A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (23 page)

“Consider his qualifications?” Bernard repeated.

“Yes. And render my opinion on whether I felt him suitable or not.”

“I see. Most judicious of you.”

“I thought so.”

“There is one other gentleman I had in mind.
A well-respected young man of means. You know him. Name’s Sebastian Trent.”

“Sebastian?” Alexander said, leaning forward in his chair, fingers splayed wide on the smooth surface of his cherry desk.
“My neighbor?”

Bernard nodded. “We had quite a nice little conversation the other day when he came to pay his respects. I’m not certain where you were, but since you weren’t at home, Francie and I entertained him.” The older man paused. “He was quite taken with her, apologized for not attending the ball. Seems he was away on business, but he looked as though he wished he hadn’t been. He even asked if he might call on her after an appropriate fashion.”

Alexander’s jaw started twitching. “What did you say?” He tried to keep his voice even, as though Bernard hadn’t just dumped a boulder on his chest.

“I told him the decision would be up to Francie, but I saw no reason why she wouldn’t agree.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and stared at Alexander. “Do you?”

Alexander shifted in his chair. Sebastian Trent—tall, handsome, next in line for an earldom, with an easy smile and an even easier disposition. He’d worship Francie, give her everything she desired. He’d be the perfect husband. Alexander’s fingers pressed into the hard wood of his desk.

Sebastian and Francie.
Husband and wife
.

“Alexander?”

“No.” One word, powerful enough to change lives, alter destinies.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated, his voice stronger. “He can’t marry her.”

“Marry her?” Bernard asked. “He only asked to call on her.”

“Hah!” Alexander let out a harsh laugh. “But that’s where this is headed, isn’t it, Bernard?”

The older man gave him an odd look. “Yes, eventually, if they both suit. What would be wrong in that?”

What would be wrong in that?
Everything. Every God-blessed thing would be wrong with that.

“Sebastian can’t marry Francie.” Alexander spoke with the firm authority of one who does not expect resistance.

“And why not?” Bernard asked, equally assertive in his demand for an answer.

Alexander glared at him. “Because,” he began, his mouth flattening into a thin line, “she’d drive him to Bedlam within the week. What do you think will happen when she totes her entourage of animals with her? Do you think Sebastian will be as lenient as I’ve been when George deposits himself on his rug? And what about Mr. Pib and Miss Penelope? They spend as much time in this house as out and don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he said, shaking a finger at Bernard. “I see the small, dark hairs on my chairs and I know it’s that blasted cat. And that rabbit was hopping down the hall one morning when Francie thought I was out. Oh, yes, I saw him all right.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I chose not to say anything, because I didn’t want to upset her so soon after Philip’s death. But I’ve been watching.”

“Perhaps the gentleman is an animal lover,” Bernard offered.

Alexander snorted. “
I’m
an animal lover, but my love for them remains outside. It does not extend into the walls of my home.”

“Francie does get attached to her animals,” Bernard conceded.

“Attached? I’m surprised she hasn’t snuck them to her room.”

Bernard cleared his throat and shot a glance in George’s direction.

“Bernard?” Alexander said. “She hasn’t, has she?”

The older man shifted in his chair, re-crossed his right leg over his left, and coughed. “Only once or twice.”

“So she brought the barnyard into her bedroom?”

Bernard shrugged. “She considers them family.”

“I’m certain Sebastian will be impressed with her ‘family’,” Alexander said. “Especially when he finds out he’ll be sharing a bed with them.”

“Perhaps she’ll have to reconsider.”

Alexander grunted. “Perhaps,” he said, making no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “And what will happen when she prances through the hallway without stockings and slippers? And what do you think Sebastian will say when she steals a pair of his breeches to ride bareback?” He actually snorted again. “Do you think he’ll be impressed? Intrigued? Understanding?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “No, he’ll be ready to wring her beautiful little neck. And then he’ll send her right back here.”

Bernard scratched his head and frowned. “That could pose quite a problem. Not to mention the disgrace.”

“Exactly,” Alexander said, his lips curving up at the ends. “The entire idea of Sebastian and Francie needs to die. Here.” He jabbed a finger on his desk. “In this room.”

“But what about Francie? She seemed quite taken with him.”

“No,” Alexander repeated, frowning. “She’s not marrying him.”

“And he seemed quite taken with her,” Bernard said as though he hadn’t heard Alexander. “If two people love each other, they can overcome great differences.” He nodded, as though deep in thought. “Love is the key.”

Alexander’s heart jumped to his throat. He didn’t want to hear any more of this rubbish about Francie and Sebastian Trent. Didn’t want either of their names connected with the word
love
. They were not going to further their association with one another in any form, casual or otherwise. A vision of Francie and Sebastian in each other’s arms, her head resting on his broad chest flitted through his mind, tearing his insides. Francie and Sebastian? Never.

Not if Alexander had anything to say about it.

“Once Sebastian discovers his love for Francie,” Bernard continued, “I am quite positive he’ll overlook her little peculiarities. He may even find them charming.”

Alexander’s jaw twitched. Twice. “Too bad he’s not going to get the opportunity,” he ground out.

“He’s not?”

“No.” Alexander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Because
I’m
going to marry Francie.”

“I see.” The words seeped out in a single breath of understanding.

But he doubted Bernard understood. How could he, when Alexander didn’t comprehend the reasons himself? He didn’t know what force drove him to utter the words he’d vowed only moments ago never to speak.

All he knew was he couldn’t bear the thought of Sebastian Trent’s
—or any other man’s—hands on Francie. Bernard was right. Seventeen or fifty-seven suitors would still be unacceptable.

Alexander pushed back his chair. “I’m going to find Francie,” he said, walking around to the side of his desk. “I want to tell her my decision.” The sooner he talked to her, the sooner she’d get used to the idea.

A twinge of unrest settled over him. He hoped she wasn’t going to give him a difficult time and insist on returning to Amberden, or worse yet, expect declarations of love or any other such nonsense.

“Good luck, Alexander,” Bernard said, a hint of a smile peeking through his beard.

Alexander nodded, his expression grim and unsmiling. He was already thinking of his encounter with Francie as he strode toward the door, praying just this once she’d employ reason and not emotion.

Bernard waited until the door clicked back into place. Then he threw back his head and let the laughter roll through his body. “You would’ve been proud of me, Philip,” he whispered. “You might have laid the groundwork, but I got him to propose.”

Francie buried her face deeper into the soft blanket. The fresh smell of grass mingled with the heady fragrance of roses wrapped their scent around her, pulling her deeper into memories of her childhood. She’d spent many a summer day lying on a blanket with Aunt Eleanor and sometimes even Uncle Bernard, surrounded by solitude and flowers, daydreaming about a sea of tomorrows. All of them included a man who would duel for her and die to save her life and her honor. Kind, considerate, doting, and thoughtful, enamored not only of her physical beauty but of her spirit as well.

One who loved her beyond all
reason.

Images of a tall, dark, brooding man more prone to caustic remarks than caresses filled her mind. In all of her childhood fantasies, she’d never once considered falling in love with a man like Alexander Bishop. Not even for a fleeting moment. She rolled onto her back and shielded her eyes from the hot sun. How had it happened? How had she been so foolish as to fall in love with him?

She’d stopped fooling herself the night of the ball, when Alexander all but admitted his feelings for Lady Printon. She remembered how his full lips moved as he spoke the words that cut her heart, made it bleed in pain and loss.
Lady Printon is a very beautiful woman...who has no contrived expectations of what a relationship should be...any man would be proud to be with her
.

She’d escaped to her room and cried until there were no tears left. She loved a man who would never love her. The next morning, when she found her father dead, she cried again and let love’s anguish roll over her, blanketing her in its merciless embrace. To lose one’s father and one’s heart in the span of a sunset and a sunrise was almost unbearable. Yet she pushed through each day, finding solace in her garden as she toiled in the earth.

Thankfully, Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Bernard were there to comfort and protect, though she dared not disclose the pain caused by Alexander Bishop. It was humiliating enough to admit such a truth to herself but to share the disgrace with her aunt and uncle would be so much worse. Her feelings for Alexander must remain her secret, locked away until she left Drakemoor five days hence.

“Francie, wake up.” It was
him
.

“Alexander?” She opened her eyes and shielded them with one hand as she stared at the tall figure before her.

“I need to speak with you.”

She pushed herself to a sitting position and crossed her feet at the ankles. “Is something wrong?”

“Why isn’t your hat on your head?” he demanded. “Your face is bright pink. And look at your arms. You’ll be redder than those roses if you don’t get out of this infernal heat.”

“I love the sun,” Francie said in a calm tone. Five more days of Drakemoor and Alexander and she’d be gone. She was not going to spend them arguing, no matter how much he tempted her.

“You’ll see how much you love it when you’re full of blisters and sick from too much heat,” he ground out. “Your skin is too sensitive to be exposed to the sun.”

“Do I hear concern in your voice, Alexander?”

He yanked at his cravat. “I just hate to see you make a fool of yourself. If you get sick, you’ll make more work for Bernard and Eleanor. And,” he added, “you might be ill on the carpets.”

“What a touching thought.”

“Let’s go inside. I’m burning alive.” He loosened his cravat a bit more.

Francie busied herself gathering up her things. “You wear too many clothes.”

“Excuse me?”

The heat rushing to her face had nothing to do with the sun. “Wouldn’t it be acceptable to forego the jacket and cravat on a blistering day like today?”

He shrugged. “I usually stay inside when it’s this hot.”

She stood and retrieved the blanket. “But you needn’t,” she said, her voice soft. “Even if you left those items inside
, you’d still be a proper gentleman.”

She watched his eyes narrow, his scar whiten. “I am well aware of what constitutes a proper gentleman.”

Five more days
, she reminded herself.
Hold onto your temper
. “Of course you are. I was merely suggesting from a woman’s point of view.”

Alexander shot her a sideways glance but said nothing. Tiny beads of sweat trickled along his brow, ran down the side of his cheeks. He grabbed the blanket from her and headed for the house. “Let’s go.”

Francie scampered after him, the grass warm and velvety between her toes. Did she really love this hard, implacable beast of a man? She sighed. Unfortunately, she did.

James opened the door, tapping and twitching as they passed.

“Good day, Miss Jordan, Mr. Bishop,” he squeaked. “Quite warm weather we’re having.”

Alexander grunted and headed toward the study.

Francie smiled at the odd little man and stopped a moment. “Yes, James. It is quite hot.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I think you’d be much more comfortable without your jacket. I’ll speak with Mr. Bishop about it.”

The butler’s eyes widened, whether with fear or incredulity, she couldn’t tell. She turned and hurried after Alexander. When she reached the study, he was already seated behind his desk. George held his usual position on the Aubusson rug. A dark tail peeking out from behind him indicated Mr. Pib had taken up residence on it as well. She shot a quick glance at Alexander. Had he seen the cat? He appeared preoccupied with the papers on his desk, so he might not have taken notice. Yet. But he would and she hoped to be long gone from this room when he did.

Why had he called her here? He seemed more serious than usual, if that were possible.

“A solicitor visited the other day regarding Philip’s will,” he began, picking up the papers he’d been studying a moment ago.

Francie remained silent. Her father had tried several times to discuss his wealth and what would happen to it in the event of his death, but she’d always managed to change the subject. He’d finally given up with a grunt and an assurance she’d never need worry about money again.

“You and I will each receive one half of Philip’s estate.” He took a deep breath and his jaw twitched a fraction before he added, “
including Drakemoor.”

She heard the words, understood the generosity behind her father’s dictates, but all she felt was a big, empty gap where for a brief moment in time her life
had entwined with his. She’d forfeit her entire inheritance if only she could see him one more time. But there would be no other opportunities, no second chances. Her father was dead and she was living in a house with a man who loved another woman. It was time to leave.

“Francie? Did you hear me?”

She nodded. “I’m leaving in five days.” She lifted her gaze to meet his, expecting to see relief spread over his dark features.

“Like hell you are,” Alexander growled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

That response she had not expected. “I plan to return to Amberden.”

He bound out of his chair and shot around the desk.

Francie lowered her gaze. He would not see the pain in her eyes. “Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Bernard are going home.” She picked at a speck of dirt on her gown. “I’m going with them.”

“You’re staying here,” he said, towering over her.

Her head shot up. “I can’t stay here.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. “Philip wanted you here. You know that. How many times did he tell you that you belonged here?”

“I’m not a noblewoman,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Nor do I have any desire to become one.”

“Nobility isn’t unique to bloodlines. You made Philip proud to call you his daughter.” Alexander’s voice dipped. “Honor his request and live in the society you were born to.” His voice fell even lower. “It’s what Philip wanted.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her father asked too much. “Next you’re going to tell me you’ve selected a husband for me, too.” She let out a shaky laugh and opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

How ironic. The man she loved had chosen a husband for her. “I don’t want a husband.”

He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them to less than two feet. Too close. “It doesn’t matter,” he said in a sharp voice. “You need one.”

“I need one? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’ll get used to the idea,” he said, ignoring her remarks.

The man was mad. Truly mad. “Who, might I ask, is my intended? Do I know him?”

“Yes. You know him rather well.”

“I do?” Curiosity got the better of her. “Do I like him?”

“No. Not particularly.”

“You want me to marry a man I don’t particularly like?” The man really was mad. “Why would I consent to such a thing?”

Alexander’s lips twitched. He seemed to enjoy her aggravation. “Because you desire him.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “And how would you know that?”

He closed the distance between them and reached for her hands, pulling her to her feet. “Because I’m that man,” he said, lowering his head to brush his lips against hers.

His words registered in her brain a second before she gave herself up to his kiss. “No!” She pulled from his grasp. “I can’t marry you.”

“Can’t?” His mouth flattened into a thin line, the scar on his cheek white and puffy.

Francie backed away toward the door. How could she marry him, live with him, bear his children, knowing he loved another? “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t.” She took another step backward.

“Be reasonable, Francie. I’m the most logical choice.”

“You...you’re supposed to be my brother,” she blurted out, grasping the first thought that popped into her head.

“We’re no more brother and sister than Adam and Eve.” He took a step toward her, and then another, and another until he was so close she smelled his spicy scent. “You know that, don’t you, Francie?”

She stared at him, held by the soft, trance-like rhythm of his voice, moving over her, softer than a caress. It would be so easy to lose herself in his touch. So deliciously easy. He reached out to stroke her cheek.

But he loved another. “Aren’t there any other suitors?”

His hand dropped to his side and he took several deep breaths before he spoke. “There were no others.”

“No one called on me after the ball?” she asked. “Not even Lord Grosepeak?” She’d consider him as a marriage partner. After all, he couldn’t break her heart and there was something to be said for that.

“No one.”

“Oh.” Her heart sank. “What about Sebastian Trent?”

His gaze narrowed. “No.”

Her shoulders drooped forward in defeat. Now she’d be forced to marry Alexander and he was only asking her out of duty. He probably intended to keep Lady Printon as his mistress. Francie’s stomach lurched at the thought.

“Is marriage to me so objectionable?” he asked, his nostrils flaring, his jaw set in a hard line. “Are you above marrying a stable boy?”

“No!” she said, horrified he’d think such a thing. “It’s not that at all.” Why not tell him the truth?
Or at least part of the truth.

“I know you don’t want to marry me,” she said, her voice filled with sadness. “You’re doing it out of duty to Philip.” His jaw twitched and she knew it must be the truth. “I know you’re in love with Lady Printon and I’m keeping you from her. I can’t do that to you, Alexander.”

She saw the surprise in his eyes and knew she’d done the right thing. Alexander was much too noble to put his personal desires above Philip’s wishes.

“You incredible little fool,” he murmured
, cupping her face between his big hands. “Where on earth did you get such an idea?”

“It was obvious.”

“Obviously untrue,” he corrected.

She swallowed hard. “You mean you aren’t in love with Lady Printon?” Her heart skipped two beats. She didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to hope, and yet, she waited.

“No, Francie, I’m not in love with her. I’ve never been in love with Tess and I haven’t been involved with her since a certain red-haired hoyden arrived at Drakemoor.”

“But the night of the ball...the things you said about her...”

“Were all true,” he finished. “She is a wonderful person, with beauty and breeding. And she’d make any man proud.” He stroked her cheek. “But not this man.”

His words sent shivers to her very fingertips.
Alexander didn’t love Lady Printon!
But he’d certainly spent a lot of time with her. Doing what, she wondered. She probably didn’t want to know, but something gnawed inside her, the need to know. “But what of all the nights you didn’t come home until well past midnight.” When she’d been watching the clock, waiting. “You weren’t with her?”

He gifted her with a rare smile. “No, I wasn’t with her. I was only trying to make you think I was. That blasted barn proved a most uncomfortable bedfellow.”

A sliver of hope swelled inside her like a new bud reaching for the sun, waiting to burst forth into full bloom. But there was still one unanswered question, lurking in the dark corners of her mind, threatening to kill her newfound happiness. Her voice dipped to a painful whisper. “You said you’d never marry. Me or anyone. Are you certain this is what you want?”