force of his mouth on
hers, hot and demanding, her body tight against him, swept away any
thought of resistance. She clung to him, helpless under his
punishing kiss.
He drew back abruptly, his face hard and set, and the
tight grip he had on her shoulder was the single evidence he was
not completely unaffected.
“You will start by calling on my mother tomorrow
morning. With Flora ,” he said curtly. “I’m sure Leticia will
be delighted to meet her granddaughter. We will leave for Sussex
immediately afterward.”
Dazed, Frances stared up at him and tried to make
sense of his words. “Your mother,” she echoed numbly. He must know
Leticia would be anything but happy to have her daughter-in-law
reappear, not to mention with an unexpected grandchild in tow, and
of course, he did, the sarcastic tone of his words finally
penetrating.
“As you wish,” she managed. She pulled from his
grasp. “If you will send word as to the time, we will be ready. I
want to leave now.” Frances picked up her wrap and draped it around
her shoulders. She would agree to anything if it meant an end to
this interminable evening. Perhaps he heard her unspoken plea, for
the next thing she knew, her hat was on her head, and a firm hand
on her arm guided her from the room.
She stared at him in surprise, but his only response
was a curt “You look ready to drop.”
Nor had he anything to say during the drive to the
hotel, which suited her entirely. She did not want to talk, did not
want to think, and had to fight the urge to jump from the carriage
and run up to her suite. Instead, she walked calmly beside him as
if she welcomed his escort—as if he wanted to provide it! She gave
him the key when they reached her door and waited for him to unlock
it, all without so much as a glance at him.
“Good night. I will see you in the morning.”
He opened the door, but blocked her way until she
looked up at him. He smiled at her, another one of those grim,
satisfied smiles that made her heart jump in her breast. “Sweet
dreams, dear wife .” He brushed her cheek with one finger.
“Oh, and Frances? We will speak of the past, when I so choose.”
Chapter Nine
Frances was right . Halcombe stepped into the
carriage for the short ride back to Summerton’s, his mind on the
summer following his marriage. He had spent long hours
outside, trying desperately to put the estate to rights after years
of neglect. Every leaking roof and fallow field had been another
reminder of his father’s costly obsession with collecting rare
maps. That, and his own failure to find the appallingly expensive
Legacy Folio of antique maps that had consumed the last of the
assets and put a mortgage on the estate; the first in the
centuries-long history of the Halcombe seat. The very thought of it
was abhorrent, and the instant the marriage settlements were at
hand, work had commenced and the debts were paid. It was all he’d
dreamed of those years in Europe, dodging armies and drawing maps
for his government.
Hell and damnation, he had needed to marry
well, and while Frances was not the wife he expected to choose, he
had been charmed by her innocence and intelligence. And she cared
for him. He was not wrong about that, and if he had had a few
qualms about taking advantage of her youth and lack of opportunity
to meet other men, why what other choice had she, hidden away in
the country as she was?
Besides, Frances’ father’s offer was too good to
refuse. The benefit to both of them was equal. He would not wallow
in guilt. He wished he had told Frances the truth from the
beginning, but Nesbitt had been insistent; she was not to be
told.
Halcombe was still deep in thought when the hired cab
came to a halt in front of Summerton’s town house. Roused by a
footman opening the door, he gave the man some coins to pay for the
cab and ran up the steps.
“Has Lord Summerton returned?” Halcombe asked,
handing the butler his hat and gloves.
“No, my lord. His
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