Chapter 7 #3
“You don’t like Hillsdale.” Dusting a crumb from her bottom lip, she tried to ignore the way his gaze tracked the movement. But her body clenched, seeing everything her mind sought to repel.
He shook his head, biting into the scone.
His hair glimmered, amber threads sparking in the candlelight.
Grainy stubble dotted his cheeks, giving him the look of a swashbuckler.
Both elegant and ferocious. And beautiful, even if she wished he wasn’t.
“No, more like I feel you’re selling yourself to the lowest bidder. ”
“I don’t have the luxury to be selective.
My father will disown me. He’s threatened, and I believe him.
We’re not close. We never have been. A woman alone, without funds, can’t survive in this world.
” Glancing at her plate, she decided to be honest. Flickering candlelight and the gentle rumblings of a slumbering house made it seem as if they were the only two people in England.
“I made a mistake a year ago that limits my negotiating power.”
He looked up, arrested. Swallowing, he placed his cup on the table. “A mistake.”
She traced a crack in the plate with her pinkie, avoiding his gaze. “The kind that men can make every day, but a woman never can. Not even a hint of one. He was cruel, and I was foolish. Other than that, it’s in the past.”
He sat back, his chair squealing in protest. Such a broad body housed in a threadbare piece. He must have hated it when he designed the most gorgeous furniture. “So that’s why you’re running.” His words were edged with anger. She wasn’t sure where they were directed.
Her temper sparked when she had no reason to be incensed.
“I’m not running. I would have stayed despite the scandal.
It only ruined my chances of a proper marriage in Philadelphia.
High society, they call it there. Nothing so graceful as the ton .
An entanglement I never desired anyway. I could have lived as a spinster without issue. I want to, in fact.”
His lips parted, closed, then parted again. He fiddled with his cup before grabbing another scone. She’d never known a man to consider her opinion before imposing his own. “What about love?”
The sip of tea she’d taken went down too fast. She coughed and dropped a slice of cheese to her plate. “ Love ?”
“You don’t believe in it?”
She coughed again, struggling to take a full breath. “Yes, of course. Well… perhaps.” She dusted a crumb from her plate. Shrugging, she knocked her knees together beneath the table. “I’m not sure.”
He tilted his head, a charming habit she’d noticed he made when he was thinking.
“I’ve seen it, you see. Living proof. Tobias Streeter and Hildy, a woman I believed would never get twisted up, are in deep, sickening love.
From the first moment, too. The Duke of Markham and his duchess, Georgiana, the same.
Have you taken a look at those two? They went sneaking off tonight to a back parlor or something.
They can’t keep their hands off each other, and they have children . ”
Franny pretended extreme interest in the border of lilies circling her plate. She couldn’t look into Chance Allerton’s indigo eyes and talk about this . “I find this a little hard to believe coming from the biggest rake in London. Lord tup-‘em-and-leave-‘em.”
“That moniker is absurd. And untrue. My relationships are entered into with full knowledge regarding my expectations. And hers. Breaking someone’s heart, if that’s possible, isn’t my goal. I only want the moment of solace the connection brings.”
She sniffed. Men . With women, it was never that simple.
“Listen here, sweetheart, I could believe in it,” he said, his voice rising. “More than you seem to be able to.”
Her smile was unexpected and undeniable. Sweetheart . She couldn’t stop herself from lifting her gaze. He had a scowl on his face and was staring at his scone like it held answers to life’s questions. “What about marriage then?”
“What about it?” he growled, taking an angry bite.
She pointed. “Your leaking roof. Your housekeeper’s bad tooth.
The vicar’s home in the village that needs renovations.
You have to marry. You need funds. Blunt, as the English say.
Are you telling me you require love before you’ll do it?
I’ve been in this country six months, my father talking nothing but marriage, and I’ve never heard love mentioned once.
Except by Hildy Streeter, and I agree, she’s too over the moon for her husband to pay any attention to. ”
“Thanks for the reminder of the dismal state of my affairs.” With a grunt, Chance rose from his chair and began riffling through the cupboard.
Locating a dusty liquor bottle on the back shelf, he turned with a grin that sent her stomach to her knees.
He was unfairly, unjustly handsome, the bounder.
“I’m not following my parent’s example. I bloody refuse.
They hated each other and made life miserable for anyone around them.
” Pouring a measure into his empty teacup, he lifted a brow.
“I can’t guarantee the quality, but it’s likely to warm the soul. ”
She finished her tea, then held out her cup. Her hand was trembling. Perhaps not enough for him to notice. The brandy was abysmal, but it did the job as it trailed down her throat.
“You could be right. Maybe fancying a chit is enough.”
Her heart gave a leaden thump. Franny didn’t actually want to talk Viscount Remington into marrying someone who—she could admit in the depths of her mind—wasn’t her . “Fancy,” she said with a false laugh. “Such an English way of putting it. So delicate.”
“When it’s not delicate,” he murmured, his eyes glowing. “Not at all.”
Franny slid her cup to the table, her mind whirling with lewd images. A mysterious thread in his tone was lighting a fire inside her. She shifted to find a position that relieved the pulse settling fast and hard between her thighs.
He sighed, his eyes closing. “You’re supposed to hide what you’re feeling right now, Francine Shaw.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because it tempts a man beyond measure, sweetheart.” He leaned in, letting her see the same on his face. His cheeks were flushed, his breaths coming in shallow bursts. “Passion is different from love. Don’t confuse them. I never have.”
She slid closer until her bottom was on the edge of her seat, helpless to deny her attraction. She’d never been a good liar. The scent of raw wood drifted to her, mixing with the pleasing kitchen aromas. He’d apparently been working before she arrived.
“Is that what you did before? ”
She licked her lips, a band tightening around her chest. “I never felt this for him. For anyone, I think I’m realizing. Never experienced… passion .”
He flattened his hand to the table, his knuckles paling. It provoked her to see his reaction, even if she wasn’t sure what she was doing to cause it. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Someday , she thought but didn’t say it.
That life seemed like another now. Another time and place. This room, this estate, this man was all she wanted at the moment. In mere days, she was leaving for a new one.
Her now was his .