โฆ Michael will do what he wishes. He always does.
โfrom the Countess of Kilmartin to Helen Stirling, three days after the receipt of Helenโs missive
The days that followed brought Francesca no peace. When she thought about it rationallyโor at least as rationally as she was ableโit seemed as if
she should have found some answers, should have sensed some sort of logic in the air, something that might tell her what to do, how to act, what sort of choice she needed to make.
But, no. Nothing.
Sheโd made love to him twice. Twice.
To Michael.
That alone should have dictated her decisions, convinced her to accept his proposal. It should have been clear. She had lain with him. She might be pregnant, al-though that did seem a remote possibility, given that it had taken her a full two years to conceive with John.
But even without such consequences, her decision should have been obvious. In her world, in her society, the sort of intimacies in which sheโd engaged meant only one thing.
She must marry him.
And yet she couldnโt quite summon theย yesย to her lips. Every time she thought sheโd convinced herself that it was what she had to do, a little voice inside of her argued for caution, and she stopped, unable to move forward, too scared to delve into her feelings and try to figure out why she felt so paralyzed.
Michael didnโt understand, of course. How could he, when she didnโt understand herself?
โI shall call upon the vicar tomorrow morning,โ heโd murmured at her ear as he helped her mount a fresh horse outside the gardenerโs cottage. She had awakened alone sometime in the late afternoon, a brief note from him on the pillow beside her, explaining that he was taking Felix back to Kilmartin and would return shortly with a new mount.
But he had only brought one horse, forcing her once again to share the saddle, this time perched behind him.
โIโm not ready,โ sheโd said, a sudden rush of panic filling her chest. โDonโt go see him. Not yet.โ
His face had darkened, but he didnโt allow his temper to rise any further. โWe will discuss it later,โ heโd said.
And theyโd ridden home in silence.
She tried to escape to her room once they reached Kilmartin, mumbling something about needing to bathe, but he caught her hand, his grip firm and unyielding, and she found herself alone with him, back in the rose drawing room of all places, the door shut firmly behind them.
โWhat is all this about?โ he asked.
โWhat do you mean?โ she stalled, trying desperately not to look at the table behind him. It was the one upon which heโd perched her the night before, then done unspeakable things to her.
And the memory alone was enough to make her shiver. โYou know what I mean,โ he said impatiently. โMichael, Iโโ
โWill you marry me?โ he demanded.
Dear God, she wished he hadnโt just come out and said it. It was all so much easier to avoid when the words werenโt right there, hanging between them.
โIโIโโ
โWill you marry me?โ he repeated, and this time the words were hard, with more of an edge to them.
โI donโt know,โ she finally answered. โI need more time.โ
โTime for what?โ he snapped. โFor me to try a little harder to get you pregnant?โ
She flinched as if struck.
He advanced upon her. โBecause Iโll do it,โ he warned. โIโll take you right now, and then again tonight, and then three times tomorrow if thatโs what is required.โ
โMichael, stopโฆโ she whispered.
โI have lain with you,โ he said, his words stark and yet strangely urgent. โTwice. You are no innocent. You know what that means.โ
And it wasย becauseย she was no innocentโand no one would ever expect her to beโthat she was able to say, โI know. But that doesnโt matter. Not if I donโt conceive.โ
Michael hissed a word she never dreamed heโd say in her presence. โI need time,โ she said, hugging her arms against her body. โWhy?โ
โI donโt know. To think. To muddle through. I donโt know.โ โWhat the devil is there left to think about?โ he bit off.
โWell, for one thing, about whether youโll make a good husband,โ she snapped back, finally goaded into anger.
He drew back. โWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?โ
โYour past behavior, to start with,โ she replied, narrowing her eyes. โYou havenโt exactly been the model of Christian rectitude.โ
โThis, coming from the woman who ordered me to strip off my clothing earlier this afternoon?โ he taunted.
โDonโt be ugly,โ she said in a low voice. โDonโt push my temper.โ
Her head began to pound, and she pressed her fingers to her temples. โFor Godโs sake, Michael, canโt you let me think? Canโt you give me just a little time to think?โ
But the truth was, she was terrified to think. Because what would she learn? That she was a wanton, a hussy? That she had felt a primitive thrill with this man, a soaring, scandalous sensation that had never been there with her husband, whom sheโd loved with every inch of her heart?
Sheโd found pleasure with John, but nothing like this. Sheโd never even dreamedย thisย existed.
And yet sheโd found it with Michael. Her friend, too. Her confidant.
Her lover.
Dear God, what did that make her?
โPlease,โ she finally whispered. โPlease. I need to be alone.โ
Michael stared at her for the longest time, long enough so that she wanted to squirm under his scrutiny, but finally he just swore under his breath and stalked from the room.
She collapsed onto the sofa and let her head hang in her hands. But she didnโt cry.
She didnโt cry. Not one single tear. And for the life of her, she didnโt understand why not.
He would never understand women.
Michael swore viciously as he yanked off his boots, hurling the offending footwear against the door to his wardrobe.
โMy lord?โ came his valetโs tentative voice, poking out through the opened door to the dressing room.
โNot now, Reivers,โ Michael snapped.
โRight,โ the valet said quickly, scurrying across the room to gather up the boots. โIโll just take these. Youโll want them cleaned.โ
Michael cursed again.
โEr, or perhaps burned.โ Reivers gulped. Michael just looked at him and growled.
Reivers fled, but fool that he was, he forgot to close the door behind him.
Michael kicked it shut, cursing again when he failed to find satisfaction in the slam.
Even the little pleasures in life were denied to him now, it seemed.
He paced restlessly across the deep burgundy carpet, pausing only occasionally at the window.
Forget understandingย women.ย Heโd never pretended to have that ability. But he thought heโd understood Francesca. At least well enough to safely tell himself that she would marry any man with whom sheโd lain twice.
Once, maybe not.ย Onceย she could call a mistake. But twiceโ
She would never allow a man to take her twice unless she held him in some regard.
But, he thought with a twisted grimace, apparently not.
Apparently she was willing to use him for her own pleasureโand she had. Dear God, she had. She had as-sumed the lead, taken what sheโd wanted, relinquishing control only when the flames between them spiraled into an inferno.
She had used him.
And he would never have thought she had it in her.
Had she been like this with John? Had she taken charge? Had sheโ He stopped, his feet freezing into place on the carpet.
John.
He had forgotten about John. How was that possible?
For years, every time heโd seen Francesca, every time heโd leaned in for one intoxicating whiff of her, John had been there, first in his thoughts, and then in his memory.
But since the moment sheโd entered the rose drawing room last night, when he heard her footsteps behind him and whispered the words, โMarry me,โ to himself, heโd forgotten about John.
His memory would never disappear. He was too dear, too importantโto both of them. But somewhere along the way, somewhere along the way to Scotland, to be precise, Michael finally allowed himself to thinkโ
I could marry her. I could ask her. I really could.
And as he granted himself permission, it felt less and less like he was stealing her from his cousinโs memory.
Michael hadnโt asked to be placed in this position. He had never looked up to the heavens and wished himself the earldom. He had never even truly wished for Francesca, just accepted that she could never be his.
But John had died. He hadย died. And it was nobodyโs fault.
John had died, and Michaelโs life had been changed in every way imaginable except one.
He still loved Francesca. God, how he loved her.
There was no reason they couldnโt marry. No laws, no customs, nothing but his own conscience, which had, quite suddenly, grown silent on the matter.
And Michael finally allowed himself to ponder, for the very first time, the one question he had never asked himself.
What would John think of all this?
And he realized that his cousin would have given his blessing. Johnโs heart was that big, his love for Francescaโand Michaelโthat true. He would have wanted Francesca to be loved and cherished the way that Michael loved and cherished her.
And he would have wanted Michael to be happy.
The one emotion Michael had never truly thought he could apply to himself.
Happy. Imagine that.
Francesca had been waiting for Michael to knock upon her door, but when the rap came, she still jumped with surprise.
Her shock was much greater when she opened the door and found she had to lower her gaze considerably. A full foot, to be precise. Michael wasnโt on
the other side of her door. It was just one of the housemaids, carrying a supper tray for her.
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Francesca poked her head into the hall, looking this way and that, fully expecting Michael to be lurking in some darkened corner, just waiting for the right moment to pounce.
But he was nowhere.
โHis lordship thought you might be hungry,โ the maid said, setting the tray down on Francescaโs escritoire.
Francesca scanned the contents for a note, a flower, something to indicate Michaelโs intentions, but there was nothing.
And there was nothing for the rest of the night, and nothing the next morning, either.
Nothing but a breakfast tray, and another bob and curtsy from the housemaid, with another, โHis lordship thought you might be hungry.โ
Francesca had asked for time to think, and that appeared to be exactly what he was giving her.
And it was horrible.
Granted, it would probably have been worse if heโd disregarded her wishes and not allowed her to be alone. Clearly, she could not be trusted in his presence. And she didnโt particularly trust him, either, with his sultry looks and whispered questions.
Will you kiss me, Francesca? Will you let me kiss you?
And she couldnโt refuse, not when he was standing so close, his eyesโhis amazing, silver, heavy-lidded eyesโ watching her with such smoldering intensity.
He mesmerized her. That could be the only explanation.
She dressed herself that morning, donning a serviceable day dress which would serve her well out of doors. She didnโt want to remain cooped up in her room, but neither did she wish to roam the halls of Kilmartin, holding her breath as she turned each corner, waiting for Michael to appear before her.
She supposed he could find her outside if he really wanted to, but at least he would have to expend a bit of effort to do it.
She ate her breakfast, surprised that she had an appetite under such circumstances, and then slipped out of her room, shaking her head at herself as she peered stealthily down the hall, acting like nothing so much as a burglar, eager to make a clean escape.
This was what sheโd been reduced to, she thought grumpily.
But she didnโt see him as she made her way down the hall, and she didnโt see him on the stairs, either.
He wasnโt in any of the drawing rooms or salons, and indeed, by the time she reached the front door, she couldnโt help but frown.
Where was he?
She didnโt wish to see him, of course, but it did seem rather anticlimactic after all of her worrying.
She placed her hand on the knob.
Sheย shouldย run. She should hurry out now, while the coast was clear and she could make her escape.
But she paused.
โMichael?โ She only mouthed the word, which shouldnโt have counted for anything. But she couldnโt shake the feeling that he was there, that he was watching her.
โMichael?โ she whispered, looking this way and that.
Nothing.
She gave her head a shake. Good God, what had become of her? She was growing far too fanciful. Paranoid, even.
With one last glance behind her, she left the house.
And never did see him, watching her from under the curved staircase, his face touched with the smallest, and truest, of smiles.
Francesca had remained out of doors as long as she was able, finally giving in to a mixture of weariness and cold. She had wandered the grounds for probably six or seven hours, and she was tired, and hungry, and eager for nothing so much as a cup of tea.
And she couldnโt avoid her house forever.
So she slipped back in as quietly as sheโd left, planning to make her way up to her room, where she could dine in private. But before she could make it to the bottom of the stairs, she heard her name.
โFrancesca!โ
It was Michael. Of course it was Michael. She couldnโt expect him to leave her alone forever.
But the strange thing wasโshe wasnโt quite certain whether she was annoyed or relieved.
โFrancesca,โ he said again, coming to the doorway of the library, โcome join me.โ
He sounded affableโtoo affable, if that were possible, and furthermore, Francesca was suspicious at his choice of rooms. Wouldnโt he have wanted to draw her into the rose drawing room, where sheโd be assaulted by memories of their torrid encounter? Wouldnโt he at least have chosen the green salon, which had been decorated in a lush, romantic style, complete with cushioned divans and overstuffed pillows?
What was he doing in the library, which had to be, she was quite certain, the least likely room at Kilmartin in which one might stage a seduction?
โFrancesca?โ he said again, by now looking amused at her indecision. โWhat are you doing in there?โ she asked, trying not to sound suspicious. โHaving tea.โ
โTea?โ
โLeaves boiled in water?โ he murmured. โPerhaps youโve tried it.โ She pursed her lips. โBut in the library?โ
He shrugged. โIt seemed as good a place as any.โ He stepped aside and swooshed his arm in front of him, indicating that she should enter. โAsย innocentย a place as any,โ he added.
She tried not to blush.
โDid you have a pleasant walk?โ he asked, his voice perfectly conversational.
โEr, yes.โ โLovely day out.โ She nodded.
โI imagine the ground is still a bit soggy in places, though.โ
Whatย was he up to? โTea?โ he asked.
She nodded, her eyes widening when he poured for her. Menย neverย did that.
โHad to fend for myself from time to time in India,โ he explained, reading her thoughts perfectly. โHere you go.โ
She took the delicate china cup and sat, allowing the warmth of the tea to seep through the china and onto her hands. She blew lightly on it, then took a taste, testing the temperature.
โBiscuit?โ He held out a plate laden with all sorts of baked delights. Her stomach rumbled, and she took one without speaking.
โTheyโre good,โ he offered. โI ate four while I was waiting for you.โ
โWere you waiting long?โ she asked, almost surprised by the sound of her own voice.
โAn hour or so.โ
She sipped at her tea. โItโs still quite hot.โ
โI had the pot refilled every ten minutes,โ he said.
โOh.โ Such thoughtfulness was, if not precisely surprising, then still unexpected.
One of his brows quirked, but only slightly, and she wasnโt sure whether heโd done it on purpose. He was always in such control of his expressions; heโd have been a master gambler, had he had the inclination. But his left brow was different; Francesca had noticed years ago that it sometimes moved when he clearly thought he was keeping his face perfectly impassive. Sheโd always thought of it as her own little secret, her private window into the workings of his mind.
Except now she wasnโt sure she wanted such a window. It implied a closeness with which she wasnโt quite comfortable any longer.
Not to mention that sheโd clearly been deluded when sheโd thought she might ever understand the workings of his mind.
He plucked a biscuit off the tray, idly regarded the dollop of raspberry jam in its center, then popped it into his mouth.
โWhat is this about?โ she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. She felt rather like prey, being fattened up for the kill.
โThe tea?โ he inquired, once heโd swallowed. โMostly about tea, if you must know.โ
โMichael.โ
โI thought you might be cold,โ he explained with a shrug. โYou were gone quite some time.โ
โYou know when I left?โ
He looked at her sardonically. โOf course.โ
And she wasnโt surprised. That was the only thing that surprised her, actuallyโthat she wasnโt surprised.
โI have something for you,โ he said. Her eyes narrowed. โYou do?โ
โIs that so remarkable?โ he murmured, and he reached down onto the seat beside him.
Her breath caught.ย Not a ring. Please, not a ring. Not yet. She wasnโt ready to say yes.
And she wasnโt ready to say no, either.
But instead, he set upon the table a small posy of flowers, each bloom more delicate than the last. Sheโd never been good with flowers, hadnโt bothered to learn the names, but there was stalky white one, and a bit of purple, and something that was almost blue. And it had all been tied rather elegantly with a silver ribbon.
Francesca just stared at it, unable to decide what to make of such a gesture.
โYou can touch it,โ he said, a hint of amusement playing along his voice. โIt shanโt pass along disease.โ
โNo,โ she said quickly, reaching out for the tiny bouquet, โof course not. I justโฆโ She brought the blooms to her face and inhaled, then set them down, her hands retreating quickly to her lap.
โYou just what?โ he asked softly.
โI donโt really know,โ she replied. And she didnโt. She had no idea how sheโd meant to complete that sentence, if indeed she had ever intended to. She looked down at the small bouquet, blinking several times before asking, โWhat is this?โ
โI call them flowers.โ
She looked up, her eyes meeting his fully and deeply. โNo,โ she said,ย โwhat is this!โ
โThe gesture, you mean?โ He smiled. โWhy, Iโm courting you.โ Her lips parted.
He took a sip of his tea. โIs it such a surprise?โ After all that had passed between them?
Yes.
โYou deserve no less,โ he said.
โI thought you said you intended toโโ She broke off, blushing madly. Heโd said he meant to take her until she became pregnant.
Three times today, as a matter of fact. Three times, heโd vowed, and they were still quite at zero andโฆ
Her cheeks burned, and she couldnโt help but feel the memory of him between her legs.
Dear God.
Butโthank heavensโhis expression remained innocent, and all he said was, โIโve rethought my strategies.โ
She took a frenetic bite of her biscuit. Any excuse to bring her hands to her face and hide a bit of her embarrassment.
โOf course I still plan to pursue my options in that area,โ he said, leaning forward with a sultry gaze. โIโm only a man, after all. And you, as I believe weโve more than made clear, are very much a woman.โ
She jammed the rest of the biscuit into her mouth.
โBut I thought you deserved more,โ he finished, sitting back with a mild expression, as if he hadnโt just seared her with innuendo. โDonโt you think?โ
No, she didnโt think. Not anymore, at least. It was a bit of a problem, that.
Because as she sat there, furiously stuffing food into her mouth, she couldnโt take her eyes off his lips. Those magnificent lips, smiling languidly at her.
She heard herself sigh. Those lips had done such magnificent things to her. To all of her. Every last inch.
Good God, she could practically feel them now. And it left her squirming in her seat.
โAre you all right?โ he asked solicitously.
โQuite,โ she somehow managed to say, gulping at her tea.
โIs your chair uncomfortable?โ She shook her head.
โIs there anything I can get for you?โ
โWhy are you doing this?โ she finally burst out. โDoing what?โ
โBeing so nice to me.โ
His brows lifted. โShouldnโt I be?โ โNo!โ
โI shouldnโt be nice.โ It wasnโt a question as he said it, rather an amused statement.
โThatโs not what I meant,โ she said, shaking her head. Heโd befuddled her, and she hated it. There was nothing she valued more than a cool and clear head, and Michael had managed to steal that from her with a single kiss.
And then heโd done more. So much more.
She was never going to be the same. She was never going to beย sane. โYou look distressed,โ he said.
She wanted to strangle him.
He cocked his head and smiled. She wanted to kiss him.
He held up the teapot. โMore?โ God yes, and that was the problem. โFrancesca?โ
She wanted to jump across the table and onto his lap. โAre you quite all right?โ
It was growing difficult to breathe. โFrannie?โ
Every time he spoke, every time he moved his mouth, even just to breathe, her eyes settled on his lips.
She felt herself licking her own.
And she knew that he knewโwith all of his experience, all of his seductive prowessโexactly what she was feeling.
He could reach for her now and she wouldnโt refuse. He could touch her and sheโd go up in flames.
โI have to go,โ she said, but her words were breathless and lacking in conviction. And it didnโt help that she couldnโt seem to wrench her gaze from his own.
โImportant matters to attend to in your bedchamber?โ he murmured, his lips curving.
She nodded, even though she knew he was mocking her.
โGo then,โ he encouraged, but his voice was mild and in fact sounded like nothing so much as a seductive purr.
Somehow she managed to move her hands to the edge of the table. She gripped the wood, telling herself to push away, to do something, to move.
But she was frozen.
โWould you prefer to stay?โ he murmured.
She shook her head. Or at least she thought she did.
He stood and came to the back of her chair, leaning down to whisper in her ear, โShall I help you to rise?โ
She shook her head again and nearly jumped to her feet, his nearness somewhat paradoxically breaking the spell heโd cast over her. Her shoulder bumped his chest, and she lurched back, terrified that further contact would cause her to do something she might regret.
As if she hadnโt had enough of that already. โI need to go upstairs,โ she blurted out. โClearly,โ he said softly.
โAlone,โ she added.
โI wouldnโt dream of forcing you to endure my company for one moment longer.โ
She narrowed her eyes. Just what was he up to? And why the devil did she feel so disappointed?
โBut perhapsโฆโ he murmured. Her heart leapt.
โโฆ perhaps I should offer you a farewell kiss,โ he finished. โOn the hand, of course. It would only be proper.โ
As if they hadnโt discarded propriety back in London.
He took her fingers lightly in his own. โWe are courting, after all,โ he said. โArenโt we?โ
She stared down at him, unable to take her eyes off of his head as he bent down over her hand. His lips brushed her fingers. Onceโฆ twiceโฆ and then he was through.
โDream of me,โ he said softly.
Her lips parted. She couldnโt stop watching his face.
Heโd mesmerized her, held her soul captive. And she couldnโt move. โUnless you want more than a dream,โ he said.
She did.
โWill you stay?โ he whispered. โOr will you go?โ She stayed. Heaven help her, she stayed.
And Michael showed her just how romantic a library could be.