Chapter 6 #2
Francesca started. There was no question that Calder Hart had aroused her to a passion she had never before dreamed of.
When she was in his arms, she quite frankly lost herself.
There was no thinking, no present, no past, no future, there was only Hart’s touch, his taste, his kiss and the side of heaven that awaited them both.
What if Sarah was right? What if she did appear that passionate when the moment was right?
Francesca touched her throbbing temples. But whom was she fooling? She was an intellectual, not a seductress. She knew that she was the first sexually innocent woman Hart had ever pursued.
“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked quickly.
Francesca sighed and walked over to the small table in one corner of the studio, sitting down. “I saw Daisy today.”
“Oh.” Sarah hurried to her and sat, taking her hands. “Clearly she upset you.”
Francesca nodded. “Very much. Sarah, I’m not sure what to do.
Daisy pointed out that eventually Hart will lose interest in me and find someone else.
She is right! Isn’t she? I mean, he has had so many lovers, all far more intriguing than myself.
I am so happy right now and simply could not bear his straying. ”
Sarah stared at her, wide-eyed. “I am not sure what to say,” she began.
“There is nothing to say.”
“No, there is plenty to say. First, Daisy has been jilted—and replaced by you. I know you like her, but I do not think an ex-mistress and a bride should speak at all.”
Francesca almost smiled. “How conventional you sound.”
“No, hear me out. Daisy would be very happy if Hart broke your engagement, as she could then warm his bed and receive more of his gifts. I doubt she wants to leave that house he bought for her. And didn’t you tell me once that you thought she was falling in love with him herself?
How she must envy you. Perhaps she even hates you. ”
Francesca was now wide-eyed. “Apparently I cannot see clearly, or think clearly, when it comes to my personal life.”
“Who can?” Sarah smiled. “She cannot wish you well. She might even think to cause trouble. And why else would she be so cruel? I would dismiss all that she has said. And you are more intriguing that Daisy Jones and all her ilk. The city is filled with beautiful women, but you are beautiful and clever and kind and brave! Hart is smitten. I can tell. For a man of his reputation, that speaks volumes.”
Sarah is right, Francesca suddenly thought. She might not be quite as pretty as the others, but she had so much more to offer a man like Hart. She felt vastly better. “My brother advised me as you have.” Then, “I knew when I agreed to marry him, it would not be easy to be with such a man.”
“How is Evan?” Sarah asked with such a pleasant manner that it was clear she had no ill feelings at all for him or second thoughts about their failed engagement.
“He is fine. Apparently he spends most of his free time with Bartolla.” The countess Benevente was Sarah’s cousin and friend.
“I know. Bartolla speaks of him constantly.” Sarah grinned. “I am happy for him. I am happy for them both.” Her tone became brisk. “So? When do we unveil the portrait for Calder?”
Francesca hesitated, and perhaps it was her sensual side that Sarah had so skillfully captured on her canvas that won. “Tomorrow?” she heard herself ask, her heart racing. And she recognized the growing heat in her body. It was explosive. How would Hart react when he saw that incredible portrait?
“I’ll send him a note tonight,” Sarah cried in delight.
Francesca leaped to her feet, wringing her hands, her courage suddenly vanishing. “God, what if he doesn’t like it?” she cried. “Oh, I do hope I am not fooling myself.”
Sarah ran to her. “Francesca, do not let that harlot Daisy interfere with your feelings for Hart. I sense she wishes to cause trouble for you both. Ignore her, please!”
Francesca nodded, but with the hour of the unveiling now approaching, she was too nervous for words.
“He loves you,” Sarah said softly, smiling.
“He is fond of me,” Francesca corrected, her mouth dry, her temples throbbing.
“Fond enough to want to marry you,” Sarah said flatly. “That is very fond, indeed.”
Francesca smiled at that. She turned her gaze upon her likeness, thinking about Hart gazing at it, too, and lost her ability to breathe. “I do have one request. You must promise me, Sarah.”
“What is that?”
“I want to be here when you unveil it.”
Sarah grinned. “Of course.”
Francesca changed into an evening gown in record time. She had donned the new one, made by Maggie Kennedy, a turquoise silk. Grabbing her purse, she dashed toward the stairs, amazed that Calder had not yet arrived. She was about to descend when she saw Julia coming up.
She skidded, panting, to a stop.
Her mother frowned at her as she ascended to the landing where Francesca stood.
Francesca grimaced. She was in trouble now.
She had not spoken a single word to Julia since the prior evening when she had arrived late for the supper party—since Hart had used that foolish excuse that she might faint to take her from the party so that they could have a private moment together.
When he had decided he should leave, preparing to make his excuses to her mother, Francesca had simply fled upstairs.
Dressed for supper in a dark red evening gown, rubies at her throat, Julia looked her up and down. “Calder just arrived. So has that little hoodlum, Joel Kennedy.”
Francesca promptly forgot about the way she had avoided her mother last night. Had Joel found a lead? Why else would he have come all the way uptown to see her? “Joel is here?” she asked, starting past her mother eagerly.
Julia detained her. “You aren’t wearing any jewelry, Francesca.” Her tone was brisk.
Francesca touched her throat and found it bare. She sighed, knowing full well that her lack of jewels was not the real issue. “I did not want to keep Hart waiting,” she began.
“I have wanted to speak to you all day,” Julia exclaimed. “But you were gone at the crack of dawn and arrived home just moments ago. You are on another investigation, aren’t you?” Julia accused, her blue eyes darkening.
Francesca grimaced. “Mama,” she began.
“Do not Mama me!”
“I guess I had better get a necklace and some earrings,” Francesca cried, hoping to avoid a battle. There was no winning if she dared to take a direct stand against her mother.
Julia took her wrist. “Are you going to answer me?”
Francesca met her gaze. “Please don’t worry. This case won’t be dangerous, I assure you.”
Julia cried out in dismay, turning pale.
“Mama, please consider that I have successfully solved several cases since the new year and I am in one entire piece,” Francesca tried brightly. “And your dearest dream is coming true—soon I shall marry, and the best catch in town at that.”
“You are barely in one piece! You have been held prisoner, you have been shot at, a knife has been held to your throat and you have been burned! You will wind up a corpse before a bride!”
Francesca paled. “Mama, that’s a terrible thing to say.”
Julia realized it, because she clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears.
“I love you so,” she whispered. “And you terrify me with your reckless adventures. Why was there blood on your jacket and skirt last night? Why? And need I add that several of the ladies remarked on your appearance? The gossip at lunch today was simply delightful. Mrs. De Witt suggested that Hart would break off the engagement if you continue your sleuthing ways.”
“Is it really my safety you are concerned about or is it my reputation—and yours?” Francesca said before she even thought about it.
Julia stiffened. “I demand an apology,” she said.
“I’m sorry!” Francesca cried, meaning it. “That was a thoughtless thing to say. I know you fear for my welfare. But I also know you fear for my reputation.”
“Your welfare is my primary concern. What mother is pleased when some murderous thug holds a knife to her daughter’s throat?”
Francesca winced. That had happened on her last investigation into a child-prostitution ring. “That was a threat, Mama. He never meant to hurt me.”
Julia made a desperate, scoffing sound. “And you think to console me with that interpretation?”
“Oh, Mama,” Francesca whispered, wishing she could somehow soothe her mother’s fears.
“Of course, when you marry Hart—if you live to do so—your reputation will hardly matter. No one will ever close their salon to you once you are his wife. But, Francesca, I truly fear that your wedding day may never come, not if you continue this frightening new inclination of yours.”
Francesca inhaled and debated having it out with her mother.
She debated telling her that sleuthing was no mere inclination or hobby, that she had found the profession she wished to practice for the rest of her life.
Then she decided to postpone such a terrible confrontation.
The time to tell her mother was after she was wed.
But her mind raced. Her father was as disapproving of her sleuthing as Julia was.
It had become tiresome, not to mention difficult, working on each and every case while living in their home.
And the way things were progressing, it would be a year before she married Hart and had the freedom to come and go as she pleased. She sighed.
Her life would be so much easier if she had her own flat. She was instantly excited at the idea. Her parents would not agree, of course, but they really could not prevent her from moving out if she decided to do so. The question was, did she dare?
“Francesca? I can see that you are concocting some scheme,” Julia said sternly.
Francesca swiftly smiled. She would raise that issue at another time. “Mama, I promise to be careful but I cannot quit my investigation now. The police have asked me for their help, as I am somewhat personally involved in this latest crime.”