Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 04] by Deadly Desire Page A

I know it isn’t a joke.”
    “I thought she was in Europe,” Connie said.
    “No, she is in Boston. Her father is very ill.” Francesca suddenly closed her eyes and laid her forehead on her hands.
She had tried very hard to forget all about the note because it was too terrible to really contemplate.
    “Well,” Connie said, and Francesca did not look up, “someone has been gossiping.”
    Yes, that much was clear, Francesca thought. Someone had noticed the attraction she and Bragg shared and had decided to inform Leigh Anne. Someone was deliberately stirring up this particular hornets’ nest. “What does she want? Bragg and I have been as virtuous as possible, given the circumstances,” Francesca said grimly.
    “It’s obvious why she wishes to meet you. You are the other woman.”
    Francesca looked at her. “You are making it sound so sordid.”
    “It is sordid. There is nothing romantic about being the other woman, about being a man’s mistress,” Connie said firmly.
    Francesca stood. “I am not his mistress and that is horribly unfair. You yourself just remarked how much Bragg must love me, to think of throwing his entire life away for us.”
    “Nothing is going to change the fact that you are the other woman,” Connie said firmly.
    “Do you have a single romantic bone in your body?”
    Connie just looked at her. And as she did, something impossibly sad flitted through her eyes.
    In that instant, Francesca forgot about her own troubles—after all, she and Bragg had done their moral best to avoid giving in to their desire, so his wife was, in a way, barking up the wrong tree. But Connie was married, with two children, and what Francesca had just seen in her eyes was a result of Neil’s own misbehavior. “Connie, I am sorry; I am being unfair, burdening you with this.”
    “You are hardly being unfair—I’m your sister, Fran. I think you had better be prepared for a difficult and unpleasant interview. What will you say if she asks you directly about your feelings?”
    “I have no idea,” Francesca said. Abruptly she sat down. “I do wish I knew who has been whispering tales in her ear.
I wonder if that person seeks to hurt me, Bragg, or Leigh Anne. And how could this have happened so quickly? Bragg and I just met on January the eighteenth. Leigh Anne has been in Boston for what? A week? I am almost thinking that somebody traveled up to Boston to spread his or her gossip!”
    “Her gossip,” Connie said firmly. “This is the work of another woman, Fran.”
    “Yes, I think you are right.”
    “Have you mentioned this to Bragg?”
    “No!”
    Connie simply looked at her and finally said, “Shouldn’t you?”
    Francesca could only gaze back at her. “I’m afraid to.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know. I think I keep hoping this note, and his wife, will simply go away—maybe back to Europe. I’m afraid of how she will affect our lives if she does come to New York.”
    “I do think she’s coming, Fran. The note is rather explicit.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Well, if it were me, I would draw a line right in the sand. I am quite certain that is what she intends to do.”
    “What do you mean?” Francesca asked foolishly.
    Connie touched her. “There is no reason for her to want to meet you other than to tell you quite clearly to stay away from her husband. She does have every right,” she added gently.
    “No, she does not. She abandoned him, Con. She left him shortly after their marriage. She has taken a dozen lovers since. He did not wish for a separation. She has no rights!”
    “Actually, separated or not, she has every right, Fran. She is his legal wife.”
    Francesca sank down into a chair. She could not speak. Dear God, Connie was right.
    Leigh Anne Bragg had every right, no matter the state of her marriage, to hate Francesca and demand that she stay away from her husband. She had every right to come to New
York and move right into No. 11 Madison Square! And in that moment Francesca felt