. Thomas had to laugh at its antics while it tried to get him to rub his belly. Finally, the boy dropped to his knees and obliged him.

“So, did your uncle tell her how to get a pup?” he asked.

The boy nodded. “He says he has a litter at his estate.”

“I thought your uncle was a sea captain.”

“Oh yes, sir,” the boy agreed, “but he’s a gentleman, sir. He has an estate, too.”

“Well, I’d very much like to meet this uncle of yours and discuss this litter with him.”

He followed the boys out of the park, the two gargantuan dogs strolling along beside them. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted one of these dogs. He had a vision of his children playing in the fields with one of these giant, gentle dogs.

Thomas arrived at the boxing salon after meeting with the uncle and coming to an agreement to drive out to the country estate the day after next to inspect the litter. Gentleman Jim’s boxing salon smelled like men, which made sense since professional boxers, as well as gentlemen of society, sparred there on a regular basis. There was gambling and masculinity aplenty, but also the opportunity for the resolution of grudges.

He was feeling relaxed and not really itching for a fight anymore. The minute he stepped foot inside the building, several young fops descended upon him.

“Harrington, are you my man today?” one of the dandies asked.

“What are you talking about?” Harrington glared at the young man.

“Your bout with Dalton,” the excited youngster continued. “We’re setting the odds for the winner, and my money is on you.”

Thomas stopped and looked at the group of expectant faces. He rolled his eyes. “What are the odds?”

Another young man spoke up, his collar so high and ruffled that he could barely turn his head without smothering himself. “Right now it’s set at three-to-one to you.”

“Only three-to-one. Hmmm. I must be slipping.” Thomas pushed his way out of the small crowd and headed to where he could see Dalton standing near the ring.

Dalton nodded to acknowledge Thomas’s arrival. “They’re laying odds on this, you know.”

“Yes. I’d really rather there wasn’t an audience,” he admitted.

Dalton grimaced and stepped closer to keep their conversation private. “I agree. This might be better settled elsewhere. Of course, you could simply concede that you’ve acted like a horse’s ass and promise to do better by Miss Belling, and then we could end this as friends.”