A Love Laid Bare (32 page)

Damn, the woman was brazen. Halcombe refrained from
looking at his wife, although he could not fault her for being
insulted. At the very least, she would be angry.
Then again,
maybe she doesn’t care what you do!

He shifted Flora into a more comfortable position
and, feeling dispirited by Frances’ bland expression, he jerked his
chin in the direction of the door. “I’m taking Flora upstairs.”

Frances raised her brows at the short tone of his
voice. “I can ring for Nancy if you wish.”

“That is not necessary,” Halcombe said, more curtly
than he had intended. “I prefer to take her myself.” Although he
had tried to quell his irritation before uttering this last remark,
he did not sound any less churlish and he moved away before he was
tempted to say anything else. It appeared he had exhausted his
quota of friendly small talk today.

Frances mask of indifference suddenly disappeared and
was replaced with a flash of amusement. “I will come with you,” she
said brightly. “I wanted to ask what you thought about Mr. Jensen’s
curiosity regarding my business activities.”

Flora was asleep, Halcombe thought, and she would not
understand the subject even if she were awake. Frances too, walking
calmly at his side, did not seem at all concerned. The earl was not
sure why having the child present disturbed him, other than the
fact that
Jensen
bothered him beyond measure. The man was
too handsome, too smooth, and
much
too attentive to
Frances.

“I felt it odd, but cannot tell you why.” He slanted
a glance at her. “Some male quirk, I suppose. To be frank, I don’t
care for the man.” The earl frowned, and then dismissed the subject
with an impatient shrug. “No doubt the fellow enjoys gossip and
that accounts for his curiosity.”

“No doubt,” Frances agreed, but there was a dubious
note in her voice.

He caught the brief look of worry in her eyes, and
felt his earlier unease return. Apparently he was not alone in his
distrust of Jensen.

Frances stepped ahead of them and opened the door to
the nursery suite, her smile now fixed solidly in place. “If you
will excuse me, sir, I will attend to those tasks our guests have
delayed. I’m sure you have things to do as well.” She brushed a
kiss across his mouth. “Thank you for your presence this morning.
It was kind of you.”

She departed swiftly along the corridor before he had
wits enough to reply. Not that he even
had
an intelligent
response to give her. In truth, kindness had never entered into his
mind. He had simply been unable to resist her candid appeal for his
company—and whether this was for good or for ill, he had yet to
decide.

Jensen did not need to see the hard glint in
Victoria’s eyes to know she was seriously annoyed. Her scathing
remarks to Caroline Cooper had reduced the poor woman to tears
before they had even left the Halcombe property. By the time they
arrived at Merton House, Joseph Cooper was white-faced and
thin-lipped, after being severely chastised for the singular fault
of defending his wife. All in all, Jensen was not in the least
surprised to be informed that the Coopers had decided to leave that
very day.

They were a nice couple and he wished them well, but
not enough to risk further arousing his hostess’ wrath by bidding
them farewell. Having made a prudent retreat to his room, Jensen
intended to stay there until Victoria’s snit had passed. Their
affair was at an end in any case.

Her pathetic attempts to lure Halcombe away from his
wife had become more and more tedious. Jensen prided himself on his
ability to read people—a necessary skill for a gambler—and he
doubted the earl had any fondness for the viscountess. In fact, he
believed that Halcombe’s interest was fixed entirely on his wife
and daughter. Something Jensen planned to turn to his
advantage.

He stepped out onto the small balcony outside his
long window, lit a cheroot, and leaned on the balustrade as he
smoked it. Lady Merton did not like the smell and he had humoured
her in this, but since another twenty-four hours would see him
officially gone…Jensen shrugged, no longer concerned with her
whims.

Tomorrow he would make one more legitimate attempt to
obtain the map folio. But a wise man never depended upon one plan.
Alternative strategies were in play, his transportation to the
continent was arranged, and a safe house had been chosen. He
smiled. The location of his lair not only appealed to his sense of
humour—what better place indeed!—it perfectly met his needs as
well.

“What are you doing out here, Paul?” Victoria asked
as she joined him on the balcony. “Oh, you are fussing about with
another one of those smelly things!” She frowned. “I cannot imagine
why you want to do so. It’s positively horrid.”

Jensen took a final, leisurely puff, dropped the
stub, and ground it into the stone floor under his boot. “I enjoy
indulging now and then, and since I did not expect any visitors…”
His tone implied she was at fault, not him, and her mouth twitched
with annoyance. “Did you want something, Victoria?” he asked
blandly, a brow lifting in mild curiosity.

She flushed, opened her mouth to speak—probably to
berate him—and then changed her mind. Instead she took his arm and
gave him an insincere smile.

“Come inside, Paul, so we can talk more comfortably.”
They walked across the bedchamber to the adjoining sitting room.
Victoria gestured toward a chair and sat in the one opposite. She
had taken the time to change out of her habit, he noted. She now
wore a white dress of flowered muslin with a high-winged collar
which was edged with the same embroidered flowers that graced the
hem. It was very pretty and the low-cut style gave him a generous
view of her fine bosom.

Jensen felt his manhood stir and he smiled to
himself. No reason not to take advantage of what was being offered
a few more times before he departed. The woman
was
an
excellent bed partner. She leaned forward, her hand fluttering to
the handsome emerald pendant resting between the swell of her
breasts.

“I have been rather cross today,” she said with a
playful pout. “It was disappointing that you were not able to keep
Lady Halcombe’s attention as I had hoped.”

As you ordered
, Jensen amended with some
amusement. He was no less disappointed in his inability to keep the
lady’s interest on him, although he was not going to admit it.

“Lady Halcombe was preoccupied with the child, I
believe.” Jensen settled back and crossed his legs.

“Children have no place in an adult gathering,” the
viscountess said with a sniff. “It’s obvious the woman has no
notion of the proper protocol expected in an earl’s establishment.
The idea of allowing a child to monopolize everyone’s attention!
The dowager Halcombe would never condone such behavior, I assure
you.”

Jensen ignored the comment. From what he had heard,
the dowager seldom approved of anything. The sole interest he had
in Lady Flora was her potential usefulness to him. “Lord Halcombe
appears to be quite taken with the girl. Perhaps you should
concentrate on engaging him when he is away from the Manor.” Paul
looked slyly at her. “That is, if you are still intent on having
him.” The viscountess’ pursuit of the earl had gone far beyond
obsession. She was now so fanatical about it that she had even
enlisted
his
help, whilst sharing his bed no less!

“I will have him,” she said with finality, an
unyielding look on her face. “But first I need to detach that
pitiful woman from his side for a time. Once we are alone together
and he is reminded of just how wonderful it was, he will come to
his senses. I know it.”

“How do you expect to do that?” Jensen asked
offhandedly. He rose and proceeded to unstop a decanter of port. It
was well into the afternoon, he was both hungry and thirsty, and
had no stomach for this conversation. He filled a glass and turned
to face her, leaning casually on the sideboard.

“Oh, nothing serious,” she said with a grating trill
of laughter. “Accidents…can happen to anyone.”

Alerted perhaps by something in his expression, she
stood and walked languidly to him. “You mustn’t pay the least mind
to my chatter today, darling. You are terribly gallant to put up
with such a crosspatch.” She raised his glass to her own lips and
gazed seductively at him over the rim. “Come, I have ordered a meal
for us. After that we shall have a rest…if you like.”

Jensen studied her. Only the promise of sensual
delights to come showed on her face now. The disturbing malice he
thought he sensed earlier was gone. Victoria could be ruthless, but
surely she meant no real harm to Lady Halcombe. It might be he was
mistaken and her pique had been burned out by the display of
temper. He wet one finger in the port and allowed several drops to
run between her breasts.

“You will stain my gown,” she said with a catch of
her breath.

Jensen took the glass from her, set it aside, and
smiled. “In that case…” He bent his head and lapped up the port. He
would allow her to play her little games, but he would
not
have his plans thwarted. He needed Lady Halcombe to remain hale and
hearty for the next few days.

It was late. The faint sounds coming from the
adjoining chamber had ceased an hour ago. Frances had almost given
up on her plan a half-dozen times, as much due to cowardice as
impatience. What if he rejected her? Sent her away with one of
those cold set-downs that made her feel as if she were a
misbehaving child?

Frances pressed her hands on the connecting door and
laid her forehead on the cold wood. She did not
think
he
would send her away. What man would object to having a naked woman
in his bed? And one that he truly desired? No, it was the afterward
she feared. If he became angry… Her shoulders slumped and she bit
at her lower lip. Any anger on his part would not be unusual, the
voice in her head chided.
You will deal with it as you have
everything else.

She lifted the latch, stepped inside, and closed the
door behind her. The room was dark, which she had anticipated.
Blessing her forethought in memorizing the furniture placement
between here and the bedchamber, Frances cautiously traversed the
room. If anyone had seen her sneaking into the suite earlier, when
she was sure neither Halcombe nor his valet was around, they would
think her a candidate for Bedlam!
Which you are, Frances—quite
mad in fact.
She stifled a groan. Perhaps she was, but the
alternative was to face her cowardly reflection in the morning.

The bedchamber was dimly lit by the embers glowing in
the fireplace, enough so she needn’t fear tripping over something.
Inhaling so carefully that she hardly heard her own shallow breath,
Frances removed her slippers. Her bare feet sank into the thick
fibers of the carpet, and she wiggled her toes as she crept toward
the bed. The smell of candle wax, wood smoke and Richard’s cologne
mingled in the air—almost enticingly so, but nothing could compete
with the heady male scent of her husband.

No curtains were drawn around his bed. Richard
preferred the air to flow freely about him, and indeed, she felt
the draft from the window that was cracked open. Shivering just a
little, Frances studied her sleeping husband. His features were
shadowed in the dim light but she knew every line and curve of his
face. The vivid blue eyes, closed now…the lashes small dark fans
against his tanned skin…his sharp cheekbones and strong, straight
nose. She saw his full sensual mouth, now bracketed with the
beginning of the deeper grooves she knew to be part of his
heritage. Portraits of his father and grandfather showed the same
signs of weighty responsibility that the men of this family felt
toward what was theirs.

She herself had put some of those lines there. If she
had it to do over again… She did not, however, and remorse was
useless. Nor did she truly regret her time in France, although she
could have done without the near drowning! The misadventure had
changed her, forced her into maturity, and opened an entire other
world to her. Not telling Richard of her rescue immediately was a
wrong she
did
regret, but it was a sad fact she—they—would
have to live with.

Aware that time was passing and she was avoiding the
next step, Frances sighed deeply and untied the fastening of her
peignoir. It slid from her shoulders onto the floor with a soft,
silken sigh. She wore no nightdress or chemise. The impediment of
clothing was no part of her plan tonight. Now, if he was also
naked, how much easier it would be to seduce him! But she did not
expect it and was therefore not surprised when she turned back the
covers to find that he wore a nightshirt. No matter. It could be
readily pushed up to allow her hands access to his flat stomach and
muscled chest…his strong thighs…his manhood. Frances slid in next
to him and lay still, savoring these few minutes until he awoke.
The warmth of his body was intoxicating and she leaned over to
touch her lips to his belly. She felt him quiver under her mouth
and her own middle fluttered in response.

Frances ran her hand along the inside of his leg, her
touch feather light, and then changed her butterfly kisses to slow
licks with her tongue. She felt him wake. His body tensed, and she
heard his quick gasp.

“Frances.”

“Umm.” Frances shifted, pressing closer to him, and
gently circled his nipples with the tip of her fingernail. They
were smaller than her own but, much like hers, the subtle
stimulation caused the tiny nubs to peak with desire.

Richard’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, his
fingers splayed across her back. She felt a tremor run through him
as he realized her naked state.