Lady Belling's Secret (15 page)

“Yes, you know her.” He watched Christian over the brim of the coffee cup. He burned his mouth a little, but he never took his eyes from his friend. He willed him to glean her name from his thoughts so he wouldn’t have to say it out loud. He was a loathsome coward.

“Let me guess. I believe I still know your type.” Christian popped another grape in his mouth and contemplated the possibilities. “You usually had a stable of real beauties so I am sure that you would settle for nothing less in a wife.”

Thomas stared grimly into the fire.

“If you’re smart, this lovely little flower won’t be.”

Thomas clucked in response but still didn’t comment.

“I certainly didn’t mean to imply she would be stupid,” Christian continued. “But I seriously doubt you plan to be faithful to that union. After all, you’ve generally had more than one mistress. This little wife of yours will have to either be too dense to see what’s happening or too busy carrying on in her own right to care.”

“My wife will not be ‘carrying on’, as you say.”

Christian laughed heartily at him. “Truly, my good man, you have got it bad. Come on. Enough of this game. Tell me who she is.”

This is it, the moment of truth
. “Before I tell you her name…” He exhaled a long breath. “Let me just say I intend to marry her, and nothing will stop that from happening.”

Christian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the adamancy with which these words were spoken, and then shot down just as fast to frame his eyes as he squinted hard at his friend.

“Oh my God!” Christian threw the handful of grapes he still held back onto the plate and jumped up. Grapes rolled around on the table and rained down onto the floor. “Damn it, Thomas. Tell me you’re not speaking of Frankie.”

Thomas did not reply. Instead he watched his friend with a steady gaze, waiting for the inevitable.

“This explains everything. After everything we’ve been to each other? You would do this to my family, my mother?” Christian appeared to want to throw something, something a little more damaging than a fistful of grapes. “I will not let you ruin my sister. Jesus, man!”

More forcefully than he expected, Thomas shot back, “I will not ruin your sister. I am marrying her.”

“She’s already engaged, you jackass. What the hell do you expect to do with her fiancé?” Christian glared at him, his chest rising and falling with the great exertion it took to control his temper. “Does Dalton know? Is that why you were fighting today?” he demanded, his eyes hard slits in his face. “Just exactly how far has this gone?”

Thomas didn’t reply. Telling Francesca’s brother, her overprotective brother, how far they had gone, was a sure way to find a bullet in his chest, best friend or no. Thomas waited for Christian to draw his own conclusions from his silence.

“You know what this will do to Mother after she survived the last one.”

“The duchess wasn’t even involved with the last scandal,” Thomas protested. “I think you’ve all exaggerated that in your minds. That happened twenty years ago.”

“Really? The
ton
never forgets. Wouldn’t they love some juicy new story to chew us up over.”

Christian paced around the room, stopping at the decanter of brandy on the desk. He poured a liberal amount in the glass and emptied it in one great gulp then refilled it.

“I’m definitely contemplating murder…” he took another long swallow of spirits, speaking more to himself than to Thomas, “…and a convent for my sister.”

After he let Christian rant and rave, Thomas hoped Christian could be made to understand. He desperately needed an ally, and he was fearful of losing his best friend.

His friend whipped around from the desk and the brandy. Thomas restrained a flinch in the face of Christian’s expression. “I don’t want to see you at the house again.”

“Don’t be like this, Christian. I love her. Just hear me out.”

“There is nothing you can say that I want to hear.” Christian stood with his hands balled into fists. “You’re exactly what you father said you’d be—a wastrel, a hanger-on. You’re embarrassing yourself and your family name with this absurdity.”

“Bloody hell, Christian, just listen to—”

“You stay away from Francesca. In fact, stay away from my family. I’ll make up a story to tell Mother.” Christian threw the crystal glass, shattering it in the fireplace to punctuate his point. “She will never be able to accept your betrayal.”

Christian stormed out of the house.

“Well, I think that went rather well,” Thomas said to no one. He ran up the stairs to grab a warmer coat. He needed to warn her.

Chapter Thirteen

Francesca and Anna were in her suite of rooms sorting through ribbons and other embellishments to refit some hats, when Christian slammed the door open and erupted into the room like an invading Vandal horde. Behind him, servants fled the family’s apartments in a steady stream of burgundy livery, flowing down the stairs, not wanting to be anywhere near the duke when he was in one of his moods.

Francesca stood so as not to be at any more of a disadvantage. “Can I help you?”

“Don’t give me that superior attitude.” Her brother’s handsome face twisted in a sneer.

Francesca blinked rapidly but made every effort to keep her face serene. “All right.”

“I talked to Thomas today.” Christian paced the room like a lion at the menagerie. “You are not to see him ever again.”

How had she not seen this coming? Obviously, she’d not used her head for anything other than holding up a hat since Thomas showed himself back in town. Still, in the interest of self-preservation, she thought it best to start with deniability. “I think that’s a bit extreme, don’t you?”

“Don’t play stupid with me.” He stopped his frenetic pacing directly in front of her and thrust a pointed finger inches from her nose. “I forbid it.”

“You forbid me to play stupid?” She couldn’t resist poking the bear.

Christian opened his mouth to launch into a tirade when Anna piped up from across the room and distracted him. “Isn’t he your best friend?”

Christian whipped his head around, and Francesca assumed he shot Anna the same look he’d given her so many times before. God bless her friend, but she didn’t quail under the scrutiny.

“Surely your disagreement isn’t so insurmountable as all that,” Anna noted with no question in her voice.

“If I don’t shoot him, it will be a testament to my levelheadedness.”

Francesca smothered a guffaw. This was not a laughing matter, and it wouldn’t do to elevate his ire any more than it was already. Still, she didn’t want to confess to sins he didn’t know about yet, and she couldn’t be sure how much of the truth he was really privy to. “What happened today?”

“I will not allow you to act like a harlot and humiliate this family. I cannot control what he does, but I can sure as hell control you.” His voice somehow managed to rise in volume and deepen in timbre until he was nearly roaring.

She was going to let that second part go. She mustered up some righteous indignation. “A harlot?”

“Oh, you don’t like that word?” he mocked. “That’s what they’re going to call you when this all gets out. Jesus, after what I witnessed today between your fiancé and Thomas, it’ll be a miracle if everyone hasn’t figured it out already.” He threw his hands in the air.

Francesca found it difficult to maintain her mock outrage. Everything her brother was yelling was true. A harlot? She hadn’t allowed her mind to go so far afield, but she knew the rules of society and that was a definite possibility.

“I don’t know how far things have gone between you two.” He was back in front of her again, towering over her, making every attempt to intimidate her. “And I don’t want to. What I do want to make perfectly clear, little sister, is that you
are
marrying Dalton in less than two weeks. I don’t need to remind you that
that
deal is sewn up.”

Francesca wanted to defend herself, but what was there to say? He was right. “I know.”

“Damn right. What were you thinking?” he hotly demanded, arms on his hips.

That question was worth the Crown Jewels, wasn’t it?

“I don’t think that really matters, does it?” Anna came to stand at her side as if she was going to champion her. If her brother didn’t look quite so ferocious, it would be comical. All five feet of Anna calmly stared back at the six feet of raging duke.

Christian narrowed his eyes at them both, but did straighten as not to lean into Francesca anymore. “I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s never to step foot in this house, and you’re not to see him.”

“I doubt it needs to come to that,” Anna said, but Francesca wasn’t convinced. Maybe that would be best since she was never able to keep her firm resolutions once Thomas started in with his easy charm and seductive banter. Christian didn’t look convinced either.

He shook his head and sneered. “I don’t trust him. I know exactly how he is with women, it just never occurred to me that he’d do that to you, to us. I thought we meant more than that. I realize you didn’t stand a chance against him, but you still should have known better.”

“That is just insulting—to him and me. How do you know I’m not the one who propositioned him?” It was a foolish and childish thing to say, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Frankie,” Anna cautioned. “Don’t.”

“No, really. If I’m old enough to get married, why am I not old enough to know what I want?”

“I was plenty patient for two seasons while you refused proposals, one after another. Two seasons,” he reiterated. “Enough is enough. I even allowed you to select your husband. You chose Dalton, don’t forget that.”

She glared at him, but still, he was right. There was no argument for her side of the debate. Anna slid her hand into Francesca’s and squeezed.

“Am. I. Clear?”

Francesca would not give him the satisfaction of agreeing to his terms. “How will you explain his absence to Mama? She adores him, you know.”

“I’ll not break her heart with his betrayal and your reprehensible behavior. I’ll come up with some lie.” He moved towards the door with an air of dismissal and yanked it open. Before exiting, he paused. “You do your duty, Frankie. You’ll be married in little over a week and then you’re your husband’s problem.” He punctuated the insult with a wincing slam of heavy oak.

“I think that went better than expected, don’t you?” Francesca threw herself on the settee.

Anna’s answering look told her she was not at all surprised by the scene. “I had expected more threats, actually.”

“If he wasn’t right, I’d think he was loathsome. Still…” She dropped her head in her hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“There aren’t a lot of options.” Anna sat next to her and laid a soothing hand on her back. “Lord Dalton is an exceedingly nice gentleman. He’s very wealthy, and you like his mother.”

“Yes, and he’s very handsome and gives to orphans. There is absolutely nothing to complain about. I would have been very happy to marry him if Thomas had never come home.” The tears she’d been holding in made their way to the surface, and she wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

“You always knew he’d come home eventually. You waited as long as you could.” Anna handed her a handkerchief.

“Drat the man. Why couldn’t he have just ignored me like he always did? No, he had to kiss me.” That brought on a whole new flood of tears. “Why do I still have to love him after all this time?”

“Habit?” Anna offered, surely trying to be helpful, and it did help in that it made Francesca hiccup a laugh. “It’s very hard to give up a piece of your heart you’ve held so dear since you were six.”

“Every time I’m with him I feel like my skin is on fire.” Francesca tried to explain the attraction she didn’t even understand herself. “It all feels so different than before. When I was a girl, I yearned for his attention and hoped for a kiss, and I thought I was love. Now, it’s all so much more…intense, fraught with feeling, desperate. You know what I mean?”

Anna shook her head. “No, but it sounds very exciting.”

“How can I marry Lord Dalton?”

“How can you not?”

And that was the meat of the matter. How could she not? There was no solution which didn’t bring shame and humiliation to her family. Her mother surely didn’t deserve the disgrace and embarrassment that would come from breaking the agreement. No matter how much she wanted out, Francesca also couldn’t dishonor Lord Dalton either. He truly was a good man who didn’t deserve to be degraded by society, and it would be well within his rights to sue the family for breach of contract. As harshly as her brother had spoken to her, Christian was right and shouldn’t have to pay for her lack of character.

“I can’t.” She sat up and took a deep breath. “There’s no point in feeling sorry for myself. I need to stay away from Thomas.” She said the last with finality.

It was a resolution she would have to keep. She wondered what her odds would be in the famous betting book at White’s.

Warning Francesca had been a frustrating and fruitless task. By the time he got to her house, the Belling’s butler insisted she wasn’t at home, but Thomas suspected otherwise. He couldn’t very well leave her a note either since he really needed to see her in person, and he wasn’t going to make another scene. It came down to stalking around the nights festivities to locate her. Thomas snuck in and out of four balls as quietly as possible before he found the duchess. Well, as inconspicuous as one could be while wearing formal black and a face full of bruises.

“Sweet heaven, what happened to you?” the duchess exclaimed and stretched her fingers towards the stitches on his cheek. He flinched, and she withdrew her hand before making contact.

He bent and kissed her cheek. “A little sparring match. Nothing to worry about.”

She clucked over him like she used to when he and Christian were children and came home with cuts and scrapes. “Hardly. You need to go straight home and put a big piece of beef on that eye. And have your cook make up a poultice for your cheek. Oh, I hope that cut doesn’t leave a scar.” She turned his chin towards the chandelier to see his wound better.