The Runaway Heiress (14 page)

'Probably
you don't—but you will.' His tone was rueful. 'I'll make sure of it. No one
will ever hurt you again.'

Frances
responded instinctively by catching his hand and pressing it wordlessly against
her cheek. It took him by surprise, amazing him, stirring within him a
confusion of guilt and frustration. And also a violent leap of fury. His
fingers clenched into a fist as he imagined them around Torrington's throat.
That he should have damaged Frances, inflicted such cruelty on her, was not to be
borne. He breathed deeply to rein in the anger that he could not express to
Frances. And now he knew why she found it so difficult to respond to him
physically. He sighed. He had a hard task ahead of him.

'Come
here.' His voice and touch were gentle and brought the weight of tears into her
throat. 'You are exhausted.' He lifted her in his arms, holding her close for a
moment, then lowered her on to her bed. His intention was to leave her, but he
could not, not when her fingers remained clasped to his. He felt a stirring in
his heart that he could not name, but he knew that she deserved more from him
at that moment than that he should walk away from her bed.

His
eyes locked on hers. 'Not all men are cruel and thoughtless. Let me show you.'

Without
hesitation, Frances opened her arms to him. This was the first time that any
man had shown her such tangible kindness. He had by some chance unlocked a door
and she had no desire to slam it in his face.

His
hands were gentle, set to soothe and calm, in an urgent need to reassure and
wipe away the ugly memories that must haunt her. Cool and immeasurably tender,
his lips touched her hair, her eyes, the line of her cheekbones, and down to
her throat where the pulse still raced. His hands skimmed her shoulders with
featherlight movement before lingering on her back where he knew the cruel
scars would always glimmer in the candlelight. She did not resist, but clung to
him as he once again pushed away the ribbons and torn lace at her neck.

Her
skin glowed pale as ivory and soft as gossamer to his fingertips as it warmed
and relaxed under his touch.

He
left her for a moment to remove his own clothing, but quickly, fearing a return
of the fear that could turn her to ice in his hands. He searched her face,
struck again by the brilliance of those sapphire eyes, now quite calm and full
of trust. He realised what a heavy burden that could be, but he had made her a
promise. Her dependence on him at that moment aroused him with a desire to
possess her, but he kept a tight rein and set himself to pleasure her. He
turned his attention to her breasts, so small and well formed as they fit
perfectly into the palm of his hand. He caressed her nipples, and when he
lowered his head to take one into his mouth she did not withdraw. Instead she
surprised him by tightening her arms around him, pulling him close to her. She
trembled when he allowed his hands to stroke down the length of her body, to
part her thighs and touch the delicate skin, but she did not pull away, nor did
she stiffen in rigid acceptance.

When
he entered her with a single thrust, then held himself still to give her time
to accept the intimate intrusion, she sighed and delighted him when she
instinctively arched her body to meet his and allowed him to thrust more
deeply. She was so soft. So tight. And this time she was ready for him. He was
swept by a nameless emotion at his ability to make her respond. He whispered
words of encouragement to her, foolish nothings, and she responded with little
cries and whimpers. But not out of pain or fear. Her whole body was swamped
with overpowering sensation. There was no room here for shyness or
embarrassment. All she wanted was to feel the strength and power of his body
against hers, the brush of his hands, the glory of him deep inside her. When he
began to move, the thrusts more forceful, she moved to meet him, to answer the
demands of his body and hers. Heat spread its fingers through her, to her very
fingertips, which seemed to throb with the pressure of her beating heart, but
it centred with fiery talons in her belly and thighs. It was unbearably
intense, as close to pain as it was to pleasure, but yet it seemed to beckon
her on with the promise of untold delight, although towards what she was still
unsure.

He
came to his climax, a final powerful thrust of his hips, a tensing of the
muscles in back and thigh, lured on by the delicious warmth and softness of her
body beneath him. He supported himself on his elbows to study her face in the
light from the single remaining candle, his midnight-dark hair tousled, sweat
still gleaming at his temples. Her mouth curved into a smile. The expression in
his fierce eyes was incredibly tender. He smoothed her tangled hair from her
face and pressed his lips to her forehead.

'Frances?'

'Yes,
my lord?'

'Hugh!'

'Yes,
Hugh.' She obeyed on a sigh of repletion. He would make do with that for the
present.

'Did
I hurt you?' It was suddenly important that he know.

'No.
There was no hurt. I did not realise how...how...' He could see the flush on
her pale skin even in the dim light.

'How
enjoyable it could be?' There was a distinct smile in his voice.

'Yes,
Hugh. That is what I meant to say.'

'You
will find it even more enjoyable—when you are less tense and allow yourself to
relax a little more.' He touched his lips to her temple, her eyes, her soft
mouth in the lightest of kisses. 'I promise you.' He was acutely aware of her
lack of true fulfilment—and contemplated rekindling the flames within her once
more—but judged her too exhausted by the traumas of the night to pursue that
end.

'I
know,' she murmured against his chest. She felt warm and safe from the shadows
of the past in his arms and at that moment could ask for nothing more. And yet
there remained in her the memory of that elusive sensation of heat and excitement
that had not quite overtaken her, an uncontrollable fire, ignited by his lips
and his hands, which threatened to ripple through her and consume her very
being. She shivered a little at the intimate prospect and then smiled and
stretched against him in pure contentment. One day she knew she would find it
with him.

That contentment shone in her eyes as she
stretched up to press her lips to his with incredible sweetness. There was an
arrested expression on his face, his heart beating forcefully in his chest, at
her obvious trust as she lay in his arms and her unsolicited caress, but before
he could think of anything to say, her eyes had fluttered closed and her
breathing deepened into sleep. He smiled again, folding her more securely into
his arms so that her head was pillowed on his shoulder, and allowed himself to
sink into oblivion beside her.

Next morning Juliet
persuaded Frances to accompany her to inspect, with the anticipation of buying,
of course, the charming gowns produced by Madame Celeste, a new French modiste
who had opened a shop in Bond Street and was fast becoming the height of
fashion. Frances took little persuasion and the two ladies were about to leave
on this pleasurable outing when Aldeborough waylaid them in the entrance hall.

He was dressed in a
cut-away coat of dark blue superfine, of Weston's making, without doubt, which
displayed his broad shoulders and narrow hips to excellent advantage. His pale
pantaloons clung to his muscular thighs like a second skin, and his tasselled
Hessians gleamed with a high polish. His cream satin waistcoat and tasteful fob
watch completed his air of elegance and sophistication.

'Shopping again, I see.
Don't let Juliet drag you round every dress shop in London, my dear. She will
wear you out. Excess stamina in the pursuit of pleasure is a family failing.'

He looked directly at
Frances, his eyes compelling her to meet his. She could not resist, wishing
that the faint colour tinting her pale skin did not advertise so blatantly her
beating heart and rapid pulse. She remembered all too clearly... Her blush
deepened and she dropped her gaze so that she was unaware of his smile of
satisfaction.

'And you would know all
about that, dear Hugh.' Juliet rose to the occasion. 'How many miles was it
that you were prepared to travel last week to watch a disgusting prize fight?'

'Ah! How indelicate of
you, little sister! You should know nothing about such things. I suppose
Matthew told you.'

'I shall not divulge my
sources!'

'I see you are dressed to
go out, my lord,' Frances interrupted the family repartee to which she was now
becoming immune. 'Would you care to accompany us?'

'Never.' Aldeborough
smiled. 'Have you tried Matthew? Well, of course you have. I knew I must be
second choice.'

'Matthew had a pressing
engagement.'

'Matthew always has
pressing engagements. And on this occasion, fortunately, so do I. But before
you go—it is my intention to go to the Priory at the end of the week. Some
business needs to be completed before the month is out and it is easier if I am
present. Ambrose is going to visit his uncle and Matthew will probably come
with me—there may some rough shooting to tempt him. I wondered if I might
persuade you to accompany us?'

His invitation was
directed to both of them, but his eyes were fixed speculatively on Frances.

'I will understand if the
pleasures and allure of town outweigh a few days in the country.'

Unexpectedly, he found
that this was not true. He wanted Frances to accompany him. He felt a
disconcerting need to spend some time with her, away from the formality of London,
to get to know his elusive wife better. His wife! It still surprised him. And
he was discovering depths in her that he could not have guessed at and which he
found he wished to explore. When he looked at her delicately flushed face with
its expressive eyes, determined chin and vulnerable mouth he could not erase
the revelations of the previous night from his mind, nor the sight of those
disfiguring scars on her fair skin. Anger and revulsion still simmered within
him that she should have been handled with such deliberate cruelty. His
powerful hands clenched into fists at the memory and a desire to seek revenge
on her behalf tormented him.

And her response to his
lovemaking had overwhelmed him. She was not shy at all. Nor was she cold to his
advances as he had feared. However painful last night, it had breached the
solid wall that had existed between them, created by her fear and his
indifference. She had felt able to respond to his caresses and he had wanted to
give her pleasure to erase the memories of fear and ill treatment. He had
certainly given her pleasure. He felt a tightening in his loins at the memory
of her body arching against his and the touch of her hands smoothing the skin
down his back. And she had cried out and sighed his name as he had possessed
her. He wanted her to come to the Priory.

Juliet responded as he
knew she would.

The Priory? Now that the
Season is just under way? I could not possibly—just think of all the dances and
parties I should miss. I could not think of going into rural seclusion,'

'Well, Mistress Molly? Do
you wish to spend some time with me in rural seclusion?'

She hesitated for a second
only, a small smile curving her lips deliciously and illuminating her eyes.
'Yes. I think I would. I would like it above all things.'

'Frances! How can you?'
Juliet looked at her and her brother with utmost astonishment and no little
degree of speculation in her lively expression. 'Do you want to be buried in
the country when everyone who is anyone will be here in London?'

Frances laughed, suddenly
feeling so much older than her new sister. 'But I enjoy life in the country.
And I would like to go back to the Priory again.' It is my
home
, she thought. Far more so than Cavendish
Square, however splendid, with its formal servants and rigid rules laid down by
the Dowager. I want to go home. But she did not voice her preference, fearing
to hurt Juliet's feelings. She need not have been concerned.

'I understand,' Juliet
observed with more perception than her years would suggest, not at all
insulted. 'I expect you will enjoy escaping from Mama's company.'

'It is a consideration,'
Frances admitted with a little laugh.

'Then it will be my
pleasure to take you to the Priory.' The Marquis took her hand: the surge of
satisfaction within him was instantaneous.

Frances was delighted that
he should invite her, that he should actively seek her company. And, as a voice
whispered slyly in her heart, since the Priory was such a considerable distance
from London, he would be well out of the orbit of Letitia Winters!

'Except that' —she raised
her eyes to his again on a sudden thought— 'I will not visit Torrington Hall.'

'Of course not. I would
never ask that of you.' His expression darkened, but his voice was full of
understanding.

'I knew you would
understand.'

'Not visit your aunt and
uncle?' queried Juliet. 'Surely a morning call would be in order. Do you not
wish to visit your previous home again?'

'There are reasons why
Frances should not visit them,' explained Aldeborough simply, rescuing Frances
from the need for explanation.

'Very well. If you are
going to keep secrets from me!'

'If we told you, it wouldn't be a secret for
five minutes. I will leave you to your shopping. We will set off on Friday
morning.'

The shopping expedition
was pronounced a great success by both ladies. With the prospect of time in the
country to indulge her passion for riding, Frances was easily beguiled into the
purchase of a delightful and extravagant riding habit in dark green velvet. The
skirt with its heavy folds fitted her to perfection and the narrow jacket with
a high neckline and frog fastenings in black silk braid carried the hint of the
military. She knew that the rich colour set her dark hair and pale skin off to
their best advantage. She was excited at the prospect of wearing it to
investigate the estate and the surrounding countryside that was now her home.
And in Aldeborough's company.