A Love Laid Bare by Constance Hussey

chair aside. “Devil take
it …. Did you know?”
    “I suspected, but was not sure. How would I know such
a thing, inexperienced as I was?” Frances rose and clutched the
table edge for support. “I wanted to be certain before I said
anything, but my father took ill and it was all I could think
about.”
    “You could have asked my mother,” he countered.
    “No, I could not,” Frances said in a tone that dared
him to contradict her. Her poor relationship with Leticia, who had
disliked her from the first day she set foot in the Manor, was no
secret to anyone.
    “Perhaps not,” he agreed in a pained voice, unable to
deny it. “But why did you not come to me? I’ve had enough
experience with animals to at least recognize the signs, enough to
call in a physician anyway.”
    Frances drew in a sharp breath and pressed fisted
hands to her breast. “Come to you? When might that have been, my
lord? You were out every day, not even coming in for meals most of
the time. Dear heaven, you did not even find the time to attend my
Father’s funeral.” Frances made no effort to keep the bitterness
from her voice. His failure to be at her side when she needed him
was a sorrow that never fully left her.
    “I did not know! I swear to you, the service was over
before I found out about it.”
    “You expect me to believe that? When I sent enough
messengers the whole county should have known?”
    “I was in London!”
    His shout echoed through the room. Frances stared at
him, appalled at the emotion that burned inside her. She had
thought those old hurts buried too deep to surface, but here she
was, raking them up, when she had sworn not to open herself to such
pain again.
    Dropping her hands loosely at her sides, Frances
turned away, unable to bear the hurt and regret on his face. “I’m
sorry. I had no intention of bringing up the past. It hardly
matters now, anyway,” she said, keeping her voice level.
    “Apparently it does.”
    The short, terse answer was as jarring as the sudden
hard grip on her arm. Frances bit back a gasp when he spun her
around to face him. She was caught in his arms, felt the heat of
his body along the length of hers, and a shiver coursed along her
spine. Did he feel it, the weakness in her that made her melt under
his touch?
    “Look at me,” he demanded, tipping her chin up. “Is
that why you stayed away, to punish me? A harsh sentence for
something beyond my control.”
    “No!” She wrenched away. With an effort she feared
was visible, Frances stilled her trembling legs and gazed steadily
at him. The calm, cold expression was back in place, with not a
trace of his earlier wrath. The brief surrender to anger might
never have been.
    “This is pointless.” Frances lifted and dropped her
hands in a helpless gesture. “Surely you have more important things
to say.” Unnerved by his intent gaze, Frances went to the table,
picked up her glass of wine, stared at the crimson contents, and
then set it down. She longed to be done with this, to be at home
with Flora snuggled up beside her. This horrible day seemed to
stretch on endlessly and she wanted it over .
    She raised her head and met her husband’s eyes. “What
do you plan to do?”
    “With you and our daughter?” He walked toward her,
his smile so smug, so coldly satisfied, she took a step back.
    “Flora. Her name is Flora,” Frances said through the
lump in her throat.
    He cupped his hand around the side of her face and
stroked along her jaw with his thumb. “Why, you and Flora will come with me, of course. Do you think I will allow you to
escape me again? You will be a very obedient wife, won’t you,
Frances? Accommodating in every way.” His fingers were on her
mouth, feather light as they traced her lips. “You would not care
to be separated from your child, I’m sure.”
    She had barely enough breath to whisper, “no”,
chilled by the piercing look of promised retribution in his eyes,
and the flare of desire under it. The sudden